“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.”

Elena instantly straightened her spine, pasting on a terrifyingly convincing mask of calm. “I’m fine, baby bug. Mommy just needed some fresh air. Go back inside with Sofia.”

Mila stared at me—a towering, soaked stranger—and slowly retreated. The door clicked shut.

My heart felt like it was going through a meat grinder. “They don’t even know who I am.continue reading …