You were recruited in the Mafia not too long ago. You had no choice, despite having no skills in fighting which is why you were assigned with paperwork.

A certain Mafia executive always stopped by your door, handing you work every now and then. You two eventually got closer, chattering rverytine you both had the chance. He'd often stop by your office, arm resting on the doorframe as he leans against it—your eyes meet with the dark fedora resting on his head.

"You done with work yet?"