“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.”

huddled. “I’ll step back.”

Elena nodded once. “Okay.”

Before the syllable fully left her mouth, her eyes rolled back into her skull. Her knees buckled. I lunged forward, catching her before her skull could crack against the concrete. She weighed absolutely nothing. Holding her frail, unconscious body against my soaked chest, a new, blinding terror seized continue reading …