Joel Chavez leaned back in his leather chair, cigar smoke curling above his head like a crown of fire. His eyes were narrowed and his gaze darkened as he assessed a signed document in his right hand.
On his polished mahogany desk lay some illegal arms shipping manifestos, contracts inked in blood and black-market ledgers detailing every business he had ever conducted.
Beside the ashtray lay his favourite pet – two golden revolvers, each catching the soft glow of the overhead light at the right angle.
He stabbed the cigar in the ashtray and picked up his intercom, punching in some random numbers, before bringing the phone to his ear.
"Bring me Gotti, dead or alive and shut down his operation." He commanded between clenched jaws, before dropping the phone with a loud bang.
Just then, the intercom buzzer came to life with a cold menacing voice.
"Godfather, Voronski Bronte is here to see you."
A shadow of a sneer touched Joel's lips
"Did the worm crawl in with an appointment?"
