A gun fired. The bullet hit Jerald’s shoulder and he fell on the ground.

Who sent this man? He thought. Who? Am I about to die? His shooter came closer, holding a gun. The room lights reflected the face of his shooter - a man in his late thirties, Donald Justice and the gun that was pointing at him.

"New York Cosa Nostra," Donald called Jerald by his nickname - what he was referred to in the mafia world.

And Jerald felt his heart trying to beat right out of his chest in panic.

"I’ll take care of your wife, I promise. Now, say your last prayers,” Donald mocked him...