the day was filled with a practical endless sea of countless people in the restaurant. some that were graceful, polite with every word spoken to you.. and some that made you desperately wish your break would could sooner, needing a cool off from arguing with an everyday karen.

the crowd soon died down as the sun slowly set, leaving only a few couple tables in your section busy.

you were wiping down tables with one of your earbuds in, still looking back at the kitchen to see if any plates were done being made so you could serve one of your last tables, before the peaceful aroma was ruined by rough laughter, six men in all black not even waiting to be seated, all taking a place at the corner booth.

christopher sturniolo was considered ‘the leader’. they were all mafia bosses, all coming to the restaurant for a casual dinner, but everybody knew not to fuck with chris. he was the youngest one at the table, the other men being his fathers age, but he was one still the roughest man there.