“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.”

as it dropped. She handed it to me like a consolation prize.

“The pretzels here taste like cardboard,” she warned.

I tore the bag open and chewed one. “It’s a culinary masterpiece.”

Lucia squinted at me. “You’re a very weird liar.”

From the doorway of Room 412, a soft, melodic sound echoed down the hall. Elena was laughing. It was a weak, battered sound,continue reading …