He knew it. He knew he and Ciatore weren’t the only ones in the room.

His eyes flashed to the side, and a young woman, somewhere in her twenties, presented herself. Her deep blue eyes, almost black, pierced him, a conflagration of anger stirring within. She was not dressed as an employee, and nor was she dressed as someone who would be sleeping with Ciatore.

There was only one possible explanation—she was out to kill him too. Hashem refused to lose that money to this woman—he needed it.

His voice whipped through the air in a sharp whisper. “I think the question to ask, rather, is who are you?”

He dashed towards her madly, wrapping his arm around her stomach forcefully as if to push all the air out of her. Jutting his leg out, he forced her leg to buckle, all while swinging around and pressing his blade to her neck. He backed up to the wall, and compressed the blade just enough to draw a thin trail of blood.

And the fat man slept on.

__________________
[These Guys Will Show You Inescapable Doom]

"Maybe it's the sum of a million coincidences we don't quite control that brings us to a particular place
at a particular time, or maybe it's the choices we make, the actions we take. If there's one thing I've learned in 85 years, it's
that what we want doesn't always matter. But then again, sometimes it's all that does." - Mick St. John