LUCAS'S GIRLFRIEND SHOWS UP to the meeting. I don't know what to make of her--I only recognize her from a photo that Luke showed me once or twice. A pretty enough girl, half-Asian, but it's less her looks and more her demeanour that really makes her stick out like a sore thumb at this gathering of buff, Armani-suited men with tattoos up to their eyeballs. She's quiet, but not in a timid way. More... graceful, reserved, composed. She sits with her back straight and her chin lifted, which is more than one can say about any girl who didn't grow up on the streets or in a gang sitting in this room of thugs. That, and the sparkling diamond necklace that hangs around her neck. She keeps touching it like she's scared of being robbed, so it must be new. Or, at the very least, she's not used to wearing expensive jewelry.

"Now that you are all here..." Antonio Cavalli begins, his gaze pausing on me. My breath catches in my throat and I stiffen. I try to keep my breathing normal even as I narrowly avoid choking on my own spit. Smooth, Santos. I cross my fingers that he doesn't notice me, or at the very least, that he doesn't suspect me. He nods and his gaze keeps moving around the room. "I would like for the meeting to finally begin. Does anyone have any objections to that?"

The icy edge to his tone suggests that anyone who does speak up soon won't have a tongue to object with. My suspicions are correct as the room falls silent, so that all I can hear is my heartbeat.

"No? Very well, then. Let us begin." He claps his hands together, the sound echoing throughout the meeting room as though it was necessary to interrupt some conversation that we were all having. In our heads, maybe.

I glance around the room while he talks. Antonio Cavalli stands at the head of a long conference table, as imposing as his father and nearly half a head taller. On his left side, Christina Martell is perched on a tufted armchair, her wrists on the oak table and her fingers interlaced. I check, out of habit, for a ring and see nothing. That's one thing to report back to Lucas, at least. Though, considering his ties with the girl who was living in his apartment for six months, I'm not sure that he'd care. Then again, who knows what kind of relationship they have? One too complicated for me to follow, that's for sure. It's even more complex than the relationships in the telenovelas my mom always makes me watch with her, tangled with a dash of crime as it is.

"So, to conclude, we've taken over some new territory from the Martells. Now is the time to strike while the iron is hot and Pierre Martell is still recovering from his... injuries. I have important contacts with their famiglia that I would hate to go to waste." Antonio steeples his fingers under his chin after he takes his seat at the head of the table.

Under the table, I give a surreptitious glance at my phone to make sure it's still recording the conversation. When I look up, I accidentally lock gazes with Christina Martell and she looks at me like she's trying to place where she knows me from, her brown eyes boring into mine as though she can see into my soul. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable.

The movement must catch Antonio's attention because he speaks like a teacher pouncing on their next victim--I mean, student. Though I wasn't the best student in elementary, so this sensation seems similar enough. "Is there something you'd care to share with us? Something important?"

"I heard rumours that the feds are investigating your brother." It's a lie, but it's a rumour. Anyone could be spreading it and no one would be the wiser. At the very least, it probably won't end with me being shanked in prison. You hope. "Sebastian Cavalli."

Murmurs and gasps rise around the room as hardened criminals begin gossiping like old ladies. Antonio picks up his water glass, takes a slow, deliberate sip, and then sets it back down. Just like that, the men are silent again.

"Very interesting. Thank you for your contributions, Mr...?" he says, and now I do feel like a kid back in the classroom.

"Mr. Cortez," I say, pulling a random name out of my Rolodex.

He nods and the meeting continues, my pulse slowly returning to normal. Good. This is all good. Nothing's going wrong... yet.

Then my phone dings with a text and I look down furtively. Crap. This is so not good.

AFTER THE MEETING ENDS, Antonio turns to me as the room empties out. "Did you get a bad feeling about that new guy?"

My eyebrows shoot up. I'm surprised he's asking me for my opinion at all, that he trusts me enough to do so. The diamond around my neck, a gift from him after breakfast and engraved with his initials, ASC, on the back of the gemstone, made me think I was only here to be eye candy. Which I certainly wouldn't mind, because I don't even know what I would say to one of the hulking men, most likely Mafia enforcers, sitting around the table who made their chairs look like children's toys.

Still, I have to point out the obvious. "I've never seen any of those men before, Antonio... they're all new to me."

"Cortez. The one with no tattoos," he clarified. "He looked kind of skittish."

Now that he brings it up, I rewind the last hour in my head. When I wasn't bored out of my mind and mildly terrified listening to him talk about drug shipments and "taking care" of people (in a way that probably meant giving them a hug that ended in a chokehold_, I did make eye contact with this so-called new guy. He looked at me like he was trying to figure out where he knew me from, so I did the same. Cortez, whoever he is, did look pretty familiar. But I can't place where I know him from. And if I knew him as one of the few guys populating my old life--the one I will return to when all of this is over--then I don't want to get a civilian in trouble.

"No, I didn't get any bad vibes from him." I mean, I got weird vibes, but that's not what he asked, so it's technically not a lie, right?

"Good." His gaze is distant even as he pulls me close, kissing the top of my head. Now that we're alone, I should be able to relax more. But all I can think of is Lucas. He sent me a text this morning, and though I tried to ignore it, I couldn't. It felt different. More urgent. Sending a contact who may meet you. So vague yet so intriguing. Was Cortez the contact? "Do you like your present?"

"Is it mine? I thought you were just lending it to me," I say, trying to inject some levity into my tone. "On loan from a jewelry store."

Antonio pulls away, his large hands gripping my shoulders, and he stares down at me as though I've just asked him to check my teeth for spinach. Too closely scrutinizing for my taste. "I would never give you a stolen gift, Christina."

"I-I know... I was only joking..." I'm suddenly aware--I'm always aware, but right now more so--that if he wanted, he could make it so that my body floats in the Hudson River in a week for my mother to find. "It's really lovely. I've never owned anything this nice." It's more than pretty, but I don't have the words to describe it.

"No, no, of course, I know you were. I only wanted to make sure that you know, Christina. Even though we started off on rocky footing, to say the least..." A rueful smile crosses his handsome face. "Despite that, I don't have any nefarious intentions toward you."

"I know that." I nod, swallowing the lump that suddenly rises in my throat, threatening to drown out my words. Do I? "Thank you for the necklace, again."

"You're welcome, again." He doesn't say anything horrifically cheesy, at least, about a pretty gift for a pretty girl. Antonio steps back, reaching for my hand. "Come on. Let's get out of here."