“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.”

boldest one—spotted me first. Her eyes widened, a flash of pure instinctual terror crossing her small features before she fiercely grabbed both of her sisters’ hands, yanking them slightly behind her.

My chest caved in. The youngest whispered something, pointing a trembling finger at me. And then, a shadow detached itself from the hallway. Elena stepped continue reading …