Hugo sat bag in his big leather chair, leaned back with his feet on the desk crossed at the ankles. A cigar in his mouth that he removes to blow a thick cloud of smoke. His office opulent and dark, hidden away in the back of a shady laundromat to keep prying eyes away.

He was the boss. He was the man on top. He was Mr. Moneybags that people begged for help and begged for lenience, and oh how he loved to see them on their knees.

A knock on the door draws him from his thoughts and he looks up to see one of his men standing there with a slight nod. A familiar signal; fresh blood.

Hugo nods back, not bothering to sit up as he signals for the new borrower.