[ WP ] You are the manager for a Russian mafia cover restaurant in New York . However in the last month the restaurant has rapidly become one of the most popular food joints in the city , causing trouble for the criminal activity behind the scenes . You are tasked with 'dealing ' with this issue .

`` I'm sorry, comrades. But, I do not understand the problem here.'' Ivan watched as the potful of water boiled on the stove. 
 
 `` For the love of-,'' Misha swore under his breath, `` Look here, Ivan. This restaurant idea of your's. It is gaining too much, how you say, heat with all the Americans. They come here day and night. They just keep on ordering and ordering. How is Alexander supposed to be able to ride off with his cocaine shipments with all the customers?'' 
 
 Ivan gathered his words, `` Could n't he just go out the backdoor?'' 
 
 `` No. That is not possible. It smells like the entrails of homeless men and filthy urination in the alleyway. I refuse to have Alexander go through that.'' 
 
 `` Oh, why do n't you just marry him if you keep coddling him like that. He is nineteen!'' 
 
 `` Shut up, Ivan! This is n't about Alexander, this is about you! You need to fix this problem! We're losing money off of this!'' 
 
 The metal pot on the stove began to whistle. White steam jetted out from under the lid. Ivan turned the corner to grab his butcher's knife and a handful of freshly-washed Russet potatoes. With all the precision of a trained killer, the cook began slicing. 
 
 Misha tried to speak up, only to be shushed by the restaurant manager-slash-head chef. Ivan continued on with his cooking, grating carrots and dicing onions. Some oil was added to a pan to saute the broken-up vegetables. A rich odor filled the kitchen. 
 
 `` Ivan, what the hell are you doing? I'm trying to give you a job and you're just... cooking?'' 
 
 `` Misha, brother. You do realize that we're making more money by selling family-cooked recipes than we ever did selling cocaine?'' 
 
 The Italian accountant standing by Misha's side, who'd stayed out of the brother's fight just as an Italian accountant should, finally piped up, `` He's right, you know. We've seen an increased total revenue of about thirty percent from'Misha and Ivan's' since last November. I'd argue it's because of the demand for warm food during wintertime, but thirty percent's a bit too high to just discount it as dumb coincidence.'' 
 
 Misha furrowed his eyebrows and rubbed at his temple. He was surrounded by morons, `` Ivan. Dear brother. Our family has been in the business of small crime since the mid-twentieth century. What is the meaning of this?'' 
 
 `` Misha, I want to be an honest workingman. I do n't want to be big-bellied, mafia enforcer no more. It's not my calling. My chest saddens whenever you make me come up to men's houses with shovel and threaten to decapitate their families if they do n't pay off loan.'' 
 
 Misha took a step back. His hands shot to the bottle of wine sitting on the counter by the stove. He felt lightheaded as the news was delivered to his ears by the mix of cooking smoke and Ivan's reluctant tone. Misha swigged heavy gulps. The Italian accountant tried to make a move for the bottle, only to be knocked into the opposite room with a firm fist. 
 
 `` Ivan... You know you ca n't just quit this life. What about me and Alexander and Mr. Feliciliciliciano?'' 
 
 The Italian accountant piped his head through the door, `` It's Feliciano.'' 
 
 Misha waved a hand to shoo the man away. `` What would we do for money? For work? As father once said, man without work is man without purpose.'' 
 
 Ivan clapped his hand together, `` Do n't worry. I have great idea stewing on, how you say, the pot.'' 
 
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 Misha looked up at the sign and reached into his pockets for a cigar. Alexander was running around on the truck moving chairs and tables into the new building. Once in a while, Misha would take a long look at Alexander and his flowing blonde curls, feeling more content with himself than he had been in many a years. 
 
 `` Misha and Ivan's'' was growing to be an even trendier and trendier restaurant on one of the busier streets of NYC. Misha's brother had been receiving all the adore that money-spending capitalist pigs could give and was all the more happier for it. But, that sort of life was n't for Misha. 
 
 The red neon sign above the brick building glowed eerily in the night, `` Misha and Ivan's 2.'' 
 
 A little ways further down the list was Misha's little insurance to keep his mafia business in New York running just a while longer. 
 
 **Baseball fans eat free. Go Red Sox! **
