Chapter 3
1042 Words
Moretti Estate, Piemonte – A Few Days Later
The cellar had become another world. A hidden cocoon of dust and candlelight beneath the grandeur of the villa—where time moved differently, quietly, as though the war outside were nothing but a faraway storm.
Sofia visited every night, slipping through the gardens in the dark, always listening for the crunch of boots or the murmur of foreign tongues. The Germans had grown more persistent lately, roaming the countryside in search of partisans, deserters… and downed pilots.
James was healing slowly. The gash on his temple had scabbed over, and Sofia had managed to fashion a crude splint for his leg using old wood from a broken wine rack. She was no nurse, but her hands were steady, and her resolve unshakable.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he said one evening as she wrapped a fresh bandage around his arm.
She looked up from her work. “I’m not doing this for praise.”
“I know. That’s what makes it worth saying.”
He had that way of looking at her—like she was more than she believed herself to be. It unnerved her. Excited her. Frightened her in ways the war never could.
“You don’t even know who I am,” she said, brushing her hair back with a hand still stained faintly with iodine.
“I know you risked your life to save mine,” he replied. “I know you’re clever and brave and too stubborn to leave me here alone.”
Sofia raised a brow. “You’re lucky I haven’t smothered you in your sleep yet.”
He grinned. “Ah, now there’s the fire I’ve come to expect.”
On the third day, Sofia woke to find soldiers at the edge of the vineyard. Two German officers and a local interpreter. Her father was already with them, gesturing with wide, practiced hands as he spoke.
“Routine inspection,” he told her when she stepped onto the veranda, feigning surprise at her presence. “They claim to be looking for smugglers. Or spies. Or ghosts, for all I know.”
Sofia kept her expression calm, but her heart pounded beneath her ivory blouse.
“They’ll find nothing,” she said, eyes narrowing as the soldiers wandered too close to the grove.
Don Vittorio shot her a warning glance. “Careful, Sofia.”
“I’m not afraid of them,” she whispered.
“You should be,” he replied darkly. “Pride is dangerous these days.”
That night, she descended into the cellar more cautiously than usual. James sat against the wall, a candle burning low beside him, his fingers flipping slowly through the pages of the novel she’d brought—The Betrothed, by Alessandro Manzoni.
“Is it bad?” she asked, setting down a flask of water.
He looked up, smiling. “No, it’s beautiful. Sad, but beautiful. Like you.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s twice now you’ve called me beautiful. You’ll need new material soon.”
“I haven’t even begun,” he said, and there was something in his voice—something deeper than charm.
She turned away before he could see the heat rise in her cheeks. “There were soldiers here today. They’re getting closer.”
He nodded slowly, the mirth fading from his eyes. “Then we’ll have to be smarter. I’ll stay quiet. Still. I don’t want to be the reason your family suffers.”
“My father wouldn’t risk anything for anyone,” she said, too quickly. “I’m not sure he even believes in causes anymore. Just appearances.”
James tilted his head. “But you do?”
“I don’t know what I believe,” she said. “Only that I couldn’t watch you die in a ditch like some forgotten thing. That had to mean something.”
There was a long pause.
“It does,” James said softly. “It means everything.”
The following evening, a storm rolled in—heavy rain and wind, loud enough to drown out the sounds of the soldiers’ boots should they return. Sofia moved through the halls with purpose, her candle flickering as she reached the cellar door.
But it was already open.
Her breath caught.
“James?” she called out, barely louder than the wind.
No answer.
She hurried down the stairs, heart hammering. And then she saw him—not in bed, but standing, leaning heavily on a makeshift crutch. Soaked, exhausted, and shaking.
“Are you insane?” she whispered, rushing to him. “You could’ve—”
“I heard voices,” he said through chattering teeth. “Above me. I thought maybe—maybe they’d found us.”
She eased him back down, wrapping him in the dry blanket she’d brought.
“You’ll freeze before the Germans get to you,” she muttered, but there was no anger in it—only fear.
He caught her hand.
“Sofia… if I don’t make it—”
“Don’t,” she said, fierce. “Don’t talk like that.”
“I have to. Because this world—this war—it tears people apart before they even know what they mean to each other. And I need you to know…”
She met his gaze, and in it, she saw not the soldier, not the stranger—but a man who had been cast from the sky into her world like a star falling just for her.
“I need you to know that I would’ve fallen a thousand times, if it meant landing here. With you.”
The words hit her like a thunderclap.
And slowly, silently, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.
The kiss was brief, trembling, stolen like a secret from a world that did not want them to have joy. But it was real.
More real than anything she had ever known.
Outside, the storm raged on.
But in the depths of the old wine cellar, fate had already chosen its path.
And Sofia Moretti, once just a girl in silk and silence, now stood at the edge of something much more dangerous than war.
Something called love.
- Writer
