Chapter 1

ONE

SEPTEMBER 1943

There's something not right…

Giulia murmured the sentence to herself as she steered the pattino toward the approaching shore. She'd been rowing for hours, ever since she'd been awoken by the searing sun, its rays warming the flat, slatted plank where she sat. She was exhausted, having slept only briefly last night. She'd tried not to sleep at all, knowing it was dangerous to let herself drift off, but ultimately she'd been unable to keep her eyes open. The night sky over the Mediterranean had been like a soft blanket, its color strangely light for that hour. "Why is the sky that color?" her younger sister, Emilia, had asked when they'd left the mainland five weeks ago on their way to the Castello del Poeta, the grand, legendary castle at the summit of Parissi Island.

Their older sister, Annalisa, had praised Emilia's curiosity, but Giulia had shushed her, impatient with her chattiness. How she longed right now to hear her younger sister's nagging questions so she could respond more generously. She refused to think about where Emilia might have ended up. But what she couldn't shake from her mind was the look on Annalisa's face when the two of them said goodbye to one another, aware that the Nazis were fast approaching and Parissi Island was about to be stormed. They'd been forced to separate and flee, with no way to know where Emilia was or whether she was safe. They'd had no choice but to take their chances and hope they'd all reunite in America.

There's something not at all right , Giulia said to herself once more, adding the "not at all" for emphasis. Because it was clear that the land mass ahead wasn't Anzalea, the port town on the mainland, as she'd believed earlier that it was. No, it was just the edge of another of the small islands that dotted this section of the Mediterranean. The boat must have strayed off course during the night as she slept. She would need to reorient herself and aim for Anzalea again. But could she make it to the mainland before sunset? It would be too dangerous to spend another night out on the water.

She wiped the thick coating of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. The pattino 's oars seemed as resistant to her efforts as the stone wall bordering the castle would have been, had she tried to push it across the wide courtyard. Her arms were so tired that she didn't know how much longer she could continue moving her little boat through the choppy water. She'd finished all the food she'd been able to snare on her way out of the castle—some chunks of bread and cheese and bunches of grapes from the vast kitchen. She'd finished the carafe of water she'd grabbed from one of the beautifully set dining tables, with crystal goblets poised to the right of the large plates and heavy silverware laid neatly on lace napkins. The settings hadn't been touched. No one had eaten lunch that day.

And maybe worst of all, the toe of one of her thin shoes was stained with blood, which was seeping through the leather and onto the floorboards. She'd sliced her foot, right through the shoe, on a protruding piece of wood on the castle's rear dock as she was fleeing. Nobody used that dock much, and it needed repair. She'd been the only one who'd run in that direction. The only one who knew there was one lone pattino moored there.

With a sigh, she dropped the oars near her feet and studied the island ahead as she tried unsuccessfully to clench her fists, fighting the swelling and stiffness in her fingers. She had no idea who lived here or what they might make of her. Or maybe the island was uninhabited, although that was unlikely, as she could see some kind of structure, maybe a house, on a hill behind the line of olive trees a short distance from the shore. It was risky to pull her boat onto the sand, but she had no choice. She was lucky to have made it this far. The pattino was designed for short fishing expeditions and occasional trips to the mainland. Though elegant and easy to handle, it was old and not particularly seaworthy, her friend Vincenzo had warned her. With each hour she'd been out on the water since leaving yesterday, she'd been testing fate.

She lifted the oars once again and maneuvered toward the shoreline, thankful for the times she'd snuck down to the rear boathouse and Vincenzo had taken her out on the water. They'd been having fun, the two of them, but she was glad now that she'd been attentive to the way he'd handled the small craft. Even though all she'd wanted to do on those afternoons was enjoy their silly banter, their childish flirtations. Annalisa thought the two of them might be falling in love, but Giulia knew that wasn't the case. Yes, she and Vincenzo were in love—but not with each other; no, they were in love with the castle, the sea, the sky, the simple reality of being young, carefree, and full of youthful dreams. The days had been sweet, the air filled with the scent of the oranges Vincenzo had brought for them to share. What fun they'd had, two lighthearted friends aboard the little boat, sailing on the translucent blue water.

She thought now about her friend. Where was he? With Emilia? Had he found her, as he'd promised to do ?

Please be safe , she whispered. Please get to America with Emilia .

She hoped so much that they'd be there when she arrived. Because she would get to America, too. To New York. Her stopping here was merely a delay and not an irreversible change of plans. She had to believe that they were each as determined as she was. Emilia and Vincenzo. Annalisa and her beloved Aldo; and Uncle Patricio. They all intended to be together again, and they would, if everyone remained steadfast.

The boat reached the shore, and she placed the oars down again. Then she stood and lifted her injured foot in the bloodied shoe. It had hurt more yesterday; now there was only a dull, rhythmic throb that somehow felt more dangerous than the previous sharp sting. Slowly, she lifted her foot past the rim of the pattino and placed it on the sandy shore. She paused, straddling the edge of the boat, one foot in and one foot out. She didn't think her bad foot could hold her weight, so she leaned over to grip the rim of the boat with her hands. Her fingers—those once-smooth, slim fingers that had always garnered compliments—were inflexible. Her finger pads were white and wrinkled from the water that had splashed fiercely as she rowed. Her dress was soaked, too, and seawater dripped down from the ends of her honey-colored hair. She swung her good foot down next to her bad one and stood up straight.

What island was this? Who might live in that house she'd spied as she approached the shore? She hoped she hadn't spent these hours fleeing the Nazis only to end up in another Nazi stronghold. With any luck, the Nazi forces were only interested in one island in this region, Parissi Island, because of the magnificent castle where she and her sisters had been living for the past five weeks. The castle's head housekeeper, Signora Russo, had asserted a few nights ago as she supervised the preparations for dinner that the Nazis would struggle to maintain control over Rome while fighting the Allied forces coming up from the South. So presumably they had no resources available to go after other islands in this part of the Mediterranean.

Giulia felt a fresh burst of blood ooze from her toe. Trembling and dizzy, she sank down to the sand and folded her legs in front of her. Annalisa would scold her if she could see her now. She'd tell her to get up and pull herself together. She wouldn't understand how hard that could be when you were scared and in pain. Annalisa would never sink down onto the ground. She was too strong, too driven for that. Giulia closed her eyes, missing everything about her older sister—even her bossiness. Things weren't meant to have ended up like this. She and her sisters always stuck together. How had they come to decide that the best route forward was to head out independently and regroup in America? She'd never felt so abandoned and alone.

Opening her eyes, she looked toward the sea in the direction from which she'd come. There was no castle in the distance. It was as though it had disappeared, and the last five weeks had been a dream. Had it ever existed? All that luxury and brilliance? And the luscious foods and desserts and wine? Balls and concerts in the evenings, with an orchestra playing and couples dancing on the gleaming marble floor, the men in tuxedos and the women in gowns—she and her sisters included. Gems sparkling in their upswept hair.

And now she was all by herself. She knew she should keep trying for the mainland. That was where she'd be safest. But she didn't have the strength to get back into the boat and row on. Should she risk taking a rest? She could hide among the nearby bushes along the shore. She could try to hide the boat there, too. But what if the mainland was still quite far off? She could never survive another night in these wet clothes with no water?—

"Hello!" sang out a young female voice, its tone confident and musical. "I'm Marilene Ciani, and I'm in charge of this island. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"