“Pass the mash,” Luciano expels, looking to his nephew, “Whattar-ya deaf?” in frustration, as he stares at the panicked boy. Luciano’s sister doesn’t say anything, knowing the line of business he is in, as Luciano gets up from his chair - grabbing the spoon from the side plate and aggressively stomps back to his chair. Grabbing a foot full of mash and smashing it to the plate - the rest of the family look worried, the unease and tension bites through air, yet nothing was easy to swallow. 
    Finally entering into the sleeping hours, Luciano takes his trenchcoat, putting it on his shoulders as his family members up and leave. Luciano’s Chauffeur outside starts to honk, the wife expects this type of behavior as Luciano kisses her on the cheek and a sly wave goodbye. The door opens up as he bends down towards the car, fitting his legs into the back passenger seat;
“Downtown, next to Luigi’s Pizza place,” Luciano says as he enters the car on a particularly cool yet humid night. The driver nods as the still running engine starts to roar forward.
    Ten minutes later;
The two steps outside of the vehicle, lights flare up with neon bright tones, shades of salmon and aqua filter through their iris, following the lines as the form the shape of an impossibly thin woman with high heels as the lights separately move one of limbs up and down. These places accompanied low-lives, undesirables and degenerates - yet the thought in Luciano’s head was this is the best place to do business.
    Coming up the doors of the establishment, a large man stands infront of them - with a quick look, he pats them down and waves his hands through - with a single CM of air escaping from the pressurized chamber of 100 people in one room, Luciano’s senses were hit with the smell of cigarettes, urine and other liquids seem the most inhaled, with yelling and hollering coming from inside - seems like a busy set was in-display, just as Luciano planned.
    Encroaching to the main doors, taking a small right into what seems to be personnel only gives him a break from the oppressive smell that accompanies such a place - carrying forward into the restricted area, he finds the room he was looking for, staff room toilet. Lifting the lid of the toilet, a silver package is sat inside - seemingly wrapped with duct tape and some other plastic wrapping - Luciano’s devilish smile cuts through, unwrapping his sordid present as he puts it in his inner pockets within his jacket. 
    TAking a few minutes to recuperate, Luciano takes himself back into the frey of women, booze and men who haven’t washed in days if your lucky. Following through into where the  private booths are, mild music is playing - some jazz is played by a live band. Walking further, he sees a balded man sitting, taking the pleasures of a paid service - this wrinkling 40ish man, with his hands on the buttocks of a working lady, she turns looking uncomfortable; “I don’t think she’s into old guys,” Luciano opens, as he sees the bald man take on a sly smile, 
“Nothing to grab anyway,” The man retorts, pushing the girl from her back forward - as she falls into the boothe infront of her. Quickly regaining her footing - she storms out of the private area,
“I see your a woman’s man,” Luciano quips,
“Do you want to talk about business, or lecture m-”  
*BANG BANG*
Two shots are heard in quick concession, smoke releasing from the barrel of the gun as the enamored face of the bald gentleman lays coughing up his own blood. Screams can be heard from the distance as Luciano quickly rifles through his pockets taking out a brown paper bag. Picking up his casings, Luciano takes himself out with a fast walk - his shoes having no traction of the fluid filled floor gives his reason to take it slow - yet the reaction of the bodyguards who venture in to see what the commossion is all about gives him pressure to reach the outside. Getting closer to the staff room again, trying to find a back exit - sirens blare from the outside ‘quickest response time the boys in blue ever had, just my luck’ luciano thinks, as he etches from each corridor and hall way. Finding himself at a staircase - he takes it to the roof of the building - with some airvents and stock for the bar, he leans over the far left wall as he can see a dumpster truck, with police on the other side of the building - watching as the lights fill the entire street. 
    Jumping down, Luciano clutches his cross, falling legs first, as he lands his feet embed into the most recent trash of what seems to be paper towels and chicken bones. The disgusting smell didn’t deter him any further from escaping - as he takes out his clip from his gun, leaving it inside as he climbs his way outside.

Hearing a screech of wheels, he see’s his driver coming towards him fast, parking fast by the street road as Luciano jumps in, “I heard the shots, what the fuck happened?” The driver exclaims,
“Nothing for you to be concerned about, capisce?” Luciano replies, as the car falls silent - the only noise coming from his urine soaked clothes and his rotten chicken shoes, reaching down into his right shoe, finding a few chicken bones filtering through his finger tips.

2 hours before

An associate walks into the strip club, filtering through the bums and lust filled degenarates, heading straight to the management. As the door opens - the heat from the manual printers inside whaft as ink concocts a staining smell through the nose of the Associate. As a hand gestures towards the manager of the building, seemingly sitting in a expensive leather chair, yet table barely even sanded down - being careful not to move to quickly while resting his elbows, incase of a splinter of severing an artery, the associate speaks up,
"Got word from the boss, your up next," as the associate speaks straight, the manager comes out with an indefinte sigh,
"You're seriously gunna take my biggest partner?" The manager, with his hands inside of his eye sockets, rubbing them slightly as the wrinkles ontop of his head pulse in and out, 
"Take?" The associate replies, with a grin, "Gunna be more than that pal,"
"Your not serious thinking of taking him out - do you know who he works for?" the manager responds, his face now more alert, as his hands slam down onto the table - a part of his palm hitting one of the more rougher sides of the table, causing it to bleed some, yet he takes no notice, 
"Do you think the boss doesn't know, come-on, don't bust my balls here - it's happening tonight, 11pm, sharp, call him - now," The associate, throws a number on a piece of paper, as it seemingly fits below the notepad, "Clean up Service" in red appears with a number below, the associate responds with a nod and the tip of his hat.

Before leaving - with eye looking both to his left and right, he pulls down his fedora, turning fast left into the staff corridor, reaching towards the bathrooms. As he flushes the toilet and places the gun inside of the filter, he calmly walks out, spitting on the floor a piece of tabacco, the grey sludge combined with puddle of fluids creates a deathly reflection.

The key goes through the door, the metal clang turns to a click, with his hand loosely on the door, Luciano peers through the front door. Walking off from the door mat, his feet touch a carpetted floor - a beige white, with the lights off - his crept steps skulk through the house, ending him through into the kitchen where he loosens his attire to only his shirt,
Donning his trenchcoat onto the kitchen chair and putting his keys into a china bowel, Luciano throws his polished brown shoes to the side and walks up the spiral stairs that lead to his wifes bedroom. Underneath the door a light glimmers underneath, confusion starts to come over him, yet he presses forward. His hand extending towards the door knob, he twists it before realising that it's already open - pressing light forward as he reveals his wife sitting on the end of the bed, with make-up running down her eyes.
Luciano firstly looks more confused that before, then becomes annoyed, "You, of all people have the nerve to be crying?" Luciano, stands with his hand on the bridge of his nose, "Com'on then, tell me.. Tell me before i slap that noodle brain right out of ya. As Luciano opens his eyes, he see's his wife looking towards his chest, with his eye-brow raised inquistively, he looks down too as he see's a spray can fashioned mark of red of his once clean, ironed shirt. 
A few minutes later go by as a hurried hurricane of packing ensues, Luciano follows his wife from room to room, threatning what he'll do to her if she takes the kids, as she puts her hand on their daughter's wrist - the sleep-eyed daughter exclaims in a weary voice of confusion before turning into crying, as Luciano takes the wife by her neck, slamming her against the wall, "You betta'fuckin' not take MY fuckin' daughter," As he squeezes harder he continues with spit almost filling every slit of his teeth before he can hear a slight gasp to the right of him. Luciano's neck snaps looking, still in his fueled of anger, yet his face numbs seeing the big pupiled eyes with tears streaming down her face. The tension in his hands relax, before he knows it - the wife breaks few from his grip and as if no time has gone by, all he hears is the honking of the car outside door being slammed as he sits there - a blue unicorn with a rainbow coloured horn bedies him.

Waking up from on a street corner, that he is unfamilia with, his first sign of life begins with his huffing in his lungs to spit out phlem from the back of his throat - the taste of iron alludes to his busted lip, almost all the way split open as touching it is more painful than his head right now. As Luciano raises his arm to look at his watch for the time, the birds twiddle their tunes as it seems the early light of the morning filters through the blurry blue filled sky, before noticing the tinge of black and blue on his knuckles, even worse - the phlem spat gives off the same hue..

Embodingconfusion, Luciano tries to sit up properly before his back caves in, the nerves aching from something he's forgotten, yet with a heavy breath, Luciano takes himself to the house wall behind him, sitting up right. A blurry vision cast forward as the migraine becomes more profound, looking back to his hands, blood red compounding from his wrists to new and old fragments of skin on his shirt. Adrenaline kicks in, his mind remembers something that he doesn't, his subconcious tells him to run, to fight, to hide. His coloured vision turns a slight grey as he looks at the world around him with darkened edges surround his usual sight. 

There he see's it, he see's what he's done - the barely recognisable face of Gaetano, the manager of the strip club. Luciano has been in positions like this before, killing is second nature - yet this was no normal person, this was a made-man of another family. Luciano's first reaction was to stand, yet his legs seemingly operating at half the speed made it troublesome, his ears fine turned to the birds now focus on the wheezing of the manager on the floor - his breathing! Yet Luciano's chest doesn't stop beating for relief, but what he must do to ensure he wont join them 6ft under. 

Crawling, hand and nail towards the manager, using all his body weight to clamp down on his face - the mouth and nose covered from the forearm of Luciano, as his second arm firmly wrapped around his neck - the limp nature of the manager means no resistance was given, yet out of breath and frail, Luciano fights to keep his body working. 

Flashbacks start to resvist Luciano as he see's pictures and small films of what transpiered, the sordid means to a uncesscary end - the vision of shouting, finger pointing - before the visions of Luciano's fist striking repeatedly, again and again, the blood and skin ripping with every strike in this violent act of drunken animality. Confining himself in his own head, Luciano's eyes are wide as he starts to feel the body of the man start to wriggle, the unconcious mind slowly being deprived of oxygen. 

The Street bare, the sun only know showing a faint light blue sky, death and blood coating one side of the street as the normal everyday workers still in bed within the safety of their homes. The smell of alcohol and iron under Luciano's breath and clothes leaves a foul taste in the air,