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Maybe I’m just special… that’s what I said in one of our texts. In person, he’s all flash. But he shows tenderer parts of himself over text, pieces of himself that he keeps hidden from the flashy club life.

“Serena?”

“Yeah.” I snap to attention, realizing I’m gazing into space. “I’ll get to work.”

As I begin my stock and temperature check of the bottles, my burner vibrates. It’s awkward having two phones wedged into the inner pockets of this dress. But if it gets my daughter ballet shoes, I’ll strap a hundred phones to my body.

It’s Nikolai.

X: Be careful tonight.

Iris: You’ve already told me that.

I type, then delete. That was close. I need to keep it professional.

Iris: I know the score. I’m not scared.

X: Now I know you’re lying to me. It’s okay to be scared. Just don’t let it make you do something stupid.

He’s right. I am lying. He’s got no reason to know this except for some hazy connection over text. He must know that I’m Iris, right? He could be watching right now, watching me stare at my phone. But his system relies on him not looking too closely.

X: I don’t want to have to intervene. Rafael won’t like how that goes.

A shiver moves over me, not from the open door of the refrigerator. Goosebumps break out over my skin. But I don’t want a man who thinks violence excites me. It doesn’t. But being protected by Nikolai… maybe that’s different.

I keep my tone neutral.

Iris: We’ll ruin everything if we go that route. If you want this to work, you have to be patient. And you have to accept we can handle ourselves.

X: Now you’re giving me tips, Iris? I should’ve known you’d have that in you. Shall I add anything else to the feedback column?

I smile. He’s such a jerk. A lovable jerk at times, but still.

Iris: Honestly? Your system could do with some work. There could be another person between you and the information, but separate from the person we already know about. That way, it’s truly anonymous.

X: It’s anonymous if I get suddenly into meditation.

I laugh aloud.

Iris: I can’t even work out what that means.

Celeste walks by, so I quickly pocket the phone and get on with my work. I check it again around twenty minutes later, just before the party’s about to get started.

X: It means if I go all Zen and resist the urge not to find out who you are.

Iris: You still don’t know?

X: No, Iris. I’ve been a good boy. Why… do you want me to know?

Iris: You can’t. It’s better this way.

X: That’s not the same as saying no.

More of those shivers move over my body, but I put on my game face and go to work.

The party is full of…gangsters. Or, at least, that’s how they seem. They wear jeans and leather jackets, and they’re covered in tattoos. They smoke indoors and openly make out with their dates, some of whom are wearing bikinis. It’s a seedy, underworld sort of party… the sort of party I’ll never have at my club. Rafael must be paying a fortune for this. Or maybe Nikolai just thinks he’ll talk more comfortably when he’s intoxicated and surrounded by his people.

He’s right. Rafael talks in Spanish to his men as I refill their bottles. He doesn’t even look my way. My blood runs cold when he flashes his silver tooth and says, “Owen Price? And who is he, tell me? Some little rat who can’t even count. Imagine that, in his profession! Now he wants to go Federal… some big bad American FBI agent, this fool who can’t count?”