“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, my god!" I said, throwing my hands over my eyes and hurtling my body against the counter."What?""You're naked.""I'm not naked.""I'm blind.""You're not blind. I'm wearing pants.""Oh." That was embarrassing.”

“Are you insinuatin' that my daughter is a liar?""Oh, no, not at all. I'm saying your daughter is a liar. Surely you can appreciate the difference.”