Kat sat in a trashy bar, ignoring the lusty looks from some of the drunken men. Instead she focused on the bottom of her shot glass. She pushed the glass forward signaling a refill. She didn't look up as some faceless person filled the shot glass with vodka. She pulled a crumpled five-dollar bill for her pocket and left it on the bar while she stared down at her drink. Kat sighed softly, she had no idea how much she had drunk but it didn't bother her. She frowned slightly then lifted the glass as if she intended to toast something. She emptied the glass in a single mouthful and slammed the glass down on the bar top as she stood up. She left the bar managing to look incredibly sober and somber.

Tommy sat in an expensive looking red sports car. He had parked across the street and looked up at Ricardo Diaz's mansion. He had two plans but both were risky. Finally he started the engine and turned the car around and slowly drove up the bricked driveway. The mansion loomed threatening above him.

Tommy stopped the car at the foot of the marble stairs. He glanced up at the huge double oak doors, Diaz stood there, a fine Cuban cigar hung out the side of the mouth. He nodded at Tommy as he noticed him.

Ricardo Diaz was a short, fat and rather hairy man. He wore a baggy red t-shirt, which seemed to have some sort of black pattern dotted across it. His hands where shoved in his jeans pockets, stubbornly.

Tommy shifted uneasily; he took a deep breath before he stepped out of the car. He leaned against the side of the car for a while. Diaz trotted down the stairs; he held his hand out warmly, "Ah Tommy good to see you again". Tommy smiled and shook his hand. He was deeply relieved that Sonny hadn't passed a message onto Diaz about his upcoming plans. Tommy slipped his free hand under his jacket and pulled out the handgun. "It was nice working for you, but Vice City is mine" he said dryly as he fired the gun into the center of Diaz's forehead. Diaz's face was set in a mixture of horror and anger as his head burst open spraying blood everywhere. Some of the gray of his brains splashed on to Tommy's shirt as well as the hair and clotted blood. Diaz's fat body folded unnaturally on the floor. Tommy dragged the heavy corpse into one of Diaz's garages and dumped it there. He rushed over to his car and grabbed the ak47 off the passenger seat. He crept up the steps knowing that some of Diaz's men would notice and fight the change.

Tommy dashed into the house, he shot a few passing guards as he started to make his way up the velvet carpeted main staircase. As he moved swiftly up the stairs another round of startled guards reared their angry heads. He fired his gun. A stream of bullets exploded from the gun and into their chests, knocking them back onto the wall. The bullets seemed to hold them their for a while before they all slipped to the floor leaving a sickening trail of blood on the light coloured wallpaper. Tommy reached the top of the staircase and looked around, everything had gone eerily quite. He crept into Diaz's office. He whistled in an amused tone, the office was huge and elegantly designed despite Diaz's taste. He pulled the dark red leather chair out from under the huge oak desk. He sat down, resting his feet on the desk and aiming his ak47 at the doorway. With his free hand he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number quietly.

Rosenberg cursed as a shrill ringing noise echoed in his head. He hauled himself up and lazily answered the phone. "We've got the Diaz mansion" a familiar voice came out the phone. Rosenberg snapped awake, he couldn't believe it. "Really, that's" he was interrupted by the sound of gunfire as Tommy shot a lanky guard that had been foolish enough to stop in the doorway. There was silence again, for a moment Rosenberg thought Tommy had been shot. "Stay clear of the mansion for today, I believe we may have some unwanted guests" Tommy finally said coldly as he hung up. He held the phone for a minute, he dropped it on the desk deciding not to bother contacting Kat; Sonny would come of his own accord. News travels fast in gangster circles or at least that was the rumour.