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"No. You didn't. And that's the problem, Julien. You never know. You just do things and leave other people to deal with what comes after. Your sister married me because of something you did without thinking. And now my house has been broken into because of something else you did without thinking. At some point you're going to run out of people willing to clean up after you."

He's quiet for a long time. His face is rigid but I can see his eyes are wet as he avoids my gaze. He’s working the whole thing out in his head, and it’s not looking pretty. His expression changes, and for a moment he looks exactly like Manon when she's understood something she doesn't want to.

Then his phone rings.

He grabs it without thinking and looks at the screen. His whole demeanor changes, and I know who’s just called him. Julien Valmont might not be allowed at family gatherings, but I never forbade Manon from making contact.

"Hey," he says, his voice comes warm and easy, a brother's voice. "No, no, you didn't wake me. Just chilling."

Across the room, in the presence of the man strapped to the chair, who’s gone incredibly quiet, Julien lies to my wife about where he is. I listen to Manon's voice coming out of the speaker, small and tired, asking her brother if he's all right. She doesn’t sound convinced he is, even when he tells her he’s eaten dinner, and to stop worrying about him. At last, she has to leave to head to the operating theatre, and a wave of pride washes over me.

That’s my wife, handling business. Saving lives… being such a damn queen.

He hangs up. "She's still at work. Long shift."

"I know."

He shoves the phone into his pocket. "Are you going to tell her? About tonight?"

I don't answer him because I haven't decided yet, and also because I don't discuss my wife with anybody.

"You," I say to him. "You go back to the lake house tonight. You stay away from the Perrault rooms, and you don't take another meeting with anyone attached to Ferro's because next time they won't be selling you anything. They'll just put you in a trunk and send you back to your father in pieces." I pull my gloves off. "And no, you don't say a word about tonight to your sister."

"You want me to lie to Manon."

"You just did it beautifully. I'm sure you'll manage." Then I turn to Rafe because I’m done with this fool. "Take this one out," I tell Rafe, nodding at the man in the chair. "I want him able to talk in the morning. Keep him somewhere quiet."

Rafe gets him up and out through the back without a word.

Julien opens his mouth, then shuts it before turning and heading out, this time without an escort.

As if on cue, one of the boys comes down with a mop and I send him back upstairs. He'll wipe the middle of the floor and miss the rest.

So I do it myself. Bleach first, then hot water, then the whole thing over again. It's four in the morning and I'm on my knees scrubbing my own floor with my sleeves rolled up.

I keep thinking about Greg. I'll send money to his sister next week and make sure she never has to work again. That's between me and him, wherever he is. But what I keep seeing is somebody standing in the dark in my bedroom, and I still don’t know who that person was.

Then the door at the top of the stairs opens, and I hear footsteps coming down. It's Manon. I'd know her walk anywhere, quick and light on her feet. How long have I been down here, cleaning? Enough for her shift to end, I see.

"Down here," I call out.

She comes in with her coat over her arm and her bag on her shoulder, exhausted. Her hair is falling out of the hairband. She stops in the doorway and takes in the room—the chair with the straps hanging off it, the empty tray, the wet floor, the mop in my hand.

Any other woman would have turned round and gone straight back up those stairs.

"You said you'd give me a lift home," she says, “so I came to meet you here. Not sure how much sense that makes. I could have gone straight there.”

"I did say I’d take you home."

"You didn't say you'd be doing the cleaning." She smiles. She does that a little bit more these days.

"I don't trust anyone else. They'd do it wrong."

She drops her coat and her bag on the counter next to the metal sink, and sighs. Then she walks across the room, stops in front of me, and looks down at my hands.

"Whose blood is it?"

"Nobody you'll ever meet."