"No! You didn't do that to Xavier!" Anthony's cry tore through the room, filled with disbelief and anguish. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale and clammy; a metallic taste of fear filled his mouth. Alexander sauntered away from the corner, each deliberate step marked by a self-satisfied swagger. The click of his heels on the tile echoed ominously in the tense silence.
"Perhaps if you hadn't been so obvious, Xavier might still be alive today," Alexander scoffed, his voice dripping with condescension. He clapped his hands, the sharp sound jarring in the stillness. His piercing blue eyes, cold as ice shards, bore into Anthony.
"Your skills have not disappointed my esteemed reputation. Everything has fallen into place, even better than I anticipated. The Don is pleased," Alexander chuckled, a low rumbling sound that echoed his relish in success. The metallic snick of the gun reloading resonated ominously, each click a hammer blow against Anthony's dwindling hope. The bodyguards' grips tightened, rough hands digging into his arms—a painful reminder of his helplessness.
"Alexander, please, no!" Anthony's desperate plea was barely a whisper.
"Let me go! I won't utter a word! I'll vanish like a ghost!" The words tumbled out, frantic and desperate—a last-ditch attempt to bargain for his life.
Alexander's gaze remained cold, unyielding. "Since there's nothing left to gain, I no longer need you." The gun now leveled directly at Anthony's head, the cold metal against his temple sent a shiver down his spine. Tears streamed down Anthony's face, hot against his skin, his pleas for mercy echoing unanswered in the silence.
"I'm sorry, Anthony. We can't have *two* Anthonys. We'll shed a few crocodile tears at your funeral, the beloved class clown, gone too soon." His voice was detached, devoid of emotion, as his finger tightened on the trigger.
Anthony's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against impending doom. Memories flashed through his mind—laughter with friends, moments with his son—all fading as the cold reality of the gun extinguished all hope. The acrid smell of gun oil filled his nostrils, a harbinger of the inevitable.