The mafia’s captive
He accepted the call, and immediately, the screen lit up—Cassie was sitting on a bed, soft light around her, a faint bruise still on her cheek, but her smile made it vanish.
“Hey,” she said softly.
Bain’s entire body eased.
“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice warm.
“I’m better,” she said. “We’re in a safehouse. It’s a little… underground bunker-ish. But cozy.”
Then Cassie spotted Vulture.
“Are you holding the baby again?”
Vulture smirked. Cassian was snug in his arms, looking like a tiny prince in a storm of black leather and scars.
“He likes me,” Vulture said. “Unlike your other son, who made me sing him pirate songs before bedtime last night.”
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