Chapter 17: A Chair at the Table

Tancredi's POV

I had never been inside the Montanari house.

I had driven past the wall a hundred times and told myself it was none of my business.

Corrado's spare suit hung off my shoulders in the wrong places, and the collar rubbed a sore on my neck where the cuffs had caught me that morning.

Mirella wore black trousers and a plain black jacket.

She had tied her hair back as she did for the cage.

She walked beside me up the front steps, and she did not touch my arm.

I understood why.

Forty people were watching from the hall, and she wanted every one of them to see that she walked in on her own feet.

The dining room doors stood at the end of the marble corridor.

Two men stood in front of them with their hands folded.

One was huge, and I knew him by the way Mirella's step changed.

The other had a pale scar across his chin and a split knuckle on his right hand.

I looked at the knuckle.

I looked at it for some time.

"Miss Montanari," the big one said. "Your father asked that you wait in the library."

"My father isn't the host tonight."

"He's the head of the house."

"My grandfather is the head of the house."

"We have our orders."

I stepped in front of her.

I didn't plan to.

It was simply the place I was supposed to be.

"Move," I said to the scarred one.

He looked down at me.

He had at least thirty pounds on me, and he knew it.

"You're the cage man. You're not on the list."

"Put me on it."

"Not tonight."

"That's a split knuckle," I said, pleasantly. "Who did you hit with it?"

He glanced at his own hand.

I saw the flicker go over his face, and I knew exactly what he'd done and who he'd done it to.

I took a long, slow breath.

Behind me Mirella said, very quietly, "Tancredi. Not here."

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're thinking about it."

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