Then he turned to me, and his expression shifted to something that was supposed to look earnest. "Darling, I'm sorry. I admit I didn't handle this situation well."
"Alright," I said. My voice was level. The room was quiet enough to hear the ice settling in someone's glass. "But someone else wants to hear you both apologize too."
Every head at the table turned toward me.
Then the door swung open.
He walked in sharp and unhurried, dressed in a dark suit cut so precisely it looked like armor. The kind of man who entered a room and changed its temperature without raising his voice or lifting a hand.
"W-why are you here?" Silvana stammered, her face draining of color, the glass of juice trembling in her grip.
Her husband stood in the doorway, and the room went very still.
