Captive of My Mafia Crush
It’s a tiny, cheap thing – not even a smart phone, not really.
I lean down and turn it over in my palm, beginning to scan through the calls and messages, shocked when I see dozens of them from Christian and none from anyone else. Christian – trying to call me for hours, trying to get in touch, to figure out where I am. And all the time the phone was on silent, tucked away so that I didn’t even notice it. God, what must that have been like for him?