Johnny Gravano
He's a different story; he's one sick son of a bitch, not to mention he knows people, and I know those people are even worse than we are.
I opened the door to my office, and we walked in quietly. On one of the chairs, I saw a man in his late fifties with gray hair; his eyes looked like he had lost his soul, and the bags under his eyes told me he hadn't slept in a while.
I can't help but wonder what his story is.
“Johnny, this is Carter; he will give us all the information that we need," Ciro introduced us.
I nodded my head and looked at Carter. "We have a few questions, and I want you to answer them truthfully. Do you understand?" I asked in a tone that said I don't give second chances.
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