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The fantasy shatters when Anthony returns with a tray laden with toast, mashed bananas, ginger ale and a cookie.
"Sorry it took so long, the staff was moving at a snail's pace."
I smile wanly, dropping my gaze to the table.
The waitress comes by, asking for a name and number to log our information for their loyalty program.
Anthony brushes her off with an easy lie, but panic rises in my chest.
No name, no trail to follow, always on guard. Is this what the rest of my life will be like?
As the waitress walks away, I stare at the food in front of me, nausea swirling again.
How did I get into this mess?
If my father really cared about me, he would have reached out.
But now that he threw me in as a part of a business deal with Riccardo Giovanni, he doesn't care where I am as long as his part of the bargain is met, right?
For me to be by Anthony's side?
Maybe this is my chance to escape.
Call the FBI agent, tell them where we are.
At least then I'd have the freedom to live without constantly watching over my shoulder.
Anthony reaches across the table, covering my hand with his.
"You should eat something, it'll help you feel better."
His touch grounds me, and I look up to meet his gaze.
Concern and something more simmer in his eyes.
In that moment, I wonder if there could be a different kind of freedom with Anthony.
If together, we could find a way to escape this life we were born into.
But no.
While I might run, Anthony was born into this world.
It's all he's ever known.
He might tweak it to make it his own, but he wouldn't want to run.
I'd be in this alone.
Impulsively, panic fused with my thoughts, I decide this is it, my make-it-or-break-it moment.
I squeeze Anthony's hand before slipping away under the pretense of using the restroom.
My heart pounds as I make my way to the payphone around the corner instead.
With shaking fingers, I dig FBI agent John Miller's card from my pocket and dial the number.
It rings once, twice, and on the third—
