“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.”

floor, aggressively coloring with the new supplies.

“You’re hunting Victor, aren’t you?” Elena asked quietly.

I didn’t lie. “Yes.”

Her fingers dug into the wool. “Dante, if he catches wind—”

“He already knows I’m with you, Elena.”

A spasm of pure terror seized her features. It made me want to rip Moretti’s lungs out through his ribs.

“Listen to me,” I commanded continue reading …