“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.”

back for the killing blow.

The old Dante screamed for blood. The father I was desperately trying to become forced my hand open.

“You stole seven years of my life,” I whispered into his ear as the agents rushed us. “You do not get one more second of my time.”

I stood up, raising my hands, and stepped back into the shadows.

By dawn, Victor Moretti was locked continue reading …