Leo obeyed without thought, tossing his keys to his father.
Mr. Cecchino caught the keys in mid-air. He spun on his boot, hustling toward Leo’s pickup.
“Where are you going?” Leo shouted.
“I’m going to find Dal and your sister.”
Words died on Leo’s tongue. Dal and Lena were in Rossi.
His father slammed the truck door and sped down the road. He was gone in seconds, a trail of dirt drifting into the sky the only sign of his passing.
A thousand thoughts swirled through Leo’s head. How did his father intend to find Lena and Dal?
If things were bad in Bastopol, they had to be ten times worse in Rossi. It was a real city with over fifty thousand people. It was nothing like the tiny town of Bastopol. What if the Soviets had—?
Leo shook himself. Focus. He had to focus. His father was gone. Lena and Dal were in Rossi. Adam was bleeding out in their driveway. Adam was the priority.
“Come on.” He hustled the boys into the house, Adam slung between them.
Anton kicked the door open, calling, “Nonna! Nonna!”
Their grandmother appeared in the kitchen doorway. Confusion creased her brow as she took in the bleeding teenage boy. Lars’s hysterical shouts of, “The Russians are here!” echoed through the house.
Nonna’s face set into a hard mask. “Bullet wound?”
“Yeah,” Leo said. God, Adam was one heavy guy.
“Where’s your father?”
“He left for Rossi. To find Lena and Dal.”
They lugged Adam into the kitchen. Leo swept an arm across the table, sending newspapers and a basket of napkins scattering to the floor. They laid Adam out on the table.
“First aid kit,” Nonna snapped. She set to work with a pair of scissors, snipping off Adam’s jersey.
Leo tore through the house and threw open the cupboards in the utility room. He rifled frantically through the contents, flinging things to the floor in his search.
Anton joined him, the two of them tearing through the cupboards in search of the first aid kit. Where the hell was the thing? It was in here somewhere.
“Got it!” Leo snatched up a small white metal box with a red cross on the front. He sprinted back into the kitchen with Anton at his heels.
Lars came into the kitchen, eyes dilated with panic. “The Russians are here,” he shrilled. “They’re attacking. They’re killing us! They—”
Nonna delivered a stinging slap to his face. She delivered a second one for good measure, the force of each slap leaving a bright red mark on Lars’s cheek.
“You are among snipers now,” she snarled up at the big teenage linebacker. “Snipers remain cool and calm under pressure. No more screaming. Shut up and act like a man.”
Sniper. That was the family namesake. Cecchino in Italian translated to sniper. Leo’s great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather had fought in the Napoleonic Wars. He’d been so damn good at shooting enemy soldiers that he’d eventually taken his moniker as a surname.
Nonna shoved Lars into a chair. He plunked down without a sound, eyes wide as he stared at her.
“You.” Nonna stabbed a finger at Bruce. “Call all the parents and let them know you’re safe.” She snatched the first aid box out of Leo’s hands. “Get me the grappa,” she ordered. “And clean towels.”
Anton went for his father’s liquor cabinet in the living room. Leo dashed back into the utility room for clean towels. Adam’s groaning filled the house.
By the time he returned to the kitchen, Nonna had finished cutting open Adam’s shirt. Blood gushed out on the table from his shoulder.
“Leonardo, grab his ankles,” she ordered.
Nonna grabbed the grappa bottle while Leo obediently grabbed Adam’s ankles. Keeping one hand firmly pressed on Adam’s shoulder, she pulled the cork out with her teeth. She upended the bottle, pouring it over Adam’s shoulder.
Adam yelped and jerked.
“Hold him,” Nonna snapped.
Leo increased his grip on the boy’s ankles. He stared at perfect new yellow Nike shoes that were now marred with blood. He would have killed to have shoes like that back in high school.
“Bullet went clean through,” Nonna reported. “That’s a good thing. I just have to stitch him up. Antony, get the needle and thread from my sewing machine. Here, son, take a sip of this.” She cradled Adam’s head, lifting the grappa bottle to his lips.
Leo watched his grandmother coax the boy into drinking several long swallows from the bottle. He remembered the time she’d caught him trying to sneak a sip out of father’s glass. She’d delivered a stinging slap to his bottom he’d never forget.
“That’s not for you, Leonardo. Grappa is for men, not boys.”
And here she was, pouring it down Adam’s throat like it was cough syrup. Leo took that as a bad sign. Nonna clearly wanted Adam drunk.
Lars had slid from the chair to the floor, thick legs sprawled out in front of him. His eyes glazed as he watched Nonna work. Sweat dripped down his temples and his skin was pale. He looked sick, but Leo chalked it up to shock.
Bruce was glued to the wall, attempting to get in touch with his and Lars’s parents. No one was picking up on the other line, but he kept dialing.
Nonna dumped grappa onto her hands before taking the needle and thread from Anton.
“Have you done this before?” Leo asked.
Nonna never looked up as she threaded her needle. “I survived the Nazis in Italy, Leonardo. You didn’t do that without learning a few things along the way. Antony, hold his shoulders while I work.”
No one said a word as Anton moved into place.
Leo watched his grandmother in awe. Nonna had cleaned up plenty of family cuts and scrapes over the years, but he’d never seen her like this before. She was perfectly focused, her hands rock steady and sure in their work. If the massive amount of blood and twitching, moaning teenage boy bothered her, she didn’t let it show.
“Now flip him over.”
