The night began to fall.
Despite the intense change that happened during the day, most of the Pannu people have drifted to sleep already.
Johnny was still in his mansion; curled up in his basement. Sitting on top of the cold wooden chair, he was chugging his collection.
Lafette from 1982, Margaux from 1986… Half a year ago, these were things he wouldn't even dare to dream about. The weed in Los Santos was expensive, but compared to the "blood of the upper class", it was still night and day.
The basement was humid, but he was trembling.
Not because of the cold, but because of the fear he felt from the bottom of his heart.
He ordered the mercenaries to station themselves around the mansion and not let a single fly in.
He could read through their eyes. He knew the people he has paid to do things thought he was crazy. But he didn't care, he had enough money, he only wanted to live…
