The Mafia Boss Hunted Down The Woman Who Left Him — Then Three Little Faces Revealed The Family Secret He Never Knew

PART 3

Weston called Silas Bram before Odalys could respond. “Find Wren Ashcombe. Current address, employment, debts, medical records. I want to know how she survived. And, Silas — find every letter addressed to me during the six months after my divorce. If someone buried them, I want the name of the person holding the shovel.”

The report arrived forty-three minutes later. Wren lived in a converted warehouse in a rough part of Brooklyn and ran a food truck called Ashcombe’s Table. She owed forty-six thousand dollars from a high-risk pregnancy. She was three months behind on rent, facing eviction, and a caseworker was scheduled to visit the following morning after an anonymous complaint.

Weston read it twice. By the third time, his hands were trembling.

“Turn around,” he told his driver. “Her apartment.”

At the door, Wren opened it six inches, stopped by the chain. “How do you know about tomorrow?”

“I have people who find things. The complaint came from a prepaid phone purchased in Manhattan. Whoever called knew about your rent, Owen’s therapy, and the condition of the building.”

“You think someone is targeting us?”

“I think the timing is too precise to be an accident.”

A bright little voice inside asked whether the bad man was at the door.

Finally, the chain slid free. “One hour,” Wren said. “You do not tell them who you are.”