Sons of Thunder (33 page)

That girl had died so long ago, Sofia had forgotten that she existed. She tied up the wound on her hand again—the last thing she needed was him examining her scars—as she walked over to him. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Please, Dino, don’t wake. Don’t cry.
“Zoë will be back any second. She shouldn’t see you.”

He nodded, followed her outside, down the path behind the well, the goat corral, into the olive grove.

He stopped her with a hand to her arm, but she shook out of it. “Sofia—”

She folded her arms. From here, she had a view of the entire city, the azure domes of the Greek Orthodox church, the creamy white houses vined with pink explosions of bougainvillea, their pomegranate roofs caressed by orange trees pregnant with fruit. The fishing boats, red and green, tied to the long piers, filled up the crescent bay, and a burnished
beach rimmed the Ionian blue sea. Zante had nearly tripled in size during her time in America—she wondered if Markos recognized it now. She drew in a breath, let the thick, salty air brace her. “I think they’re hiding something at the monastery of the Virgin Anafonitria.”

Oh—why had she said that? But perhaps it was for the best. Let Markos accomplish the mission he’d come here for…

“How do you know?”

She let her words be as brutal as possible. “An SS colonel told me last night that if I wanted to leave with him, he’d keep me safe. I just needed to go to the monastery. I’m guessing that if he has something of value, he’d probably keep it there.”

Markos drew in a long breath. Silence pulsed between them, and she didn’t know who she’d wounded more.

Finally, “Do you want to go with him?” His voice so soft, it shouldn’t have hurt, really.

She fiddled with the knot that tied her bandage. “No. But—I should. Start over.”

“Do you love him—”

“Of course I don’t love him!” She whirled, the power of her words shaking her. “
Love him
? He gave me an ultimatum. He would live in my house, eat my food, and—” She closed her eyes, longing to chase away the memory of him standing at the door to Dino’s room, his voice a whisper as he told her what he could do to Dino. Starting with sending him to an orphanage.

“No. I don’t love him.” She whisked a tear from her cheek. Raised her chin. She hadn’t a clue as to how to sort out her sins.

Markos’s jaw was so tight she thought it might shatter. His eyes glistened. “I really want to walk in that house and kill him.”

“Of course you do. Because that’s how you solve your problems, isn’t it? Anger. Violence.”

He flinched. “I deserve that. But I’m not that man anymore, Sofia. Even if that is exactly what this colonel deserves.”

He turned away, wiped a finger across his cheekbone, and that undid her, stripped the tension from her voice.

“I had to make a choice, Markos.”

“I am not stupid. I understand war. But—I want you to come with me when I leave, Sofia. I—I’m so sorry that I didn’t come back to you. But I had a good reason.”

She held up her hand. “Really, I don’t care—”

“I couldn’t. I was in
jail.
And then—”

“I don’t care!” She pushed against his chest, slapped it hard with both hands. “
I don’t care
!”

He grabbed her wrists, even as his face crumpled. “But I do! I never left you, Sofia. Not in my heart. I thought of you every single day, and if I had known you were here, on Zante, I would have returned the second I found out. I swear to you—” His voice shook, and he scraped it out barely above a whisper. “I never left you.”

She drew in a breath at the red in his eyes, but she couldn’t bear to let his words in. No. Wrenching her wrists from his grip, she stepped back. “But I left
you
.”

His eyes narrowed, ever so briefly.

She stepped away from him, steeled her voice. “I left you. You were dead to me. You still are. I don’t…” She made a fist, punched her chest. “There’s nothing left in here for you, Markos. Nothing.”

“I don’t believe that—”

“Why would I wait for a man who is dead?” She spat on the ground. “I moved on. Found someone else.”

“The colonel?” His eyes flashed. “He means nothing.”

“How about your brother. Dino.
Does he mean anything
?”

She couldn’t have hit him with more crippling effect. He sucked in a breath, recoiled. And then his face buttoned down hard.

There. See. She knew he’d be horrified—

“I know. I know about you and Dino, Sofia. And I understand.”

Nothing. No words came to her even as his swept in and scooped out her breath. She held in her gasp, however—prided herself on that.

“And, you should know—the last thing he ever said to me was that he loved you.”

The…
last thing
…

“What do you mean…?”

But she saw it on his face, every nuance of his phrase.

Oh.

“Oh!” She cupped her hand to her mouth. “
Oh!”

She bent over, wanting to retch—if she’d had anything in her stomach, she might have. Markos touched her shoulders, but she backed away, her arm out. “Don’t touch me.”

“Sof—”

“Don’t touch me!” Dino.
Oh
—She saw his smile as he met her outside the theater, the way he’d tackled Reg, in her honor. Tasted his breath on her skin as he’d held her. Yes, she’d loved him too, as she could.

Oh. Turning, she stalked away, her legs shaking. She stared at Zante, the cool blue of the sea that he loved to swim in, the taverna and little house where he’d sat in the window and sometimes watched her. The fishing boat he loved to helm, when Markos wasn’t looking.

She finally slid to the ground, her back to the wall, and clasped her knees to her body, rocking. Markos hovered, finally sinking beside her. “I’m sorry. I should have told you better. I should have prepared you.” He winced, took off his hat. “This isn’t going how I’d hoped.”

“How you hoped?” She had no strength to her voice. “What did you hope, Markos?”

“I don’t know. I guess—I’m a fool—”

“What? Did you think that you’d come here, tell me you’re sorry you never showed up, and I’d fall into your arms, that finally we’d have that happy ending you promised me?” She didn’t care how her tone might cut him. “I’m not that girl—I don’t believe in dreams anymore, Markos. I—I can’t afford them.”

Markos met her eyes, his hard. “Dreams are all I have.”

She shook her head. “Then you’re a fool.”

“Why? Because I never gave up on you, on the hope of seeing you again, on loving you?”

“No. Because you believed I was worth that.”

His eyes absorbed her words, and he recoiled, but she held him fast with her eyes.

“I am not the naïve girl who dressed up like a flapper to make you jealous. I am—a woman who’s bartered her body for safety, more than once. The Sofia that you rescued on the boat, the one you tried to save—she died with you, Markos. You don’t want this one.”

He reached up, and his thumb cast aside a tear she didn’t know she’d leaked. “Yes, I do. I want the Sofia who does what she has to in order to survive. The woman who could save the world with her song—”

“I don’t have any songs inside me, Markos.”

“Who risks her life to save her people. This Sofia is beautiful and brave and—”

“Broken.”

He cupped her cheek. “So am I. Can’t we help each other heal?” He smiled, and her gaze went to the scar on his cheek, whitened against
the scrub of the sun. Oh—no. Still, her hand went to her cheek, her fingers folding into his, and for a moment, she let his words linger.

No. This she could not survive.

“Don’t love me, Markos. It’s too late for us.”

She got up, but he caught her hand. “It’s not too late. It’s our second chance—”

“You should know that the colonel is hunting the partisans. If you go to the monastery—well, he might just find you. I’m going to go and see what I can find out.”

“What? No! You’re already in way over your head.” He found his feet, caught her other arm. She winced as his thumb dug into her bruise.

He let her go as if she might be aflame. Then he took her arm, raised her sleeve, examined the bruise. His tone came out lethal. “Who did this to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The terrible expression on his face made her turn away. She didn’t want this Markos, the one who could stir dead feelings to life, who could make her feel as if she—as if she mattered.

“Go away from me, Markos.”

“No.”

“You always have to be the hero, Markos. Well, maybe I’m tired of watching you try and rescue me.”

“But this is what I do—let me do it. Besides, I know God will deliver us.”

Poor, naïve Markos. Still holding on to his mother’s hope.

“Let me handle this myself. Please—I can’t watch you die again.” And there it was. The past, in ugly shards between them. Markos drew in a breath—her own felt racked over shattered glass.

“I’m not afraid of dying. I think that might be preferable to living without you, Sof.” Only the words sounded angry, even ferocious, and in the wake of them, he put his hand over his eyes, shook his head.

She didn’t—couldn’t—give him a chance to soften his tone.

“Well, you’re going to have to. Because you being here is just—a reminder of everything we went through. So I want you to leave. Please, if you care about me, you’ll stay far, far away.”

Her words must have sunk in because, as she stumbled away, he didn’t come after her.

Are you sure this is a good idea, Sofia?

Zoë’s words barged into her head even as Sofia leaned her bicycle against a poplar tree, for a moment letting the shadow from the mountain enclose her. The monastery nestled into a foothill and overlooked the ocean, the golden sands of Navagio Beach. Through the archway of the fifteenth-century stone tower that guarded the entrance, she could make out the domed basilica of the cathedral, a long building with a stone-tiled roof. And in front of a smaller chapel, the ominous outline of a black two-door coupe.

Just like the colonel’s scout car. She remembered when she’d stood on the hill overlooking the city and watched the Germans unload their ships, little beetles invading their island.

Now she curled her hands around her waist. Please, let this work.

Yes, she could agree it was brazen. But for the first time in three years, she wondered if maybe she could use her, well, relationship with the colonel to really—help.

Maybe even save herself from being stoned on the streets, Dino in her frail arms, when the Germans left them with nothing but crumbs.

Perhaps she would even save Markos’s life in the process. That should count for something too.

She rubbed her hands on her arms, pulled in a breath. Smoothed her navy dress, one she’d purchased in Minneapolis. She’d even tied up her long hair, rouged her face, tidied her lips.

Stupid, so stupid…

She walked up to the guard at the gate, armed with the colonel’s spoken invitation. The guard seemed younger than her, ruddy, shaven face, reddish hair. Nothing in his gaze bespoke anything but curiosity.

And yes, she let him drag his attention over her.

“I’m here to see Colonel Kessler,” she said. “I’m—a friend. He told me I could come here if—if I was afraid.”

His eyebrow tweaked up, and he drew in a breath. “I don’t know if he is here, but you can check in.” He nodded to the smaller chapel, with the scout car at the entrance. “There.”

She had to dig deep past her quivering body to find the strength to walk under the archway and into the courtyard of the monastery.

In the early evening, the cedar and spruce trees dragged shaggy shadows across the yard. At the door to the office, she glanced back at the guard, gave him a flick of her hand when she found his eyes fixed on her.

A fan blew in the empty office. The Third Reich had swept away any vestige of faith—a swastika hung from between two windows where there might have been a cross. And where saints’ faces had hung on the walls, pictures of the fuehrer and his henchmen.

A tribute to evil. The thought pulsed in her even as she listened for presence. “Hello?”

She expected someone to appear in the doorway leading to an anteroom—intended for a priest perhaps, but now turned office. No one answered her call.

She glanced back outside. The guard had turned away, and perhaps in that move she found the boldness that had been simmering inside her since her argument with Markos.

She slipped outside, and before he could turn, before she could stop herself, she secreted herself between the chapel and an outbuilding. She slipped inside the outbuilding, listening to her breath echo off the cement floor. It seemed a bathing room of sorts, with a drain in the center, a trough for water.

Evening crept into the yard, over a long building with an overhang and porch. A row of tiny windows stared at her without life, with one large door on the end bolted shut. Probably the monastic cells.

From a two-story stone building next to it, a German officer stepped out of a door, pulled it shut behind him, and crossed the yard.

Sofia’s heart thrummed in her mouth. She didn’t breathe until she heard the thump of his feet in the chapel.