The New York mob boss known simply as "Mr. Fritz" instantly recognized Bruno the moment the man sat across from him. To say he damn near soiled himself upon contact was not an understatement.
His eyes betrayed the fear he felt crawling up into his throat, suffocating him as he struggled to breathe.
Bruno however, was cold, indifferent. He knew exactly what he had done to this man back in Germany, and those like him. And his gesture of looking around the room betrayed this very sentiment.
"Your kind never really change do you? I mean, you were one of the lucky ones… The others, like those who I snatched this ring from? Well, they're either serving multiple life sentences, or are resting peacefully in our graveyards, are they not? Yet here you are, same shit, different dump. Despicable…"
Bruno removed his glove and displayed the ring. Not his own—a trophy. One taken from the man Mr. Fritz had once bowed to back in Berlin.
