CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY

Marco

18 October 1943

Fire!” yelled a Nazi. Panic rippled through the guards. All of the helmeted heads turned to the construction site. The Nazis ran to the fire, which had ignited the solvent and rags. Orange flames raged into the sky, licking the night air.

“Fire, fire!” Marco joined in, with flawless German. He pointed at the fire. The Nazis around him left their posts and ran where he pointed.

Marco ran to Sandro’s barracks and tore open the door. The men inside recoiled in terror, but he couldn’t reveal he wasn’t a real Nazi. He couldn’t risk how the men would react. Nothing could go wrong now.

“Get back!” Marco shouted in German. He looked wildly around for Sandro and his father. Men huddled together, cowering in fear. He spotted Sandro against the wall with Massimo, who was putting on his glasses.

“You, come with me!” Marco rushed to them, grabbing Sandro in one hand and Massimo in the other. He hustled them to the door and scanned the camp to see if it was safe to leave. All of the Nazi guards were at the construction site, trying to put out the fire. Some tried blankets, others water. There was no time to lose.

“Sandro, Massimo!” Marco whispered, leading them outside. “Come with me. Hurry.”

“Marco?” Sandro’s mouth dropped open. He took his father’s arm. “Papa, he’s getting us out of here.”

“But I can’t walk on my ankle.” Massimo limped. “It’s worse than before.”

“We have to go.” Marco glanced at the construction site. The fire raged higher, and the Nazis tried to put it out. The conflagration burned bright. No one was looking their way.

Massimo turned to Sandro, stricken. “Son, go without me. I’m too slow. I can’t keep up.”

Sandro shook his head. “Papa, I can’t leave you.”

“You must. Go. I love you.”

“Massimo, please.” Marco looked over, frantic.

“Marco, take Sandro.” Massimo’s eyes glistened. “Do it for me. I beg you.”

“No,” Sandro insisted, but Massimo wrenched his arm from his son’s grasp and darted back inside the barracks.

“Papa!” Sandro started to go after him.

“Sandro. Come with me, now.” Marco grabbed Sandro’s arm, giving him no choice. The Nazis were at the fire. They were still preoccupied, but it wouldn’t last long.

Marco yanked Sandro to the exit, tore open the gate, and swung it closed. He kept his grip on Sandro and ran him to the umbrella pine.

Elisabetta showed herself, taking Sandro’s hand. “Sandro!”

“Elisabetta?” Sandro asked, shocked.

But there was no time for conversation.

Marco, Sandro, and Elisabetta raced into the darkness.