Chapter 8: The Dinner

The something of Lila's was a cardboard box, and Silvio Corvi carried it out of his study himself.

Inside lay a grey cardigan with a snag at the elbow and a stapler with her name on a label.

Under them was a coffee mug that said WORLD'S OKAYEST ACCOUNTANT.

I had given her that mug.

I lifted it out and my hands wouldn't hold still.

"She left it in the office," Silvio said.

"I'd have sent it to your stepmother, but I heard the family was not on speaking terms."

"Who told you that?"

"My wife hears things."

He said it fondly, and he did not know what he was saying.

I put the mug back in the box and kept my face still.

Luciano stood a pace behind my shoulder, close enough that I felt his warmth through the silk.

He did not touch me.

He did not have to.

The dining room held eighty guests at round tables with white cloths, and the chandeliers threw gold light across the glass.

Men in tuxedos, women in jewels, and every one of them knew exactly who we were.

Silvio walked us to the head table.

Renata Corvi rose from her chair with her arms already open.

She wore a pale blue gown and her hair in a smooth knot, and she looked like someone's kind aunt.

"Mara," she said.

"I'm so glad you came.

"I've thought of you every day."

She hugged me, soft and fragrant, and I let her.

I let her because I was counting the guests and the doors.

Over her shoulder I saw her wrist.

She wore a thin silver bracelet with a tiny engraved plate.

L.T.

I went cold from my scalp to my heels.

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