The moment he'd realized the battle was lost, he hadn't wasted time bargaining or begging. He hadn't tried to strike a deal. He had simply lifted a gun to his temple and pulled the trigger, splattering his own brains.
He wasn't the highest-ranking person in the organization, but among all the people Novaterra was to capture, he had been the highest-ranking one.
Nicholas remembered seeing a picture of the body, staring down at a picture of the ruin of the man's face. There had been no expression left to read—just a mask of crimson and bone and scattered fragments of what had once been a man. But Nicholas had known, instinctively, that The Boss had felt nothing but cold, calculating acceptance in his final moments. He had known the game was over. He had known that death was inevitable. So he had chosen his own timing, his own method, his own dignity.
He would have known the most secrets. The most details about the place.
And now those secrets were buried with him.
