You're right, I do have a bit of a personal vendetta against the mafia. Which is why I need to be rid of them first. I need a clear objective head when purging the world of it's filth.

[He glides into the bathroom and turns the faucet on, placing the blackberry down so that he could wash his hands. Once he's finished he glances up at the mirror, then does a double-take. The cut under his eye grabbing his attention. An almost surgical cut in such a nostalgic area. There's a brief moment where the smile fades, and something close to a scowl takes over- but only for a moment. His face goes blank as he gingerly wipes the blood away. This was going to be an unpleasant week to put it politely.]