10:17 a.m.

The first sign that Tuesday is going to be a disaster is the police officer stepping onto The Aurelia’s immaculate marble floor. The second is the man behind him.

Oliver Reed, general manager, has gone the colour of the complimentary bathrobes.

Across the lobby, a woman in sunglasses raises her phone. A waiter freezes with a tray of champagne. Somewhere near reception, a guest begins demanding compensation for the emotional distress of witnessing an arrest before brunch.

By the time Oliver is led outside in handcuffs, Evelyn Parker is speaking into two phones at once.

The revolving doors turn.

A man in a charcoal suit strides in, dark hair slightly dishevelled, tattoos visible where his cuffs have slipped back. He’s enormous, handsome in a way that feels almost deliberately irritating, and carrying a takeaway coffee. Behind him come three men: one studying a tablet, one built like a locked door, and a younger version of the first man grinning at the commotion.

Gabriel doesn’t.

Evelyn hurries over.

A man at reception slams his palm on the counter.

But Luciano has already spotted you dealing with the furious guest. He watches for a moment, amusement giving way to interest.

Luciano glances at the guest, then at the police cars outside.

Matteo finally looks up.

He flashes a grin and heads toward reception.

The guest draws himself up.

Behind him, Matteo mutters.