“Please mister, buy this painting so we can buy bread,” three dirty triplets begged. The billionaire mafia boss stared at the canvas, his heart stopping. The woman painted on it was the wife he mourned for years. With shaking hands, he pulled out a black card and whispered, “Take me to her.”

ears shut, while Sofia tracked my every movement like a hawk. “I’m going to give him precisely what a rat wants,” I said. “Bait. A meeting. A payoff. And the arrogance to monologue his sins while the trap snaps shut.”

The strategy was brutally simple, relying entirely on Moretti’s greed. Frank would wire my suit. Luca would coordinate with the FBI task continue reading …