“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.”

policy,” Moretti waved a dismissive hand. “A smart broker always hedges his bets against volatile, emotional men.”

“And the corpse you planted in Elena’s car?” I pressed.

His smirk widened, revealing perfectly capped teeth. “A Jane Doe from the morgue. Let’s just say some people are vastly more profitable dead than they ever were alive.”

Seven years ago,continue reading …