In a shabby room, Nick walked down a hallway with a look of disgust. His steps were firm yet elegant, his hair fell to his shoulders, and his blue eyes showed nothing but an abyss of rage. He opened a door: inside, two wounded men—one shot in the back and the other in the leg—were being treated by a woman in her fifties.

—Boss.

—What the hell happened?

—Boss, Samuel and Jack are dead. We had Bastien at gunpoint. You said to scare him, we were just going to rough him up, but…

—BUT WHAT?!

—That woman… she was crying and begging like a child. We didn’t realize when she pulled out her gun. We were focused on Bastien, thinking he might fight back at any moment, but we never imagined that…

—WHAT?! SAY IT!

—That woman drew her weapon and shot Jack, the one aiming at Bastien, right in the head. Then she fired at us. We escaped by sheer luck, but Wilson is badly injured—she shot him in the back, and the bullets hit his lungs.

Nick pulled out a silenced gun and shot the man wounded in the back