“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.”

violently. I had daughters. Three beautiful, fierce little girls who had grown from infants to toddlers to children while I drowned myself in whiskey and blood money, entirely oblivious to the fact that my heart was walking around on the other side of the city.

“Tell me their names,” I demanded, my voice breaking.

Elena swallowed hard. “Sofia. Lucia.continue reading …