1945, June 25th

Rome, Italy.

One bullet.

One bullet is all it takes to kill that woman up there, shouting a number of words I can barely understand. But, as I am uneducated in linguistics, I am also not dumb to see how it stirred the people around her, especially when she waved the Italian flag so majestically it took the citizens' breath away.

"Combattere, cittidani di Italia!"

Fight back, citizens of Italy.

"Combettere!"

Fight back.

"Viva l'Italia!"

I stared at her, at auburn locks tied back in a severe pony tail and flying with the southern breeze. At the amber eyes crazed with adrenaline and the fire of revolution, glittering like gems under a spotlight. At her bleeding hands abused too much of waving something futile, yet it still moves and moves and moves, like her.
Like the resistance.
"Long live Italy." I muttered under my breath and took my aim straight at her chest. At her wildly beating heart.

1945, June 24th

A train station somewhere in Rome

The whistling of the train snapped me out of my trance, and looking at the vehicle, I found out it wasn't my ride yet. Relief washed over me, yet my palms were damped in anxiousness. I waited patiently for another minute until I heard the rustle of stiff garment and steel against each other. I tentatively turned to the one beside me. Steel blue eyes immediately met my Amber ones.

"Good evening." He curtly greeted me in English, yet it was heavily accented with his mother tongue. Nonetheless, we were forced to communicate in this language. He knew little of Italian as I knew scarcely of deutsch.
"Good evening as well." I replied, my own accent showing.

We were silent for a little while. It was a comfortable kind of silence and I wished to be drowned in it rather than to immerse myself in the cries of the people, but that would be selfish.
As I am the head of the resistenza, the resistance of the Italian people, I cannot let my own selfishness cloud my judgement of justice and freedom.

Even if the price to pay was the love I never knew I would have.

"Tomorrow is…" I started, trying to sound quiet yet casual. "Tomorrow, in Rome, we will—"

"Nein." No.

I jolted subtly. I was sure that was German, but I had the distinct feeling it was meant to cut me off. My wandering eyes fell on him again, questioning.

The fact that his blue ones didn't search for mine while speaking slightly felt off.

"I am not here to coax information from you, Frau." He said. "I am here to tell you something."
"What is it?" I squeaked.

His blue eyes seemed like in a daze, looking at the slightly colored, dark blanket that was the nighttime sky. "I would let Germany burn for you."

I was taken aback. I blinked once, then twice.

"But I would be lying if I said that.." He smiled bitterly, as if cursing the gods who placed him as the second hand of the Reich and I, the leader of the Resistenza italiana. "I cannot do that."

I looked down. Of course he cannot. No matter how much we want to be with one another, the freedom of the people comes first of the freedom we want. He could shoot me tomorrow. My men could shoot him vice versa. Nothing is sure…

"But I cannot help in falling helplessly in love with you, either." He turned to me, the once cold, unmerciful eyes glazed with tears. My own started to tear up at the sight. "The Reich can kill me, torture me, but, mein gott, I'll still love you, Feliciana."

I embraced him. Such a large man, both his title and his body, yet he trembled like a child about to let go of something he can never have. "Sì, Tesoro." I whispered. Yes, My love.

The whistling of the last train came. Slowly but painfully, I took my arms away and stood up. The train stopped in front of me, the entrance beckoning my soul.

Libertà! Libertà!

Freedom, it said. I have to go. I have to prepare the resistance for tomorrow. They are waiting for me, somewhere in the woods. They must be worried now. I must—

A cold hand gripped mine. I blinked and found myself on the steps of the train. I looked back, saw him there, blond hair all mussed and mouth hung open as if to say something. Anything.

But there was nothing. I smiled and noticed my tears falling down. The tips of our fingers touched as the train began its slow departure. Still, he walked, never breaking this last connection. I was heartbroken, I didn't want to let go as well, But I had to. I slipped my hands from his.

Those beautiful, fleeting moments we stole in the countryside, learning about each other, how one was not what the other had expected, how one can be of different race but can still be as charming and perfect, it repeats in my mind this very moment, then the memories slip away.

"Auf wiedersehen, Ludwig." I choked out, looking at his frozen form staring at my departure. Before I lost sight of him though, I swore I saw his lips move, burning my heart to ashes.

"Bella ciao."
Goodbye, Beautiful girl.

1945, June 25th
Rome, Italy.

One bullet to kill.

"Surrender now!" He bellowed, aiming at the woman standing over the stacked sack of sand. She held her flag tightly, her face taut, her body stiff.

"Viva l'Italia!" she shouted instead, earning the angry shouts and agreements from the citizens everywhere. "We will NEVER surrender!"

'No, No, No, please don't make me do this.' He thought, secretly, his hands trembled as he aimed. Their eyes intersected for a second then, but it felt like hours, days or maybe even years. Both begged the other to go and run away, but neither accepted cowardice. In the end, someone has to make the sacrifice.

"Ready men!" Solid as a rock, he shouted. The men took their positions, aiming at the resistance members, who had their own guns ready to kill as well.

Italy was overflowing with the burning patriotic fire that would lead them finally to fight back, this day, at June 25th, for their Freedom.

"Aim!"

One bullet, that was all it would take.

He gripped the handle of the gun tightly. The men froze, as if one word from them would break their General to pieces.
In a flash, He saw her smile sadly… A smile that knew, A smile intended only for him.

In her last breath, she held the flag up high into the air, as if it would fly away.

"Long live Italy!"

a/n: Tell me if you cried.