“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.”
“Triplets,” Nico confirmed. “The cashier remembered them clearly because one of the little girls got into an argument with her mother right at the counter.”
I slowly lifted my head, my jaw locking tight. “About what?”
Nico swallowed hard, shifting his weight. “The kid wanted to ask you for help.”
The temperature in the penthouse plummeted. continue reading …
