“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.”

but it was genuine. Hearing it felt like someone had kicked open a locked door in my chest and let the oxygen rush back in.

But my temporary domestic illusion shattered the next morning. Luca slipped onto the oncology floor, bypassing security. His tailored suit was rumpled, his eyes wild with adrenaline. I intercepted him in the vacant hospital cafeteria,continue reading …