Chapter 8: The Table

Renata's POV

Every head at the table turned when I walked in.

The room went quiet in sections, from the door down to the far end.

Fiora stopped beside the empty head chair and did not sit.

She looked at me, and then at the floor.

Nico smiled.

"There she is," he said. "I told you she'd come."

He pulled out the chair at his right hand, the wife's chair, and patted the seat.

I stayed where I was.

Cesare stepped past me to the third chair on the left.

It was the one with no name on it.

He put his hand on the back of it.

A murmur ran around the table.

"That's not your seat," Nico said.

"It is," said the old adviser from the shadows at the end of the room. "The old man's will puts him there. I have the page."

Nico's smile cooled.

He sat down at the head, and the captains sat after him.

Fiora lowered herself into a small chair against the wall.

The old adviser stayed on his feet at the end of the table.

"The Table is open," Nico said. "First business."

He raised his glass.

"Three Saturdays from now, I marry the old man's daughter in the cathedral."

A few men lifted their glasses.

Nobody drank.

"Anyone who has an objection can say it now."

"I have one," I said.

I walked to the table and put my palms on the walnut.

Eleven men, all of whom had watched me grow up, looked anywhere but at me.

"There will be no wedding."

Nico laughed, easily.

"Baby, you're upset."

"I'm not upset."

"You embarrassed yourself at a brunch." He looked at the men. "She had a bad week. I forgave it."

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