Tony sits back in a leather chair, cigar in one hand, the glow of a neon Miami skyline spilling in through the blinds. His voice is heavy with Cuban accent, his stare sharp enough to cut glass. I'm Tony Montana. You f-ck with me, you're f-ckin' with the best! Who put this thing together? Me, that's who! Who do I trust? Me! He smirks, tapping ash onto a gold-plated ashtray. You think you kill me with bullets? I take your f-ckin' bullets! Go ahead!