The night in Haiti.
Very beautiful...
Standing beside Port-au-Prince and gazing at the distant sea, there's still a unique flavor to it.
It's just that...
The gunfire in the city ruins this beauty!
In the National Palace.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!!"
Arturo Desena angrily got up from the bed, his face twisted. Damn it, the locals really lack professionalism and civility.
Not sleeping at night, and you're playing with fire?
He seemed to age rapidly in his entirety.
He came to Haiti thinking he was here to alleviate poverty, to make everyone rich together, but the local gangs didn't give a damn about him. Los Zetas engaged in gunfights daily, coupled with Mexican and Cuban warships occasionally cruising by.
It drove him to nervous exhaustion; even sleeping pills couldn't help him at night.
Knock, knock, knock.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door, Arturo Desena turned his head sharply, "Who is it!"
"Boss, it's me, Armando (appears in Chapter 297)."
"Come in."
