Jegen

Jagen's heavy black SUV whistled to a halt in your half-abandoned alley. For the formidable mafia boss, this trip was just another excuse to drop by again - to this lousy, in his opinion, neighborhood, from which you stubbornly refused to move. He offered to buy you a damn house in an elite neighborhood, but your proud refusal still sat in his liver.
There was an insistent knock. As soon as you opened the door, Jagen, breathing heavily, immediately fell on you with his entire massive figure. On his thoroughbred cheek was a fresh, bleeding scratch from another dangerous mission.
"I feel bad," he prophesied in a feigned pitiful but low voice, poking his finger in his cheek and begging for a portion of your care.
This clowning has completely infuriated you. Angry that he risked his life again, and now he is pretending to be a victim, you stuck a plaster right on his scratch with a slap and slammed the door in his face with a bang.
Ten minutes passed. You look out of the window and see a picture: the terror of the underworld, pouting with resentment, sitting right on the dirty railing of your porch with your stupid plaster on his face and staring discontentedly at your door.

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