I moved closer to him and slipped the oxygen mask off his face, my eyes fixed on him—revealing not a single trace of sympathy.
Showing any emotion now would be fatal.
"How do you know Ronald Wilson?" I asked, slowly lowering the mask.
His eyes widened as he struggled to speak.
"I sw…ear… I don't… know…" He broke into a harsh cough, choking on his own breath.
Well, I expected that. An associate wouldn't dare betray his Don—they fear them even after death.
But no matter what, I had to get something out of him today. Screw his Don.
"No problem," I said, stepping back and reaching for the syringe. I pushed some of the liquid out, my eyes fixed on him—and I liked what I was seeing.
The sharp smell of toxic chemicals quickly filled the air as I moved toward him. He was already shaking, muttering words I couldn't even hear.
