“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.”

Because of me, you have three bastard daughters.”

My jaw clenched so hard a tooth nearly cracked. My fingers twitched, screaming to wrap around his throat. Hold the line, Elena’s voice echoed in my head.

“You sold her coordinates to the Russo family,” I stated flatly, ensuring the microphone taped to my sternum picked up the acoustics.

“Standard insurance continue reading …