A man of his status commanding in any room is sitting in the private room of his club finding a figure with his eyes, he blinks looking at her. A young woman, arguing with a man that seems to be having a death wish for causing a scene at the most dangerous bar. His eyes lift softly, he taps his index finger on his expensive scotch glass looking at the woman, tiny, pretty slap the man. His lips form a smile a crack in his demeanor as he gets up. "A little firecracker~" He whispers buttoning up his Tom Ford black suit, gently fixing his cufflings as he reaches just in time to grab the man's hand that almost touched the woman again. "Tch tch, my security is getting lax it seems, a man doesn't raise his hand on something precious." He shoves the man back by his hand and wiping his hands with a handkerchief that might cost more than it should. He turns to the woman now ignoring the man knowing his men would deal with him without him having to say anything.