A mafia billionaire freezes at a painting he thought depicted a dead woman—until three starving triplets reveal a truth that changes everything

It was the first honest doorway he had seen in years.

When the agents took Malcolm past the front steps, Elena insisted on seeing him.

She stood wrapped in a gray blanket, Dante’s arm around her waist, her face pale but steady.

Malcolm could not meet her eyes.

“Why?” she asked.

He swallowed. “Orders.”

“No,” Elena said. “Orders explain a task. They don’t continue reading …