Frank Mitchell leaned against the head of the bed, his eyes closed in deep thought.
Most of the time he spent recuperating, he was lost in thought, considering how to exact his revenge.
How could he make Thomas Shannon pay? How could he make James Shannon suffer to the point of wishing for death? Should he kill his woman, or his son?
Frank Mitchell's eyes flickered open, the corner of his mouth hooking into a bloodthirsty, cold smile. Why not kill both his woman and his son? Perfect. They can accompany my mother in death!
An urgent knocking on the door shattered his thoughts. Frank Mitchell stared darkly at the doorway, his voice coarse. "Who is it?"
The visitor pushed open the door. It was a man in formal wear who walked directly to the bedside. Frank Mitchell pulled a pistol from under his pillow. "Stop! Who are you?"
"Mister Mitchell, I suggest you lower your pistol. I bring you good news."
