Fatality. 

Fatality.

Later on, the room erupted with voices—different accents and kinds of voices—as they swayed to the meeting of their survival and given the mentioned plan. The cold and calculating and intellectual decisions were made, conducting up the gravity of the situation. All the gangsters sat, exhaling the ideas and opinions of their own in the needed war that was going to take place. Perhaps sooner than later, they decided.

This deputation was not even close to easy and fun. Notwithstanding, they all would be enjoying it nonetheless, with their derangement gleaming on their faces; it was obvious. They chuckled at their own remarked comment to lessen the tension in the room surrounding them with a gripping hard hand with another certain amount of anxiety and concern.

“With anxiety piling up, shall we order some food?” The godfather joked, looking at the serious faces of the younger ones.

“I thought you wouldn't ask.”

The Godfather nodded at someone standing beside him. With a simpl