“Oh God," I said. "I'm Zmey's daughter. Zmey junior. Zmeyette, even.”

“She reached out and touched the bright colors of the cashmere scarf, her face filled with wonder as much as shock. "This . . .this is Ibrahim's scarf . . .it's a family heirloom. . . " "No, it belongs to this mobster guy named Abe. . .[...]"Mom," I said disbelievingly. "You know Abe.""Yes, Rose. I know him." "Please don't tell me. . ." Oh, man. Why couldn't I have been an illegitimate half-royal like Robert Doru? Or even the mail-man's daughter? "Please don't tell me Abe is my father. . . . " She didn't have to tell me. It was all over her face."Oh God, " I said. "I'm Zmey's daughter. Zmey Junior. Zmeyette, even." That got her attention. She looked up at me. "What on earth are you talking about?" "Nothing," I said.”

“I sighed and gestured toward him. "I'll take him." In an undertone, I added, "Don't let me down, Zmey.”

“Abe's face came back into focus. "Greetings, Zmey," I said weakly. Somehow, him being here didn't surprise me. "Nice of you to slither on in." He shook his head, wearing a rueful smile. "I think you've outdone me when it comes to sneaking around dark corners. I thought you were on your way back to Montana." "Next time, make sure you write a few more details into your bargains. Or just pack me up and send me back to the U. S. For real." "Oh," he said, "that's exactly what I intend to do." He kept smiling as he said it, but somehow, I had a feeling he wasn't joking.”

“Oh God," I groaned, "Seth Mortensen just said 'fucking' out loud. The end of times are near.”

“Oh my God," he said. "A kind word from Rose Hathaway. I can die a happy man.”

“Most fathers don't threaten to disembowel their daughter's boyfriends." "That's not true. And anyway, that's not what I actually said. It was much worse.”