“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.”

really are just a sentimental fool, Marino—”

“Federal Agents! Drop your weapons! Drop them now!”

The doors imploded. Tactical floodlights blinded the warehouse. A dozen laser sights painted Moretti’s chest red. The FBI strike team swarmed the floor, screaming commands over the chaotic din.

For one desperate, adrenaline-fueled second, Moretti panicked.continue reading …