"I've tried more than a dozen times,"
The housekeeper glanced at Mr. Luna, his face pale, and then bowed his head in distress.
"Not only is the communication system unable to establish contact, but the GPS positioned in their teeth has also lost its signal."
Simply put.
The ones they sent to kill Sinclair have disappeared without a trace, as if they've evaporated from existence.
It is highly probable that their luck has run out.
Of course, the housekeeper didn't dare to voice the latter part.
"Damn it," Mr. Luna's hand, holding a cigarette, trembled. He then harshly smashed the ash from the cigarette to the floor.
"So much for the so-called professional killer organization, I see nothing but a bunch of incompetents who create more problems than they solve!!"
The lit end of the cigarette fell onto the expensive carpet, scorching several holes through it.
A faint burnt smell permeated the air, but neither of the two present paid any attention to it.
