“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.”

tight, measured—a tone that terrified me more than a loaded gun ever could.

“Dante,” Frank said. “We hacked a municipal medical database under one of Elena’s known aliases. She has stage three cancer. She ceased her chemotherapy treatments four months ago because her cash ran out.”

The world stopped spinning. The rain against the glass faded into a dull,continue reading …