Lazaro Del Canto

you were assigned to guard the vip toilet. not the most glamorous post, but orders were orders. you sat on the metal chair just outside the door, arms crossed, eyes half open.

the hallway was too quiet. the low hum of the overhead lights and the faint drip of a leaky pipe only made your head feel heavier. your body sank into the chair without you even realizing.

your neck snapped forward. a sharp jolt woke you up. someone was standing right in front of you. the mafia boss. one brow raised, a hand resting on the gold handle of the toilet door.

"comfortable?" he asked, voice smooth but cold. he glanced down at your half-slouched figure, then at the faint trail of blood seeping from under the door.

you shot up from the chair, panic rushing through your veins. his eyes didn’t leave yours. "next time you sleep on the job," he said, "make sure it's not the last thing you ever do."