Agent Williams glances down at his copycat Rolex and starts to get nervous.
What do I do? Frank Izzotelli; the famous Atlantic City Mafia Boss is sitting in front of me. The F.B.I. has a SWAT team outside his apartment waiting to bust in and end Izzotelli once and for all.
His office is a room with no windows, a brown computer desk with a bunch of filling cabinets around it.
No pictures or photos on the bare walls. The bland walls are meant to show no weakness to his enemies.

“Want a Scotch?” he asks.
“Yes please.” I say.
“You know,” he said, I hear the F.B.I. is cracking down on my operations, taking out some my men around the casinos. Some of them are in jail for up to life.” “You know anything about this?” he asks me.
“How would I know?” I immediately responded.
“I know your girlfriend is a F.B.I. agent?” he said.
“How do you know I have a girlfriend?’ I responded.
I have men around Atlantic City who watch everyone who comes in and out my office, that way I know who is trying to back-stab me, you know what I’m saying?” Izzotelli asks intimidatingly.
“Absolutely Frank, I hate it when that happens.” I said confidently.

He sits down in his old tattered leather chair and slowly but repetitively sips his scotch.
He takes his .357 Magnum out of his holster and casually places it on the desk with the barrel facing me.
As if Izzotelli’s armed body guard wasn’t enough to scare me.
After he finishes placing the gun down just right he goes on talking about his casino business. He nonchalantly asks me about my investment possibilities.
As he goes on I zone out thinking about how this would be the time to have my team move in.
I can put an end to one of the biggest Mafia bosses in the area and save thousands of people from losing money and stop many crimes around the city.
If I don’t call in my team, I will lose my job for sure.
I have already muffed up two prior take downs and if I mess this one up, I am done, and I know it.
My boss will definitely fire me, no matter how close we are.
After I finish my Scotch I put my hand in my pants pocket and press the button to call in the team.

Seconds later a large blast shatters the apartment’s front room, giving off a shake that vibrates into our room.
Izzotelli shouts for his body guard to go out there and check on what’s going on.
Frank Izzotelli immediately picks up his .357 Magnum and looks at me with a, your dead to me look.
He shouts, “You Lied! You are with the F.B.I.!” raising the pistol to my chest he fires off two rounds into my chest.
I get blown back and slam into the filing cabinet behind me with a thud, and I slide to the ground.
My Kevlar vest is torn by the round and I am bleeding thoroughly.
The second round missed the chest plate and shattered my shoulder, leaving me in so much pain I don’t even budge because I know that there is no escape for Frank Izzotelli now.
He had used one of the other rounds to kill himself.

As I am helped up by a SWAT member, my girlfriend comes in and has a medic fix me up.
Before I black out from blood loss I remember her saying, “I knew there was no way I was going to ever fire you and I knew you’d pull through on this mission.”