THE LITTLE GIRL ASKED TO SIT WITH A STRANGER—BUT HER MOTHER NEVER EXPECTED THE MAFIA BOSS TO RECOGNIZE HER FACE

whiskey down.

His hand was not steady.

Then he took out a phone and dialed a number that existed in no contact list.

“Walter,” he said. “I need everything on Clara Whitmore. Boston area. Quietly. Off the books. Nothing through the firm.”

He paused.

“And the child. Lily Whitmore. Exact date of birth.”

Across the river in Dorchester, Clara pulled a blanket continue reading …