The bright blue light of the incoming call reflected off the white ivory keys.

Mark stared at the vibrating phone, his breath catching in his throat.

The phone on the piano lid continued to buzz, its vibration making a dry, rattling sound against the polished wood.

Mark did not reach for it.

He stared at the screen as if it were a snake coiled on the instrument.

“Who is that?” Juliette asked, her voice thin and sharp.

Nobody answered her.

The man in the dark grey suit stepped into the room, his leather soles clicking against the parquet floor.

He nodded once to Thomas Bell, then stood silently by the door.

Patricia smoothed the front of her knit jacket and stepped toward the center of the room.

Her face was pale under the amber chandelier, but her voice was steady.

“I think it is time for everyone to leave,” Patricia said, addressing the few remaining guests and staff members near the back.

“The concert is over, and this is a private family matter.”

She waved a hand toward the double doors, trying to guide the onlookers out.