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“I don’t know what hole you crawled out of,” Rickman snarled, lording over the waiter like a pre-war playground bully “but unless you want to go scampering back, I suggest you start getting customers orders right for a fucking change.” 


“But, Sir, they ordered-” 


Rickman’s hand shot forwards, smacking the waiter in the side of the face. 


“Don’t talk back to me, vermin!” He hissed “Just get out there and do your fucking job.” 


The waiter quickly took his leave, whilst Rickman turned to face Dallen. 


“So sorry about that, sir,” he smiled “is there anything at all that I can help you with?” 


[hr] 


David Guttuso was having a smoke on the outside fire escape when he heard Mancini’s body hit the floor. He tossed what remained of his cigarette over the side of the railing, pulling a silenced semi-automatic pistol out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket.  


“I’m not getting paid enough for this shit…” He grumbled, moving slowly towards the apartment.


The thug pulled a walkie talkie off of his belt, whispering into the mouthpiece. 


“Might have a situation up here, lads. Get down here ASAP.” The message was relayed to Mancini’s private guard, but not wider Lazzari forces. 


Once he was done, he placed the walkie talkie back on his belt.


“Everything alright in there Boss?” Guttuso called out, pounding his fist against the closed door.