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“Excuse me, sir?” I ask brightly. “It was Tiffany’s break, that’s all. I also noticed you were running low on champagne. Would you like me to pour you some?”

He chuckles, looking at his men, who all laugh with him. “Yes, yes.” He waves a hand covered in silver rings. “Pour away, clever little palomita.” In Spanish, he says, “The mother hen comes to discipline me before I get to pet the chick.” All his men laugh. I don’t react at all. I don’t want him to know I can hear his pathetic little comments. “If she spills a drop, she might get my attention instead.”

I finish pouring, then step back, all teeth. “Anything else, Mr. Cordero?”

“We’re drinking up, you lovely thing, and then we’ll be gone. Greener pastures. We don’t want to be an inconvenience to you.” He grins, flashing that ludicrous silver tooth. Out of the corner of his mouth, he says in Spanish, “Get me drunker, gentlemen, and she might start looking pretty.”

He doesn’t know I heard him. I won’t let any of these asshats break me.

“You’re not an inconvenience, Mr. Cor⁠—”

“Yes, yes.” He waves a hand. “Thank you so much.” I turn, but then he says, “Wait.”

“Yes?” I ask, turning back.

“You really don’t know what I’m saying?” he asks in Spanish. “Why don’t you speak Spanish?”

“I grew up in an isolated community,” I tell him, lying for no other reason except I can… and because he’s a douche. “I only moved to Miami when I was a teenager.”

He shakes his head slowly as if there’s something wrong with me, then waves his hand again.

I check on Tiff. She tells me she’s fine. She was getting ready to slap that smirk off his face if he actually laid a finger on her. I laugh, because that’s all we can do. But it’s still fucked.

Later, Mr. Volkov emerges from the back door, blood on his knuckles and lip, his shirt a mess. He glares at me when he sees me looking, then storms across the VIP section toward his office door. Luckily, we’re almost empty, and the bankers are too drunk to notice.

When Celeste approaches me, I think it’s going to be about that. The boss just stormed past, clearly drunk again, fighting for no reason… when there are people disrespecting his staff. But Celeste isn’t interested in that. She takes my arm and leads me off to a side room. Music pumps through the walls, but it’s quieter.

“How would you like to earn some extra money?” she asks.

I almost snap at her. What about Mr. Volkov deciding to get drunk and violent instead of helping his staff? But then my mama brain kicks in.

“I’d love that,” I say quickly.

“It’s on the down-low, but we’ve got another job you can do alongside yours. You’ll be collecting information for Mr. Volkov. Things you hear on the floor. Anything at all that might be of interest. Do you know what I’m getting at here?”

All the tidbits I hear while working. So, Nikolai Volkov is shady. A big club in Miami, bought with cash, the fights, the drinking… and now this.

“He doesn’t know who delivers what,” she says. “You’ll have a burner cell with a different number and code name. You go through me.”

“How many are doing this?” I ask.

She frowns. “I can’t tell you that.”

This is crazy. I chew on my lip so I don’t say it aloud. I’ve got debt… not my own, but try telling that to the bankers. Or the police. Or anybody who would care. My sweet Zoe’s deadbeat dad put me in a hole, then poor Pico’s vet bills dug some more.

“I’ll do it,” I say quickly. “Actually, Rafael Cordero just asked if I speak Spanish. I lied to him. I don’t even know why. Just to get back at the prick in some petty way? Anyway, maybe that’ll come in use.”

Celeste grins, reaching into her pocket. “You’re a natural. Here’s your phone. Text anything important to the number in there. Mr. Volkov will get it. Then, you come to me and mention a phrase he’ll give you. It will be something specific enough so somebody doesn’t say it by accident. I feel blue today, but I’ll feel green tomorrow. Something like that, then I’ll give you your cash.”

I take the phone, my head spinning. “That way, you don’t even know who you’re paying for what information.”

“Exactly. And this is the last time we’ll talk about it like this. From now on, you’re Iris.”

“Iris,” I mutter.

She nods at the phone. “To Mr. Volkov, that’s all you need to be.”

When she leaves me, I switch on the phone. There’s already a text thread open, with a text from X, presumably Mr. Volkov. It reads.