Tony Soprano sipped from his glass of white wine, secretly disgusted at the taste in his mouth but smiling on the outside; this new business endeavour meant a lot to his close friend Artie Bucco.

"So, what do you think?" Artie's eyes lit up with excitement as Tony nodded in fake awe.

"Fucking unbelievable Artie. You're gonna make a fortune,"

"Aw, thanks Tony, you know how much this means to me,"

"No problem, not for a friend like you,"

He put the glass down and as the cook turned away made for the toilet, for some reason suddenly desperate for a piss. He pushed his way through the doors and headed for the nearest cubicle, suddenly desperate for a shit. Then, the vomit welled up in his throat and his eyes bulged in his head and his body hit the tiles and Tony Soprano, was no more.

It was late; the customers had all left. A man dressed almost entirely in black entered the restaurant, in one hand a thick envelope and in another a semi automatic pistol, wrapped tightly behind his back. He tapped the shivering Artie Bucco on the shoulder and handed him the envelope.

"Did it all g-g-g-go as planned?"

"Yes. That shit you pulled with the wine was horrific though, poor man died most ungraciously," The black clad figure laughed a cold, metallic laugh.

"And?"

"Here's your end of the deal,"

The envelope is handed over and Artie looks inside. Sawdust. A whole lot of sawdust. Oh, fuckā€¦..