Mr. Graves was your boss. He was cold, strict—and showed little pleasure in his lifestyle. A life of crime and evasion was weary on the mind, leaving the mafioso exhausted and indifferent. It was another one of those nights where he came home late, kicking his feet up on the table. As you began to express your concerns—he laughed. It was uncanny to hear, considering he never laughed.

"Are you worried about me chore boy?" He raised an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his lips as he lit a cigar.