I DIAL THE FOREIGN number, knowing that I've timed it just right so that Christina Martell will pick up.

How do I know? Well, let's just say that Hortensio will have a lot of explaining to do if Antonio finds out about the money being wired into his account. Fortunately, he hasn't found out just yet.

Three rings and then she picks up. "Hello"

"Christina Martell?" I say.

"Who is this?" An edge comes into her tone, not razor-sharp like the ones I grew up around, but blunter. Harsher.

"Your sister," I say. I'm used to having sisters. Her? Not so much. I can imagine her expression, but I continue. "Priscilla. I believe we've met."

"You broke into my mother's apartment," Christina says flatly. "I wouldn't really call that a meeting."

"Oh, but I would," I say, grinning as I lay back in my massage chair, soaking my feet before my pedicure. Normally this would hardly be the time for me to indulge in a spa ritual, but since my mother convinced me to spend time with her and this is the only way she likes to spend time--other than shopping and scolding her daughters--I figured it would be an efficient pastime. "We met. Introduced ourselves. Just because it was unconventional doesn't mean it wasn't a meeting."

"What do you want from me, Priscilla?" she says, in the same tone like a bludgeoning cudgel. "I doubt you called without a favour to ask."

Wow. That one stung. Not. "You don't even know me at all! Maybe I just called to remedy that. A little sister-to-sister chat."

"I may be young, but trust me, I'm not naive enough to believe that when a mafia princess calls me, she doesn't want some kind of favour," she says.

"Aw, you called me a princess." I shut my eyes as a spa worker puts cucumber slices on my eyelids. "And, you know what, I'll hand it to you. I do want something from you."

"Thanks for cutting to the chase," she says.

"I am promising you.. Well, no, let me start over. I would like you to betray Antonio Cavalli to the FBI." I shift in my massage chair, trying to get comfortable.

"What would that do for you, and why? And how do you know I'm not doing that already?"

Her barrage of questions does intrigue me. The last one, at least. "I don't think you're the one asking the questions here, Christina."

"Why not?"

"Because otherwise, I'll be watching the police haul you away in cuffs, for the suspected murder of Charles Martell, and trust me, Tina, the Martells won't be very kind to you, either."

"How would you do that? I've only met the man once!"

"Oh, trust me, sister, I have my ways. How would you like to have ten million dollars in your bank account, a French chateau in your real estate portfolio, and then shortly after finding out that our father was shot? Wouldn't that be fun?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you're an evil genius?"

"Me, every morning. In the mirror, to myself. I want the Cavalli's destroyed, from the inside out, and this is just my leverage, Christina. I'll see you in a month to ensure that you've been making progress."

Satisfied, I hang up.

"DID YOU DO IT?" I say, the speaker pressed to my ear as I hurry through the streets. A cold breeze whips against my face, drying my eyes. "Priscilla?"

"Yes, now stop interrogating me, Lucas," she responds with a snort. "What are you, FBI or something?"

"Don't you already know what I am?" I ask. "I mean, I thought you already knew my name when we met, so I figured you would have done a stakeout or stalked me for long enough to know that I am, indeed, FBI."

"It was a joke, there's no need to babble on and on." I picture her waving her hands in the air to punctuate her annoyance. "She's taking the deal. Or, rather, I guess she's responding to the threat. No need for you to worry your pretty little head."

"My head is not little." I frown. Is it? "Anyways, what do you mean responding to the threat? I thought you made her a deal?"

"Honey." Her voice is a drawl, without a drop of seduction but every syllable saturated with lethality. "I don't make deals without threats. Fear, I have found, is more powerful than self-interest."

"It also makes people more unpredictable." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "What if she does something that you don't expect, Martell?"

It still feels weird to call someone Martell who isn't Christina, though I never did refer to her that way when we were together.

"She's my sister," Priscilla says drily. "I know girls like her. They're all the same. They get scared easily, and when they do, they bolt, because they just want their lives to be back to normal. A girl like her? She might like the diamonds and the shoes for a few weeks, but she'll get skittish the first time she sees him kill a man with his bare hands. I'm just escalating what would have happened anyway. She's not like us. She wasn't built for this world."

I wonder who she meant by us. But I don't want to ask. I'm not sure the answer would be particularly reassuring. "So what you're saying is, you think she would have left sooner or later, you're just speeding up the process."

"Exactly. I'm glad you're catching up, I was really worried about your learning curve for a second," she says, her tone as caustic as ever. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go see a woman about an epilator."

I shudder as she hangs up, another gust of wind billowing my coat. I don't even want to know what she's talking about. Under my breath, I mutter, "This deal is going to be the death of me..."

Finally spotting the mechanic where I left my car for a tune-up and to fix those scratches, I walk into the garage. Barry, the owner, spots me and claps me on the back. He's an old friend of my father's, but so far I've tried not to hold it against him. "Hey, Luke, your car's out back."

"Thanks." The smell of grease and motor oil greet me as I follow Barry into the garage where my car is. She's in top condition, a far cry from the scratched-up sight a week ago when I brought her in. I let out a whistle in spite of myself.

"She's a beaut," Barry says, but something in his tone makes me pause.

"What's wrong?" I frown, turning to him. I've known Barry since I was a kid, and he's always been honest with me. He's one of the reasons I found about all the affairs my father was having.

"Luke, there's no easy way to say this... When I was digging around, I found out that someone had planted a car bomb in the engine," he says with a sigh. "Thankfully, we were able to remove it. But it looks like someone either wanted to kill you, or frame you for something."

I know this job has gotten me too far gone when my first instinct is to ask him, "Do you still have the pieces? Maybe I can bring it into work and get it analyzed."

Barry shakes his head. "Man, Lucas, you're crazy. But sure, I can have my son drop it off at your place tonight. He's obsessed with those darn video games, and he's the one who noticed the bomb was there to begin with."

"Let me pay now" I start to say, but he holds up a hand.

"I'm not about to let you do anything of that sort, Luke." He shakes his head. "You're like family."

"Thank you for everything." I get into the car, smelling the familiar leather and feeling the worn-out seats. "I mean it, Barry. Give me a call, if you ever need anything."

He nods, his brown eyes sincere. "I will, Lucas. I will."