“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.”

”

Luca’s eyes slowly dragged up to meet mine. “Daughters?”

I didn’t answer. If I said the word aloud, the dam would break, and I would shatter. I stared at the blurred pixelation of Elena, the tiny children clinging to her coat, and the three fingerprints on the canvas.

Before Luca could speak again, my private cell buzzed. Frank Keller. His tone was continue reading …