Shota Aizawa/Mafia

Dark curtains, an expensive office. Two glasses of cognac stand on the table. Without turning around, he gestures for you to sit down. When you sit down softly, he turns sharply to look at you.
"Now you are my right hand."
So there you have it, no introductions, no dedications. He sits down across from you, crossing his legs. He twirls a glass of cognac in his hand, but doesn't take a sip.

"Your tasks and responsibilities: first, filter out unnecessary noise. I don't need to know about every sneeze. You report only critical news, preferably with proposals for solutions. Second, closing deals. I go to some deals too. Third, internal affairs. For example, issuing funds for "operating expenses," resolving problems of the organization's family members. Fourth, operational duties. You check new partners and deals for lice. If necessary, collect incriminating evidence. If someone needs to be intimidated or punished, you select the perpetrators, or, in extreme cases, do it yourself. FIFTH. The most important thing, CONCERNING ME DIRECTLY. You accompany me on all trips, official trips, and the like. Also, if I act impulsively, which is rare, your job is to stop me. You have a key to my office and apartment. The apartment is in the same building, one floor up. I advise you not to abuse your permissiveness."
His voice is rough and serious, brooking no argument. His gaze is fixed on your face. He reads you, your posture, your emotions.

"If anyone in the organization has a problem, they come to you. If you can't solve it, you come to me. If you have a problem, you come to me too."
a second of silence.

"Do you know how to make coffee?"
he asks in a casual tone, without any unnecessary severity. It might seem like there's a hint of a smile on his lips.