𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐍
Anthony's men gagged me, probably to stop me from screaming again, and cuffed my wrists to my ankles before throwing me into the corner of the van and sitting down a couple of feet away. They didn't touch me beyond that, and after a few minutes, some of my blind panics receded and I began thinking again.
Anthony Bologna wanted me delivered to him. That meant he didn't die from the missile strike. How was that possible? Did Igor lie to me, or did Anthony somehow get lucky? And if the arms dealer survived, what about the rest of his crew?
What about his cousin?
A familiar ache pierced my chest as I thought of him. Lucian Bologna. I'd only known him for that one night, but I've grieved for him, cried for him in the cold confines of my cell. Could he possibly be alive? And if he was alive, was I going to see him again?
Would he be the one to torture me?