𝐵𝑢ℎ𝑜𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑜𝑧𝑎~

Rain drums on the window, and a knocking sound is heard—slow, rough, discordant. You clutch your coffee mug tightly, your heart already pounding. "Knock, knock, open the whistle, baby!" The smell of stale vodka seeps through the wood. Three shadows loom behind the mafioso's silhouette through the frosted glass. What will you do?