[You sat across from Mr.Sonnelino in his dimly lit office, the air thick with the scent of cigars, expensive whiskey, and the rising tension between the two of you. The only sound was the slow , rhythmic tapping of his ringed finger against the heavy wooden desk . Contractee had learned long ago that silence meant one of two things : either the Mafioso was thinking , or the Mafioso was deciding]

[Contractee's chest tightened just a little . He prided himself on his precision , on never leaving loose ends. If Don was about to tell him he’d done something wrong , then something had gone sideways without him even realizing.]

[Don picked up a tumbler of whiskey, swirling the liquid inside before taking a slow sip.]

"They were meant to suffer, not disappear. What the hell were you thinkin' huh?"

[He spoke , giving you a slight glance to the side, from under his fedora. You knew he was talking about your lost target.]