THE MAN WHO ASKED FOR THE SCHEDULE

“I don’t know!” Laurel screamed.

She grabbed the edge of a dining chair, her knuckles turning white.

“I swear to God, Nico, I don’t know where Julian is!”

Nico stared at the bloody coat.

Julian Ferraro was Nico’s younger brother.

He was twenty-four.

Reckless. Impulsive.

He had been sent to Miami six months ago to manage the family’s southern shipping routes, supposedly to keep him out of trouble.

“If you don't know where he is,” Nico said, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm, “why is his blood in the trunk of your car?”

Laurel was shaking violently.

“Marcus gave it to me! My cousin! He brought the coat to the house tonight. He told me to hide it.”

Nico stepped closer to her.

“When?”

“An hour ago.”

“How did he get past the gate?”

Laurel choked on a sob.

“I let him in. I turned off the garage cameras so security wouldn't see his car.”

I realized what had happened.

“That’s why you moved the Ford,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Nico looked at me.

I swallowed, stepping forward.

“She backed the Ford out to make room for her cousin’s car to pull into the blind spot. She wasn't used to driving a manual transmission. She stalled it, panicked, and scraped the wall.”

Frank nodded slowly.

“The clutch on that car is tricky. You have to know it.”

Nico looked back at his fiancée.

“You brought a man into my home who is bleeding my brother’s blood, and you tried to fire my driver to cover a scratched door?”

“He said Julian was fine!” Laurel cried. “Marcus said it was just a warning! He said if I hid the coat, nobody would ever know he was in Boston!”

Nico didn't shout.

He didn't touch her.

He just looked at her with a disgust so profound it seemed to hollow her out.

“Where is the leather bag Tessa saw you carrying?”

Laurel hesitated.

Just for a second.

But in that second, the heavy brass knocker on the front door echoed through the house.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Everyone froze.

It was 11:30 at night.

Nobody knocked on Nico Ferraro’s front door without an appointment, let alone at midnight.

Nico looked at Frank.

“Stay with her.”

He turned and walked out of the dining room toward the grand foyer.

I followed him.

I shouldn't have. I was just the maid.

But the look of absolute terror on Laurel’s face told me whatever was on the other side of that door was worse than Nico’s anger.

Nico opened the heavy oak door.

Standing on the porch was a man in his late thirties.

He wore a tailored suit that cost more than my mother’s apartment.

He had a sharp, handsome face and a relaxed, arrogant smile.

“Hello, Nico,” the man said.

Nico didn't invite him in.

“Marcus.”

Marcus Whitman. Laurel’s cousin.

“I apologize for the late hour,” Marcus said, stepping out of the rain. “But Laurel isn't answering her phone. I believe she has something of mine.”

“A bloody coat?” Nico asked.

Marcus smiled.

It didn't reach his eyes.

“A misunderstanding. Julian got a little careless at a card game in Miami. I just gave him a ride to a very discreet doctor. The coat is ruined, sadly.”

Nico didn't move.

“Where is my brother?”

“Resting comfortably,” Marcus said smoothly. “In a location I’ll be happy to share with you, just as soon as Laurel gives me the leather bag.”

Nico’s jaw tightened.

“What’s in the bag, Marcus?”

“Nothing that concerns the Ferraro family. Just some old family documents.”

Marcus looked past Nico.

He saw me standing in the hallway.

His arrogant smile faded.

His eyes narrowed.

He tilted his head, staring at me as if trying to place a ghost.

“Well now,” Marcus murmured.