“It's pierogis. From Svichkar's. Probably cold. It seemed...Oh,crap. It was a really stupid thing to bring, wasn't it? My mother just has this thing about never arriving empty-handed."I tugged the bag out of his hands. "It's perfect. Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Bainbridge.""Je t'en prie, Mademoiselle Marino."Okay, so it's just the semiformal way to say "You're welcome" in French, but anyone who says Italian is the language of romance is probably Italian.”

“You know, it's a funny thing. The only Romance language Felipe doesn't happen to speak is Italian. But I go ahead and say it to him anyway, just as we're about to jump. I say: 'Attraversiamo.'Let's cross over.”

“The man holding me had a pistol in his other hand; I saw it in the comer of my eye just before I felt its cold hardness crunch into my temple; pressed against my face, the pistol was hard in a way that seemed absolute, bone-smashing, beyond argument, and cold in a way that seemed perfect and permanent;”

“If it feels good saying it. It's probably not a good thing to say.”

“My eyes ran away from his. "I don't know what you're talking about.""Your blush says otherwise.""It's - it's just hot in here."His grin deepened. "Yes, it is.""Oh, shut up.”

“You're going to be okay," I said, but my voice was wavering and I was shaking. "It's probably not even that bad, and you're just being a big drama queen as usual.”