Chapter 22: The Table Stands

Élise's POV

I walked into the host's dining room with a bruise on my face.

My mother's raincoat dripped on his carpet.

Marco came in behind me, and four of his men came in behind him.

Between them they dragged Elsa by both arms.

A fifth man carried Elsa's hired man over his shoulder and dropped him on the floor, his arm hanging broken.

Every head at the long table turned.

The ten old men sat down both sides of the table under a chandelier.

At the head sat the host, with a glass of red wine at his elbow.

Sergio stood at the foot, alone, with his hands behind his back.

His eyes met mine, and what was in them hit me in the chest.

Then the oldest man rose, with his cane, and one by one the other nine rose with him.

Only the host stayed seated.

"You are late, Miss Johnson," the host said.

"I was detained."

I let the silence run while I took off the raincoat and laid it over a chair.

Under it I wore the black dress and my gold-ringed collar.

I had put it back on in the car, myself, with my own hands.

"I will tell the table where I have been," I said.

"There is no need."

"There is every need."

I turned to the man on the floor.

"Get up."

He tried, and sagged against the wall holding his arm.

"Tell them who hit me," I said.

He kept his eyes on the carpet.

"Marco," I said.

Marco crossed the room and lifted the man's chin with one finger.

"Say it," Marco said.

"I did," the man said. "I took her at the station. On Elsa's order."

"Whose order did she take?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do," I said. "You were in the cellar. You heard her talk. Whose house is the table sitting in tonight?"

The man looked at the head of the table.

Nobody breathed.

The host smiled thinly and sipped his wine.

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