Nino's Promise (Nino #3) Read online

  NINO’S PROMISE

  BOOK 3

  J. D. KEENE

  To those who have read Nino’s Heart and Nino’s War

  and have encouraged me to continue writing Nino’s story.

  And as always, to my wife, Katie, who is a constant source of wisdom and support.

  CONTENTS

  Map & Cast of Characters

  Cast Of Characters

  1943

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Other Novels in the ‘Nino’ Series

  Also by J.D. Keene

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  MAP & CAST OF CHARACTERS

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Servidei Family

  Nino

  Hannah, Nino’s wife

  Lilia, adopted daughter

  Solomon, infant son

  DiVincenzo Family

  Salvador, Nino Servidei’s father, New York City crime boss

  Maria, Salvador’s wife, Nino’s mother

  Angelo, Nino’s brother

  Tavani Family

  Domenico, father

  Rocco, eldest son

  Benito, youngest son

  Bianchi Family

  Doctor Ricardo Bianchi, director of Christ’s Hospital

  Vito, son, Italian partisan, and Nino’s longtime friend

  Gabrielle, Vito’s wife

  Piccioli Family

  Sophia, mother

  Dante, son

  Rosabell, daughter

  Italian Partisans

  Sergio Sabatini, Vito’s friend

  Chaim Piperno, commander of Yehoshua Brigade

  Giovani Giordano, commander of Mezzano Brigade

  Luigi Longo (Gallo), commander of Garibaldi Brigade

  Other Characters

  Wolfgang Kraus, Waffen-SS Standartenführer, Police Leader in Milan Italy

  Otto Ludwig, Hauptsturmführer, SS Standartenführer Kraus’s aide

  Renzo Carbone, Capomanipolo, Italian Blackshirt

  Father Pasquale Gentile, parish priest assigned to Lucino, Italy

  Talya Tedesco, rescued girl

  Beatrice De Ambrosio, OSS agent

  Otto Scutari, proprietor of Scutari Camera Store

  Nicolina Udinesi, Italian nurse

  Historical Characters

  General William J. Donovan, director of the Office of Strategic Services

  Father Felix Morlion, founder of the Catholic intelligence organization Pro Deo.

  Benito Mussolini, prime minister of Italy

  Luigi Longo (Gallo), Italian partisan, commander of Garibaldi Brigade

  Walter Audisio, Italian partisan, Garibaldi Brigade, claimed credit for the execution of Benito Mussolini.

  Karl Wolf, Obergruppenführer, Supreme SS and Police Leader

  1943

  CHAPTER 1

  Milan, Italy

  Vito Bianchi crouched in the corner of a dark alleyway. Winter had arrived early in Milan, and although the night sky was clear, it was bitterly cold. He cursed the full moon, for it allowed their movement to be seen from a distance. Two exhausted Jewish families, comprised of four adults and three children aged nine to four, huddled behind him. With the help of a network of partisans, it had taken Vito a month to escort them from Rome. Much of their journey had been on foot. He had bribed a farmer to hide them in the rear of his cargo van in order to safely pass through the narrow roads of the Apennine Mountains. During Vito’s absence, allied bombers had inflicted significant destruction to the outer edges of Milan. However, the Duomo di Milano, the five-hundred-year-old cathedral that was a beautiful centerpiece of the city, was still intact.

  “Stay here in the shadows,” Vito whispered to the two families. “I’ll come back for you once I know it’s clear.”

  He approached the street with caution in each step, peering around the right corner, then the left. A strict curfew meant deserted thoroughfares. The only sounds were the whistling wind and his own heartbeat. On the opposite side of the street stood a series of two-story buildings positioned behind a brick wall, shoulder height to Vito. At the end of the wall was a city park. His boots slipped on the ice as he hurried to the buildings, his short, huffed breaths condensed into vapor clouds in the air. Once on the other side of the street, he ducked behind the wall and scanned his surroundings for the safest path to the hospital.

  Footsteps crunching on the icy street grabbed his attention. As they came closer, he heard voices—German voices and a panting dog. Crawling on his hands and knees, Vito glanced around the wall where he saw two Wehrmacht soldiers, one restraining a German shepherd on a leash. As they passed the alley where the two families hid, the dog stopped and sniffed, then guided the soldiers in their direction. The dog’s initial growl was followed by ferocious barking.

  “Kommen Sie heraus,” a soldier shouted, ordering them to come out.

  To distract the soldiers from the families, Vito stood with his hands waving. He yelled, “Nicht schießen, nicht schießen.” Don’t shoot, don’t shoot.

  One of the soldiers aimed his Mauser at Vito.

  The barking intensified, and a child in the alley screamed.

  After the animal was released, it sprinted toward the two families.

  A shot rang out and the dog yelped before falling and sliding across the ice where it lay motionless.

  Both soldiers aimed at Vito and fired as he dove behind the wall. He heard two pings when the bullets ricocheted off the building behind him. Another series of shots rang out in rapid succession. Then it was silent. Vito looked over the wall to see the two Germans lying on the icy street next to the bloody dog corpse.

  Four partisans ran out from behind a row of bushes in the park. Vito met them at the lifeless bodies and embraced the largest of the men, patting him on the back. “Thank you, Sergio, mi amico. How did you know we were here?”

  “We didn’t. I was taking these three to Chaim. They want to join the Yehoshua Brigade.”

  Vito said, “Sorry we don’t have time for introductions, gentlemen, but we need to get these bodies off the street. Can you help me take them to the hospital? My papa will hide them in the morgue until they can be properly disposed of.”

  Sergio turned to the men. “Carry these bodies to Christ’s Hospital. Vito will show you how to get there. I’ll stay behind and cover up this blood in the street. I’ll meet you there later.”

  The two families emerged from the alley. The children were crying.

&nb
sp; Sergio said to Vito, “Only seven this time?”

  CHAPTER 2

  Bronx, New York

  The Church of Our Lady of Mercy

  He was average height with a slim, athletic build. His thick black hair was often unruly. Nino Servidei preferred the front pew, for he believed it kept his family closer to God. In his lap squirmed his toddler, Solomon. Nino held him tight to prevent the boy from jumping down and making an early sprint to the exit as he had done the previous Sunday, much to Nino’s embarrassment. The boy’s high jinks had caused an eruption of laughter among the lighthearted members of the congregation. Those not so lighthearted, specifically an ancient spinster who sat in the rear of the church, had scowled at Nino as he raced for the escaping child.

  Nino’s wife, Hannah, sat next to him, grinning at his inability to control their son. Their six-year-old adopted daughter, Lilia, held her mother’s hand as they bowed for the final prayer.

  The priest ended the service with the words, “May Almighty God bless you, the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.”

  The church was at full capacity, and the congregation moved toward the exit like cattle forced through a chute. Their feet shuffled as they made their way to the door. Solomon fussed in Nino’s arms while reaching back for his mother.

  Hannah scolded him. “Sit still for your papa. You’re too big for Mama to hold you all the way home.”

  Nino scanned the sanctuary, nodding at fellow parishioners, some of whom he knew by name, most he didn’t. He embraced Solomon, kissed his cheek, then checked the church once again. In the rear of the sanctuary, he saw a familiar face, one he had last seen eight months prior. His stomach tightened at the sight of the lone priest in the dim corner. Nino looked at his son, adjusted Solomon’s knit cap, then once again glanced at the man in the shadows of the church.

  Hannah noticed the eye contact between Nino and the mysterious priest. “Who is that?”

  Nino turned around and handed Solomon to Hannah. “Someone I need to speak to.”

  “About what?” As Hannah reached for Solomon, Nino locked eyes with her yet said nothing. “What is it?” she asked. Again, Nino remained silent. “Is it him?”

  As Nino stepped away, Lilia said, “Where’s Papa going?”

  “Hopefully nowhere,” Hannah said.

  After fighting through the crowd, Nino approached Father Felix Morlion, “Good morning, Father.”

  “Good morning, Nino. Your family is lovely.”

  “Yes, they are.” After a pause, Nino added, “Don’t take this personally, but I was hoping I would never see you again. At least not for the reason I believe you are here.”

  “And why do you think I’m here?”

  “You didn’t travel from Washington DC to compliment me on the appearance of my family.”

  Morlion chuckled as he glanced over Nino’s shoulder to confirm no one was nearby. He then whispered, “You are correct. I didn’t.”

  “What does General Donovan want with me?”

  “You will need to receive that information from him.”

  “When does he want to see me?”

  “He would like you to return with me.”

  Nino turned to see Hannah near the exit, staring back at him. Solomon rested his head on her shoulder while Lilia stood next to her. He faced Morlion. “Can you give me until Tuesday?”

  “I’ll purchase two tickets for the Tuesday morning train.”

  Washington DC

  Sleet fell as the Studebaker made its way down Constitution Avenue. Nino listened to the snoring of heavyset Father Felix Morlion as the Lincoln Memorial came into view. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror and grinned at the sleeping padre before moving his eyes to Nino, who was also in the rear seat.

  “How much farther?” Nino asked the second-class petty officer behind the wheel.

  “Less than five minutes, sir.”

  Nino had met with General William J. Donovan, the director of the Office of Strategic Services, on three previous occasions. The last was two weeks after the invasion of Sicily, where they met in Gela on the southern coast of the island. This would mark the first time they’d meet in Donovan’s office. The compound, located on Navy Hill overlooking the Potomac River, consisted of a courtyard encircled by a series of multistory white stucco buildings.

  Nino shook Morlion. “Father, we’re here.”

  Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, Morlion said, “I’m sorry I dozed off, Nino. I guess I wasn’t a very good tour guide for your first trip to Washington.”

  “I’ve seen pictures in books. I was just soaking it all in.”

  The automobile came to a stop in the rear of the smallest and least impressive of the buildings. Nino followed Morlion through an inconspicuous back door, indicating he knew his way around. They climbed to the second floor of a stairwell, the smell of mildew lingering in the air. Once in the corridor, they made their way past a series of offices. Those with open doors were unoccupied. Some had a single desk and chair, others were void of any furniture. They knocked on a door at the end of the hallway. A thin plain-looking woman, who appeared to be close to retirement age, opened the door.

  “Come in, Father,” she said, before acknowledging Nino with a nod. “I’ll let the general know you’re here.”

  General Donovan entered the waiting room, acknowledged Morlion with a pat on the back, then addressed Nino. “It’s good to see you again, Agent Servidei.” He turned to his secretary, “Gladys, please bring us some coffee.”

  She replied, “I believe Father Morlion prefers tea—is that correct, Father?”

  “Thank you for remembering, Gladys,” Morlion said, before following Nino into Donovan’s office.

  The room was spacious. Like the rest of the interior of the building, the walls were painted white, and a circular table occupied the center of the room. Above it, a fan turned at a snail’s pace. Donovan settled in behind a sizable desk. “Were you surprised to hear from us, Agent Servidei?”

  “After my return from Sicily, I went back to my job at the navy yard hoping my life would return to normal. Yet the thought always lingered that I was also on the payroll of the War Department. After Mass on Sunday, I looked up to see Father Morlion and realized the government was looking for a return on their investment.”

  Donovan grinned. “That’s the life of an OSS agent. You never want to get too comfortable.”

  Gladys knocked before entering, set a silver serving set on a corner table, then handed each of the men a cup.

  “Thank you, Gladys,” Donovan said, before watching her exit. Addressing Nino, he continued, “How good of shape are you in?”

  “My injuries from Sicily have healed nicely, sir. I’ve been running every morning and I do my push-ups and sit-ups twice a day. There is a tree in front of my apartment building that has a perfect branch for pull-ups. Other than when you sent me to train in Virginia, I believe I’m in the best shape of my life.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “Am I going back to Italy, sir?”

  Donovan rose from his chair. “Follow me, if you will.”

  The three men approached the table in the center of the room and Donovan rolled out a map of Italy. “Since our victory in Sicily, we have been advancing north.” He placed his finger near the center of the country. “We are stuck here, just south of Rome.” He then slid his finger first to the Apennine Mountains, then to the Alps. “The Germans have been resupplying their forces through the mountains and utilizing factories near Turin and Milan to produce vehicle parts. If we could restrict their supply lines, it would go a long way toward victory.

  “We have had some success bombing the rail lines on the flat lands, but they’ve been using slave labor to repair them within a couple of weeks. We need to take out the rail bridges, but most of those are tucked into the valleys of the Alps and the Apennines and are hard to bomb with any precision from twenty thousand feet.

  “In addition to the rails, provisions are being suppli
ed by roads that are also concealed within mountain passes. What has also been challenging is the enemy has airfields in northern Italy. They have used them to intercept our bombers, both American and British. They also control the telephone switching stations in the north, allowing their communication between the front and their command posts to be both rapid and reliable.”