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"He's not a friend."

"So what is he?"

I open my mouth to explain what Rafe does for Laszlo, then shut it. There is no real explanation that I can say out loud. He's the cleaner. The executioner. I can't tell Daphne that the man she just shouted at carved a stranger's dick off on a boat because my husband gave him the order through his brother.

"Staff," I say.

"Staff." She pulls the umbrella out of the glass and starts shredding it. "Right. Because staff normally⁠—"

"Hi." Tomek arrives at the table looking every inch a labrador that's escaped from his owner. He's got a bottle of water in each hand and no idea what he's doing with either. "Sorry. Boss said to check if you're okay. Are you okay? You look okay. You look great, actually. Not in a … I don't mean … I mean you're not hurt. That's what I'm checking."

"I'm fine," Daphne says.

"Good. Good." He puts one water in front of her, thinks about it, and puts the other one down too. "That's Rafe, by the way. He's not, um, he's not usually … well, he is, but not about … he doesn't normally do that for people. He doesn't do anything for people. I once watched him step over a guy having a heart attack because the man was in front of the coffee machine."

"Tomek, please," I say.

"Right. Sorry. No, that sounded worse out loud." He rubs the back of his neck. "I'm just saying he's not dangerous. To you. To other people, yeah, obviously, that's kind of the job. But you'll be fine. He probably just liked your… I don't know. Face. Hair. He didn't say. He never says. Sorry. I'm Tomek."

He sticks his hand out.

Daphne stares at him in disbelief, then her face brightens with a smile. She shakes his hand.

"Oh, I like you," she says. "You're nice."

Rafe is close enough to our table to hear it. He's been leaning on the bar with his back half to us, and when Daphne speaks he turns his head and looks at the back of Tomek's neck. Tomek, who's known him for years and should know better, is grinning at Daphne like she's pinned a medal on him. Behind him, a man who cut a stranger's penis off on a boat is holding his empty glass hard enough that it might crack. Oh boy, this is not good.

Daphne sees it. So she smiles at Tomek even wider, most likely to piss Rafe off as much as possible, and pours herself one of the waters.

"So, Tomek, what do you do?"

"Oh, God," I say.

"I, um... I work for Mr. Novak."

"Doing what?"

He looks at me for help, and I don't even know how to react because who knows how he'll interpret a head shake.

"Eee … a bit of this and that."

"He's very useful," Laszlo says, arriving next to him with his hands in his pockets, jacket buttoned again, hair perfect, like he's just come back from taking a call and not from paying a man to forget his own name. Tomek steps back a foot without being asked. "Ladies, I think the flamingo's given us all it had. Manon."

"We're going?"

"Yes. It's time for us to leave this exceptional establishment." He holds his hand out and I wrap my hand around his. I want to blame the three drinks and the heels, but his palm is warm and I want to ride him. Damn it. "Rafe. Tomek. Take Daphne home."

"No," Daphne says. "Absolutely not."

"Daphne, please."

Wow, my husband said ‘please’. I’m impressed.

"I'll get a cab. I've got a phone. I know how a phone works." She's on her feet, ruined umbrella still in her fingers. "I'm not getting in a car with a man who⁠—"

"Two cars. Tomek drives you. Rafe follows in his own."

Rafe makes a low sound in his throat. Not a word. Just enough to let the room know he doesn't like it.