He stared at the small black velvet box sitting on my welcome mat.

“Did they leave that?” Luis asked.

“Yes,” I said.

I reached down and picked up the box.

The velvet was cheap and synthetic, rough against my fingertips.

The red ribbon was tied in a tight, double knot.

“Go back to the lobby, Luis,” I said. “Lock the front doors and call the police.”

“Are you going to be okay, Mr. Collins?” Luis asked.

“I am going to handle it,” I said.

I stepped back into my foyer and closed the heavy oak door.

I turned the deadbolt until it clicked into place.

Hannah was standing in the living room archway, her knuckles white as she gripped the trim.

“What is that?” Hannah asked, her voice shaking.

“It was on my welcome mat,” I said.

I walked to the kitchen island and set the box on the marble counter.

My hands were steady, trained by years of managing turbulence at thirty thousand feet.

I pulled the red ribbon.

It slid off the box and fell onto the counter like a drop of blood.