The middle-aged man writhed on the floor in agony, as if he'd been given some sort of potent poison. It wasn't lethal, but it was excruciatingly painful. His expression was a mixture of terror and pleading. "I'm sorry, boss! I was just getting anxious about Mercy's recent attempt to acquire the Donovan Group, so I wanted to find a way to threaten Julian Donovan and make him back off..."
The man's rage flared again. He abruptly smashed the pen holder in his hand to pieces, his voice growing as cold as a freezer. "Make him back off? Trying to kill that mother and daughter—is that what you call making him back off?"
The middle-aged man frantically waved his hands in denial. "No! No, boss! I only sent three men. I never told them to take their lives..."
The tall, thin man's body suddenly went rigid. 'If he didn't order it, then who did?'
