Chapter 20: The Foot of the Table

Britta's POV

On Wednesday night I rode the same elevator up with the same mirror.

My face had healed to a faint yellow along the jaw.

I wore the red coat.

Fiorella stood beside me in a black dress with her hair pinned back, the way she had worn it that Monday.

She did not say a word the whole way up.

Brennan had wanted to come inside.

Aurelio had said the boardroom was for the board, and Brennan had said, "Then I'll be outside the door," and pulled a chair into the hall.

Elio was at the lake house with two of Aurelio's men and a bowl of cereal.

The elevator opened.

I pushed the boardroom door with my own hand.

The long table was full.

Fourteen directors sat in the same chairs, and the two department managers sat at the far end where they always did.

Aurelio sat at the head with his cane flat on the wood.

At the foot of the table, in the chair I had asked for, sat my husband.

He wore a navy suit and a fresh haircut, and his lawyer sat at his elbow.

Two of his own bodyguards stood against the wall behind him, the one with the cracked shoulder among them.

He saw me, and his whole face lit up.

"Britta," Rocco said, warmly. "There you are."

I hung my coat on the hook by the door.

Fiorella stood right beside the hook and did not move.

This time I did not have to reach past her, because she held the coat for me while I took it off.

Our hands touched, once, on the fabric.

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