Sons of Thunder (35 page)

“We also know what happens to the villages who rile the Germans.” The voice came from Cosmos. She’d only met him twice; both times he was guarding the radio shack. A taller man, with a scar down his jaw, wounds in his eyes. “Have you forgotten the massacres at Kos, and Cephallonia, at Kommeno and Kalavryta? Women and children, burning in a school. The entire male population—massacred. All reprisals against partisan attacks.”

“Why do we fight, if not for these people?”

“Haven’t we done enough? Are these people worth our lives? The lives of our families?”

She didn’t know who said it, but she put as much horror into her expression as she could. “And Ari and Nikos were murdered for a
radio
. These are
people
, not money. Aren’t they a thousand times more valuable?”

Lucien’s mouth tightened into a knot. He glanced around the room. “No one is arguing that. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? If there
is
a real treasure out there, we have to find it, and soon. The Gestapo is hunting us, and the truth is, we need the money. We’re not the only partisan group, you know. And some of them are siding with the communists. We just may have another war here, Sofia, and we need to be ready.”

She didn’t know this man. The boy whose antics had made her laugh.
The boy who had grieved his best friend. The one who understood suffering better than any of them. “You make me sick.”

“Sofia.” Markos stepped up to her. “Of course we’ll free them.” He glanced at Lucien. “Of course.”

Lucien spit on the floor. “How? They’re hunting us all over the city. If they don’t move them tonight, they’ll move them tomorrow, or maybe the day after. But we can’t possibly rescue them and find—”

“We strike tomorrow night,” Markos said.

“And the colonel?” Lucien said, his tone equally lethal.

Sofia had the sense of two dogs, their nape’s burred. “I’ll distract the colonel—”

“What? No!” Markos rounded on her. “Have you lost your mind?”

“I—I—” Maybe she had—or at least her heart, although his tone left her strangely raw.

“No.” His eyes stopped her, held her, a look in them she hadn’t seen since—well, since he was back-dropped by the dark frothy ocean. An expression that preceded promises.

She turned away before the wounds opened.

Lucien, however, nodded. “It’s a great idea.”

“It’s suicide—he’ll suspect her!”

“No, he won’t—he’s in love with her.” Lucien kept his eyes on Markos, an odd smirk on his face.

“He’s not in love with me,” Sofia said softly. “But I can distract him.” She looked away from Markos when she said it.

But from her periphery, she saw Markos close his eyes, as if unable, also, to look at her. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not letting you risk your life—”

“She risks her life every day. Besides, it’s not your decision,” Lucien said tightly. “It’s Sofia’s.”

She stared at the partisans, the way they regarded her. Some with cool eyes, others something more like zeal. “Of course I’ll do it.”

Markos held her a long time with his gaze. Finally he walked over to the window. Stared outside, his chest rising and falling.

Two men filled carafes with retsina, carried them around the room, filling glasses. A bouzouki player joined the musician in the corner.

Sofia turned down the wine but sank into a chair as the men brought out food, filled plates.

Markos leaned against the wall, arms folded, his expression so familiar, it could take her apart if she looked too close.

As if she’d reached into the past and plucked the moment he’d seen her singing, her hair bobbed, Uncle Jimmy crowing in the front row, right before the raid on Tony’s. He looked then, and now, as if he didn’t recognize her.

Perhaps he didn’t.

Too bad. She’d told him the truth from the beginning. Poison.

Around her, the men broke out into song. Greeks. She’d missed the celebration, even in the face of grief. They found life in the middle of tragedy.

Round one, two. They toasted to Ari, then Nikos, toasted to freedom and women—she blushed at that.

Then they hooked arms and began to dance the kaslamantiano.

Still Markos stood, away from the drinking, the party, his arms folded.

“C’mon, Sofia!” Cosmos grabbed her up, inserted her into the dance line. She allowed herself to laugh—after all, she bled Greek too—and even reached out for a glass of proffered retsina from the bottles they’d scrounged up from—well, probably her own wine cave. It bit her throat going down but warmed her through, shook loose the claws of despair.

Slowly she ceased to care how the night crept in through the open window, how the stars pricked the canopy above, the smell of midnight in the air. She danced, letting herself go, laughing, round and round and—

She lost her balance, tripped, fell.

Cosmos caught her. Nearly as big as Markos, he swooped her into his arms, twirled her around. She hooked an arm around his neck.

He laughed then, and before she could stop him, pressed a beer-seasoned kiss to her mouth.

She stilled under his touch, even as he kissed her again. “Cosmos—”

But the music played and he danced with her in his arms. She pushed against him. “Put me down.”

“No, dance with me,
moro mou
.” He bent his head for another kiss.

She wasn’t his baby. “Put me down—” But she didn’t have to finish her sentence, because an arm curled around her and another pushed Cosmos back.

“Let her go.”

She swayed ever so slightly against Markos even as his arm curled around her. Cosmos backed off, hand up, eyes suddenly sharp. “Calm down, Markos. She’s not your girl anymore, you know. She’s”—he glanced at her, winked, something ugly in it—“she’s a partisan.
Serving
her country.”

It was the laugh at the end, so clearly not humor, that dried her mouth.

Beside her, every muscle in Markos’s body turned rigid as he stepped back, still holding her. A kind of danger sparked, simmered in his quiet voice. “You will never know courage like Sofia’s. Be glad I don’t rip you apart for your words.”

Cosmos, however, laughed again, glanced at Lucien. “Go ahead.
Isn’t that what you Stavroses do best? Steal women then kill anyone who gets in your way?”

The music stopped, and only Markos’s heavy breathing filled the silence.

Markos—please…
She saw it then, the explosion, the way his fist had connected with Uncle Jimmy’s, shattered his nose. And right behind it, heard his moans.

She closed a hand over his arm.

But Markos didn’t explode, didn’t even step forward. “Yes. Once, perhaps. But I’m not that person anymore. I left him—back in prison.”

Prison. He’d said that before, but now the word sank into her bones.
Prison.

“But I guarantee you that if you talk about her that way again, I’ll find him. Just for you.”

Cosmos flinched even as he picked up a beer stein, raising it to Sofia. “You’re not worth it.”

This much she knew.

Cosmos spit on the floor at her feet, turned away, sloshing his beer.

Lucien, however, hadn’t moved, his eyes red, his fists white, his eyes on Markos. “You’re a liar. You’ve been back twenty-four hours, and look who you have in your arms.”

Sofia jerked.

“Leave her out of this, Lucien. You hate me—I get that. But this is not about Sofia.”

“No. It was about you, and how you always had to be the hero.”

Lucien acted so fast, Sofia nearly didn’t see it, but suddenly she’d jarred her hip hard on the stone floor, and Lucien had a knife pressed to Markos’s neck.

Markos didn’t move, despite the beads of blood at his throat. His chest rose and fell…rose…fell.

Sweat trailed down Lucien’s face. “Tell me why I shouldn’t have my revenge right now.”

Markos didn’t even blink. “Go ahead, Lucien. I’m not going to fight you.”

Sofia closed her eyes, a scream burning her lungs. Of course it would come to this—it had to—

The switchblade clicked. Sofia opened her eyes to Lucien stepping back. He glanced at Sofia, a cold look that reached into her and told her exactly what she already knew. Poison, and she might now get them all killed. Then he turned his back and stalked out of the house.

Markos pulled her from the floor, his hand hot in hers as he enclosed it. “I’ll walk you home.”

He brushed past Cosmos as he left. Sofia didn’t look at him.

But his cold voice snaked out behind them. “You might want to find out who the father is to the little mongrel she’s hiding up there in her villa, Captain, before you start hearing wedding bells.”

CHAPTER 26

“I don’t want to know.”

Apparently Markos had let his steps distance him from his disgust, because she heard not a trace of it lingering in his voice.

Mongrel.
She clenched her teeth against the bite of Cosmos’s word.

She rubbed her arms, exhaustion buzzing through her as she followed him toward the villa, rocks spilling under her feet. He reached back for her, but she ignored his help.

Behind them, the city lights pricked the nightscape. The breeze reaped the scent of bougainvillea twining up the stone walls, the sea-salt air mixed with a touch of brine. Above it all filtered the fragrance of the sea daffodils. So delicate, and yet she could smell the lily woven through all the others.

“Tell me about him, though.” Markos slowed his step, fell in beside her.

“My son?”

Markos nodded, his arms swinging. For a second, she felt them again around her, pulling her away from Cosmos. Back into his embrace. She shook it away.

“He’s…everything. My life.”

“I would imagine he has your eyes.” He tried a smile, something tender in it as he glanced at her.

She looked away, offering nothing more.

“How old is he?”

“Old enough to miss me tonight. I am just hoping I can offer the colonel a story—”

“We can rescue these people without your help, Sofia.” Markos’s tone shifted, back into something harder, although it lacked the bite from before.

“Perhaps. But maybe I can buy you time.”

Markos reached over then and took her hand. And, heaven help her, she let him. Relished his strong grip around hers.

He walked with her in silence.

The silvery leaves of the olive grove shimmered under the moonlight. All around them, cicadas buzzed, a nearly deafening chorus.

“Were you really in prison?”

“Don’t you think I deserved to be? I did kill Kostas.”

She had no words for that.

“Yes. I got ten years—well, almost. I was lucky, after everything Uncle Jimmy did to get me convicted, that I didn’t get the chair. But it gave me lots of time to think.” He hadn’t released her hand, and now directed her away from the barns, the gate, and toward the stone wall. He sat on it, turned his back to the glittering city, almost eye level with her.

The wind tickled his hair against his neck, his eyes so luminous that she could fall inside. She kept herself away, too tempted to step near for her own good.

“I came back here because, well, somehow I hoped that maybe I could make it right. It felt like a second chance. I wasn’t even sure Lucien would be here. I—never thought I’d find you.”

He reached up, combed her hair from her face, his eyes so tender she had to look away.

“Lucien still hates me, that much is clear.”

“His father is the magistrate. He took over after the mayor was killed. He—has allied himself with the Germans and—well, you know as well as I that Lucien’s had a rough life.”

“Lucien is caught inside his hatred. I know how that feels. It only turns you bitter.”

She looked past him. “This view always reminds me of crossing the ocean—watching the lights glisten on the water.” She wasn’t sure why she’d let that memory drift out, but only he could share that with her.

“I remember.” He took her hair, twined it between his fingers. “I like it long better.”

Oh, yes. The last time he’d seen her, it had been cut just below her jaw line. “Me too.”

“Cosmos is a liar, you know.”

She backed away from him, but still he held her hand.

“Listen to me—”

“No—see, that’s the problem. You don’t get it. No, he’s not. He’s absolutely right.”

“I do get it, Sofia. I really get it.”

Oh. She tugged on her hand, but he had it. He eased her to himself, his hand under her chin, guiding her eyes back to him.

“Oh, why don’t you see what I see?” He shook his head. “Hear me. When Cosmos said you weren’t worth it—he was dead wrong.”

He ran his hand to her face, and yes, she leaned into it. Let it bathe her, if only for this moment.

She met his eyes—definitely a mistake, because he had such amazing eyes, and this time she let herself explore the emotion in them.

“I should have known there was more to God’s plan. I shouldn’t have let my fear of disappointment keep me from trusting Him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I begged God for another chance to keep my promise. But when Dino died…I let myself believe that God didn’t give people like me a second chance—”

“He doesn’t.”

“He does. He does, Sofia. That’s the point. Don’t you see? He doesn’t give us a second chance because we
deserve
it. He does it because that’s who He is, what He is about.”