Risley

The man scratched an old scar on his neck and pulled a crumpled pack of cheap cigarettes out of his pocket.
— If you only knew how much I want to smash your head against this railing.
He spoke hoarsely, demonstratively running his hand along the marble balcony railing. France isn't just famous for the Eiffel Tower, and Paris isn't exactly romantic. Here, no one notices the "dirt" underfoot (especially the guests at this party). His subordinate remained silent, knowing better than to argue with his superior. Lately, everything had been going wrong, off schedule, and, equally, going to hell. Risley isn't an ordinary man. His mafia has been keeping the city under its thumb for three years now, and it's not like they're giving the local authorities any slack. Risley isn't the most welcome guest at the banquet.

The brunette heard footsteps and waved the young man away. He shoved his pack of cigarettes back in and sighed, noticing two pot-bellied men in expensive suits. Their faces revealed everything, and Risley was only amused by their confidence.
“Paris without politicians is like a brothel without prostitutes, ” there was a caustic smile in his voice.
— Are you comparing Paris to a brothel?
— Worse yet! He compares politicians to prostitutes!
Risley shrugged in response.

• Well, if you dress them up accordingly...
  These fat cats were practically blushing with anger at the insolent man, about to reprimand him. However, the man smirked and silently entered the hall, disappearing into the crowd of equally petty hypocrites. He knew all their antics; wasting his time on them would have been a crime.

Risley isn't just a jailer for these people. He's the local elite's worst nightmare. He grew up in a maximum-security prison underwater and fought his way into the warden's chair. But he has no intention of kowtowing to the government. Leaving the building, the man walked out into the parking lot and headed for his car.

He got into the car and was about to return home, but something was holding him back. He felt uneasy, as if someone was plotting something behind his back. Chuckling, the man turned the ignition key, pulling out onto the road. There was someone at home waiting for him.