Panzerfaust

Chapter 55 - La Resistenza

AN: as I mentioned before, I wasn't satisfied with the last 2 chapters and felt it was rushed and not developed enough so I decided to add this one between The Conspirators and When in Rome. I will try to figure it out how to change the order of the chapters. Enjoy!

21th of June, 1947, Rome, Reichsprotektorate of Italy, Greater German Reich

The lights of the chandelier are dimmed when a couple is lead inside by the housemaid to the main salon through the catacombs, many of those even the Gestapo didn't knew about, secret passages running under the ancient capital like veins of a forever beating heart. 

Sophia feels Max's fingers reassuringly curling around her own as they step into the light hand in hand, readying themselves for the Trama degli Italiani.

The dusty walls of the underground path only highlighted by lone torches is replaced by velvet panels on the wall with a crystal chandelier casting its light to a room already bustling with people.

It was always busy by Claudia Bianchi.

The Italian actress had company like no other in Rome - hers was the circle La Resistenza, where princes, magnates and steel workers plotted together endlessly to get rid of the German Occupation - just like Sophia Edelsheim's was back in Budapest with the Swiss ambassador Karl Lutz and poor young Miklós Horthy.

'I have a present for you two.' Claudia announces, eyes sparkling with mischief as soon as she sees her approaching with Max Wünsche by her side. The officer risked a lot by accompanying her tonight  - with Skorzeny's little scene by the morning table the other day -  but didn't they all risked a lot? 

'The present is in my bedroom.'

'Claudia...' Max sighs next to her, rubbing a palm against the throbbing vein on his temple, 'There is no time for your little pranks.'

'Not a prank at all!' Grabbing Sophia's hand, the actress pulls her towards the stairs, ignoring the fussing officer next to her. 'Vieni, vieni!'

It's semi dark in the bedroom of Claudia Bianchi, with a single candle casting light under the tightly closed shutters, until she realizes there are people in the room, dressed in alike dark robes against the many bright silks of Signorina Bianchi's overly feminine sovereignty.

'Sebastian!' The youngest Wünsche boy sits on the edge of a velvet chair - clearly ill at ease in such frivolous female space as Sophia dives into his arms.

'Sophie! Brother!'

'What are you doing in Rome, Basti?' Max asks his brother after a long hug.

'I was summoned by the Pope to a mission.' The pastor answers with a bright face. 'Along with Sister Ilona.' 

'Ilona?' Sophia's voice comes out more of a screech than a human sound. 

Could it be?

The figure behind Pastor Sebastian moves forward from the shadows, removing the hood of the nun's veil from an oh so familiar face. 

Sophia Edelsheim flies into the arms of Ilona Horthy like a bird takes flight into its nest - to home, to family as silent sobs of relief runs through her shoulders.

Ilona is alive. 

Ilona is alive and she is holding her in her arms!

Tears of joy escape cat green eyes as she inhales her cousins scent - something holier than the angels of the Vaticans, so beloved - and almost forgotten.

'I saw your children from the window. Once when you were passing by the Sistine Chapel.' Ilona tells her after her cries subsided  - in a voice so calm, so collected as if her life wasn't turned upside down the last few years, sitting prim in her dark robes on the baby pink covers on Claudia's bed next to each other.  

'They look lovely and so polite - please forward my hugs to them. I wanted to approach you, but of course I couldn't without risking everything.' 

'Ilona... Én... annyira sajnálom...' 

'Don't be sorry for anything. You did your best. And I love you for it.' 

'Did they... forced you?' Sophia hates how weak her voice comes out.

'No, they didn't forced me to do anything. Before my mother in law passed I got help from the Sisters to care for her - it was evident for me that I will be joining them - if they accept me - and they did, thank the Lord above. The German officer in charge of guarding us was way too grateful for my idea in the end - at least my case was off his shoulders. I'm observed to some degree of course - as anyone else is, but not too much since Mussolini died.'

'I see.'

'I met Father Sebastian through my Sisters, he reached out to me when he learned I am your cousin and it's been a while since we saw each other. Ilona Horthy cannot meet Sophia Skorzeny.' The woman across her holding her hands in her own cold ones shudders, as if saying the names out loud gave her pain, but recovers quickly. 

'But Sister Ilona can.'

It was difficult to get up and leave when it was time. 

It felt like losing Ilona again and again. 

The Skorzeny villa was dark and cold as her heart was as Sophia watches the lights of the Eternal City from the balcony, absentmindedly sloshing the dark red liquid around the goblet in her hands.

'Penny for your thoughts?'

A low voice cuts through her solitude, then without further invitation, Otto Skorzeny takes the glass from her hands, sniffing the wine with a peculiar expression. 

'Nero d'Avola? Since when do you drink when pregnant?'

'It was recommended by Karl when I was carrying Oskar, but I couldn't stomach it. You look it up yourself.'

'Ah. Listening to Dr Brandt's advice for once, Kätzchen?'

Maybe I don't feel like being near death by delivering a child again.

Unless it's Max's. 

Would that change anything? 

Everything.

Sophia couldn't see herself pretending that Max's child was her husband's seed - nor preventing the man she loved from calling and raising the child as his own.

'I can recall a very pretty young woman approaching me on a late summer evening like this.' Skorzeny continues, casually emptying her glass in one gulp. 'She caught my eyes before, across the dining table, although she wasn't my date for the night.' 

What a stupid little girl she was, head full of silly dreams and arrogance at the Madame Regent's dinner. 

I thought I can trick those Germans, the Masters of Tricksters. 

Yet Skorzeny played the Hungarians like a fiddle - including his own bride, making them dance to his tune, playing right into his Panzerfaust. 

But Sophia was smarter now, more hardened than before as she finally casts her gaze upon the man across her, the man who stole her from her country, lied to her, fathered a child on her, manipulated her, raped her - but still could not bend her to his will. 

Because perhaps all a queen is a woman looking down at someone wretched and still not yielding.

Notes

Trama degli Italiani - plot of the Italians

Vieni, vieni - Come, come in Italian

'Én... Annyira sajnálom...' I am so sorry, in Hungarian

Perhaps all a Tsaritsa is is a beautiful cold girl in the snow, looking down at someone wretched, and not yielding." quote by Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless.