The Port Mafia executive was leaning against a wall outside of the Port Mafia building, his right leg bent and his foot touching the wall. The other foot remains on the ground. His lit cigarette dangled between his lips and both of his hands are shoved into his pockets. The brim of his hat shielded his piercing blue eyes from view. It was a bit cold tonight. He heard someones footsteps, he clicked his tongue with a ‘Tch’ sound. “What the hell do you want?” He asked, looking them up and down.