This is a story that I started on just a while ago. It was meant to be for something else but I decided to post it here instead.

This is a WWII fiction and some topics may be a little touchy and offending. If you are looking for a story that will be romantic and lovey-dovey this is NOT THAT KIND OF STORY. So please, be warned.

This story is told by the point of view of Feliciano, so please, don't be confused. I hope you enjoy.

September 1943

I loved when Nonno played his violin. It was the sweetest of sounds in the world. Nonno was a passionate musician. As was my uncle Christiàn who would sometimes join him, playing the piccolo by his side.

Mama smiled, beaming at the sight of my father taking the hand of my little cousin and my younger brother and bringing them to dance with him to the tune of 'Our Glorious Noon'. My hand was caught by my mother's who brought me along to dance with her. The room gave us little space for dancing and playing, but at that moment, we did not care. Nonno Roma always said that no matter where we were, as long as we were together as a family, then we would always be happy.

My father hoisted Rosa over his shoulder and spun her around until she gave a joyed squeal. Grinning, he let her down. She swayed, left and right and in circles as dizziness overcame her.

Nonno Roma, howling with laughter, went to dance around the ecstatic girl who took my brother's hand and sang and danced with him. We clapped our hands and joined in the joyous chorus, forgetting that the country was in turmoil. Forgetting that so much bad was happening in the world. In this moment, we were a simple family, trying to care little about the troubles of war and death.

That was the key to our happiness: live for today and worry for tomorrow when it arrives.

Our merrymaking was staunched by the sounds of banging at the front door. Nonno turned to uncle Christiàn, worried. The rapping at the door continued and now the stranger on the other side turned, shook, and tugged at the doorknob, desperate for access into our home.

"Mama! Papa!" The voice screamed. I gasped in shock. It was the voice of my brother, Lovino.

"Let me in!"

Papa quickly flung the door open and Lovino dashed inside, slamming the door behind him and locking it.

"Mio figlo," Nonno said, moving to my brother's side and helping him forward. "You act as if Il Diavolo himself was after you."

"What happened?" Christiàn asked, pulling a chair for him.

My brother caught his breath, sweat pouring down his face. He slumped forward into Papa's arms and choked out an incoherent phrase.

"Ge...nns...for us...they're coming for us."

Papa sat him down in a chair in the dining room and Mama fanned him with her hand as best as she could.

"What are you saying? What does he mean?" She questioned.

"I saw a sign...in the park. All of us. They are taking us away! We need to hide!"

Nonno's face molded into an expression of pure terror. The room fell silent as if the world had stopped for this moment. Papa's expression was blank as the words slipped past Lovino's lips. They were coming for us. We would be taken away and killed. It wasn't safe here anymore.

The words finally sank in and Mama dashed forward, turning off the lights and drawing the curtains, covering the inside of the house in darkness. All eyes were on her as she did this.

"Bianca," Papa began, grabbing Mama's arm as she went by. "What are you doing?"

"We need to hide the children," she said looking to myself, Niccolino and Rosa. "We need to do this now or they will kill them too, Pietro. You know this!"

Nonno understood and came forward to us. He pulled Rosa and Niccolino by their arms and told me to follow. He led us to the cupboard under the sink. It was cramped and dusty, but there was no time to argue.

"In here," he commanded. "Rapido."

The three of us had just enough time to crawl into the dark, damp space before the sound of an engine hit our ears. Nonno let out a cry that drew shivers across my sun-kissed skin. I ducked my head inside as he slammed the door closed. In that moment, I knew that we were never truly safe in this house .Nonno and I both knew what was going to happen: the soldiers were here; they were coming for all of us.

My body jerked forward at the sound of a fist rapping at the door. In shock, I hit my head against the shelf after the involuntary movement took over. My hand shot to my head, trying in any way I could to staunch the swelling pain and biting my tongue to keep myself from crying out.

I watched in anxiety as my family sat in a circle of prayer around the table, holding trembling hands and bowing their heads that held faces so full of fear. Uncle Christiàn squeezed his younger sister's hand, the hand of my mother, and looked to her, trying in every way he could to yield his strength to her. Lovino's face remained blank and an expression as hard as stone took over.

The knocking continued, more forceful this time. I held the giggling five-year old Rosa in my arms, begging her to quiet down as I watched Papa, very hesitantly, stand up to open the door for our unwanted visitors from hell. A look of fear spread across my older brother's face as he tried to keep his eyes down upon the table.

I begged and pleaded with God above to let whoever was on the other side of the door to be someone other than who we expected. My pleas went unanswered for the man standing before Papa was the man who I had dreaded.

My breath hitched as I watched the man enter our home. He was followed by several other demons who served under a man who could only be the personification of the Devil himself. These men were his demons. And now they were inside our home.

Clomp, clomp, clomp... the sound of heeled boots across the floor erupted through the quiet house. He now stood face to face with my father, who returned a looked of emptiness, hiding all fear from the man ahead of him. Next, four other men entered, wearing the hellish uniform that so many families like mine have come to fear. Two stood out among the rest. Those two, I figured, were of higher authority than the rest.

The man before Papa was obviously younger than him by several decades. He pointed off in the direction towards the back of our home and his subordinates left the dining room, leaving only three other soldiers with him.

"Sit," the man ordered in broken italian.

Papa closed his hand into a fist. I watched as his body shook with anger. He inhaled deeply, trying to hold back, his protective instinct. Everyone who knew our family knew that Papa was a strong man. He'd fought in the first war along with his brothers until he'd suffered a terrible injury that nearly caused him to lose control of both of his legs. Nonno Roma told me once that it was a miracle that allowed Papa to walk again.

The soldier's gaze on my father did not falter as he stared him down and Papa was not going to be ordered around so easily. He stood his ground ans stared at the solder, ready to strike at any given moment, but Mama called his name only once and he finally surrendered to the man's will. Papa took his seat again between Lovino and Mama, keeping his gaze fixed on the soldier. I held my breath, praying that he would not dare strike the man.

Papa was never one to back down when he was threatened. I remember one day as clear as any other, when our family took a trip to Tuscany, a man from tried to steal Mama's handbag. Papa chased the man and taught him a lesson that would never fade (the bruises would remind him to never prey on innocent women ever again). Now was a completely different scenario. I could not call on Papa to fight for us this time. I knew he would never be able to fight off the foreign soldiers on his own, unarmed.

I watched Nonno's hand slowly creep out to a object on the table. The soldiers were too focused on Papa to notice. Rosa squirmed in my arms trying to get comfortable as she thought this was a game. Nicolino's legs trembled under the cramped ceiling of our shelter. I looked towards him, attempting to give him reassurance. Trying to tell him that everything would be fine. Nicolino did not seem reassured, but he tried, for Rosa's sake.

Rosa shifted again, this time stirring up the dust caked in the walls of the cupboard into our eyes and lungs. I held my breath to keep instinct from taking over. I would have moved my hand to cover nose to keep a cough from sounding or a sneeze from erupting but with Rosa's constant movement kept my arms pinned to my sides and the cramped space did nothing but worsen my struggle.

I closed my eyes, knowing what was going to happen next. The tiniest noise erupted from the little girl in my lap. he usually soft sound now so loud in the situation we were in. As if a bomb had dropped outside the house. Nicolino whimpered, shaking his head in my direction. When given the chance, I quickly pulled Rosa into my arms again and covered her mouth to keep her from making any more noise.

It was already too late. I looked through the small slit in the door again and what saw, brought me to tears.

Lovino was the first to react at the sound. He quickly jumped forward, trying to attack a soldier who made their way to our direction. The soldier threw my brother to the floor and hit him repeatedly across the back of his skull relentlessly. Uncle Christiàn yelled. Blood flew in all directions. Nonno watched in horror as Lovino's skull was attacked with such force that it bounced off the floor.

"No!" Mama screamed. "Per favore! Stop singore, please!"

The blonde soldier waved his hand and the soldier attacking my brother finally released his limp body to the floor. But the damage was already done. Lovino's body lay in front of our shelter. He had given his life to protect the three of us. And now he was gone. I could not believe what I had witnessed.

A small cry spilled from my lips. Rosa shook in my arms; hearing so much screaming had frightened her to tears as well as it had done to Nicolino. I pulled her closer, aware that her tears were not staining the front of my shirt.

"Quiet, Rosa," I whispered with a shaky voice. "They will hear us."

"What is that?" I heard the soldier command. "Who does that belong to?"

I looked back to the dining room. A soldier stood over Nonno Roma, ripping the object out of his reluctant hands. The soldier looked over the object, frowning.

"I am a toy maker," Nonno replied, trying to keep his voice from faltering.

I gasped when I saw the object that the soldiers were so curious about. Nonno owned a toy shop near the center of the village. He didn't usually make dolls, but the one that the soldier was holding was a doll that belonged to Rosa. She had left it on the table!

The soldier strode over to his leader and addressed him in their native language once again. The blonde soldier nodded to his subordinate turned his gaze back to Nonno Roma, his face twisting into one of pure anger.

"You lying drecksau!" the man hissed. "There are others here, where are you hiding them!"

"I am a toy maker!" Nonno cried.

The blonde soldier shouted something in which the soldiers scattered around the house returned to the dining room to follow the orders of their commander. The soldiers surrounded the table and pulled Nonno, Uncle Christian, and Papa to their feet. The blonde soldier stood behind Mama and pulled her from her seat by her hair. Mama wailed in pain, trying to pry the man's hand off of her.

"Bianca!" Papa cried, trying to fight out of the soldiers' grip.

It took two men to hold him down as he lashed out in rage. I looked away as the man began to defile Mama. What he began to do was the most vile and demonic act that any man could ever decide to do. Mama's screams brought me to a new fit of sobs: sobs of anger. And even as I turned my eyes away, I still knew. I could still hear her. And he was making Nonno Roma, Uncle and Papa watch as he tainted my mother.

"What are they doing?" Nicolino sobbed, looking towards me, his face stained with tears.

"What are they doing to Mama?"

I buried my face in Rosa's hair, crying silently. I could not bring myself to answer him.

"What are they doing?"

Rosa shook in my arms as the screams finally died down. Mama cried loudly and I could hear her body hit the floor. I dared myself to look once more, praying that I would not see what I did not need to. Though, what I did see was enough to turn my sun-kissed skin to pale milk.

What I found was not the face of Mama or Papa, but a single pair of dark, cold, brown eyes staring back at me.

To be continued...

To be continued...