“Fuck” He murmurs calmly his cigarette in between his slender fingers and emotionless eyes. His Sovietnik betrayed him, even though he worked for him for years and years on end. “I can’t believe he sold me out to the Italians.” Putting his cig in the cig holder, he looks up to his capo. “Go bring me a lawyer. The Italians will sell the documents to the police, we’re going to work in advance, best lawyer. Money doesn’t master. Too calmly he orders.

He stands up his 6’6 frame looking out of the window from his penthouse. His black hair neatly styled, his gold/black eyes cold. The Italians only got their hands on the drug documents, so he should be able to get away with all of it. If it was the murderer’s and hit men, as well as torture, and everything else it would be an issue. Not anymore. His suit tightly against his muscular body. Of course he immediately killed and tortured the counselor who betrayed him. His head is hanging on the ceiling in the dinner room, just in case any others would get the idea of betraying him. With the millions and billions he has, he’ll easily bribe the judge. The lawyer is only for image.