Before I Forget His Name novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: The Table

Adriano's POV

I flew back to New York in the night and left her with Philip Whitcombe.

I hated that more than I could say.

He sat in my chair beside her bed, reading aloud from a crossword, and she laughed at something he said as I walked out.

I made myself keep walking.

The underground room beneath Scalise Tower had no windows, one long table, and five chairs for five families.

Aldo Donati was already seated at the far end in his camel overcoat, smiling at me.

He had a soft face and silver hair and a gold ring on his smallest finger.

He had brought a gift. A bottle of grappa, wrapped in tissue, set at my place.

"Adriano," he said. "You look tired. Is the Swiss air so hard on you?"

"I'm well."

"And your poor little ward? How is she?"

"She's recovering."

I kept my face the way I had kept it for six months.

That was the trouble with Aldo. He never raised his voice, and he never looked away.

He had read every expression I'd worn since last autumn, searching for the one thing that would tell him what she was worth to me.

So I had given him nothing.

I had written my answer to her text at two in the morning many times over, and I had sent the coldest version.

I had stayed out of rooms she walked into and closed the private line and put guards on the doors.

I had done it because a man with a soft face was watching, and I knew what he had done to her parents.

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