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critical condition.
In a bizarre twist to the tale, however, one of those
passengers was identified as none other than Cassia
Salvatore, missing daughter to the notorious mobster, Antonio
Luca Salvatore, who has refused to make any comment.
That was the whole article. Sparse information.
Adalynn wanted to scream after she did a search and
couldn’t find anything else about it. She slammed her laptop
shut, but even still she could see the mangled car in her mind.
Why was it always that way? That the drunk drivers got off
fine, that they were often not injured at all? They might face
charges, but that was it. Their lives went on. They made the
terrible, stupid decision to get into a vehicle when they
shouldn’t and someone else paid the price.
Horror clawed at her throat and worry overflowed the
confines of her cells and neurons, so that her exterior trembled
as a result. Her hands shook and her foot tapped nervously at
the floor. She grasped her glass of wine and tossed back the
contents without tasting it, just to wet her closed up, glued
together throat.
What could she do
? What was there to possibly do other
than wait and worry and check for a follow-up article?
Adalynn’s mind raced and her heart beat just as fast. The
wine she’d drunk burned in her belly and threatened to come
up. Wrong or right, there hadn’t been a single day she hadn’t
thought about Cassia since she left Vegas. She knew Cassia
had her own life. She didn’t want anything from her. Adalynn
certainly didn’t expect anything. She didn’t know why she
kept tabs, what good it was to put someone’s name into a
