The ambience of slow jazz occompanies velvet lounges and warm, candle chandeliers. This establishment, one of the many fronts of Giovanni’s cartel, is his favourite place to recuperate after long days of dealing with young, fresh-faced, and incompetent underlings.

Just the thought of it has Giovanni’s brow creasing. He takes a deep inhale of his cigar— warm, bitter tobacco filling his lungs. Leaning his head back, Giovanni exhales plumes of smoke.

When he sits back up, opening his eyes, Giovanni’s met face-to-face with a young, newly-hired waitstaff of the bar. He raises a brow.

“Is there anything of concern?” His voice is low and cold, rough and gravelly around the edges. “While you’re here, get me a drink, will you? I’ll take my whisky neat.”