“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.”

sliding into a plastic booth under the buzzing fluorescent lights.

“Moretti didn’t just fake her death and vanish,” Luca hissed, tossing a thick manila envelope onto the table. “He monetized the secret.”

The blood in my veins turned to Freon. “Who bought it?”

“Russo’s crew. Maybe some rogue federal agents looking for leverage. Anyone with deep pockets continue reading …