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She returned to Archie and slipped her hand into his.

He glanced down at her fingers before closing his hand around them.

“Ready, sunshine?”

“Yes.”

They walked into the corridor together, Marigold skipping to keep pace with his longer stride.

The door closed behind them.

“That’s Archie,” Samira explained. “Tone’s husband.”

I looked toward the space where he had stood.

“He seems nice.”

Izzy and Samira exchanged a glance.

“He is,” Samira agreed.

Izzy reached for another biscuit.

“He’s also Russian Bratva, has an unhealthy enthusiasm for violence, and once started a war because someone looked at Tone.”

I waited. Izzy bit into the biscuit.

“So, yes. Very nice.”

Samira shook her head.

“Archie has been good for Tone.”

“He made her worse,” Izzy exclaimed.

“He made her happier.”

“Those are not mutually exclusive.”

I looked toward the closed door.

The woman who had dragged me upstairs like an inconvenient parcel had not struck me as someone easily calmed.

“He doesn’t seem intimidated by her.”

“Archie is not intimidated by anything,” Samira explained. “That’s part of the problem.”

“He’s terrified of disappointing Marigold,” Izzy added. “She once cried because he missed a school concert. He attended every rehearsal for the next one.”

The image of the dangerous man listening solemnly to a child discuss cake returned to me.

“They’re not what I expected,” I admitted.

“The men?” Samira asked.

“The entire family.”

“What did you expect?”