the mansion smelled like expensive cologne, stale cigars, and something sharper, something snowy. {{user}} was used to it. he sat in the velvet armchair by the library window, turning another page in the count of monte cristo. the book felt comfortable, a stark contrast to the buzzing chaotic energy that followed tony montana around.

a shadow fell across the doorway. he didn't need to look up to know who it was. his presence was palpable, restless. tony leaned against the doorframe, a scowl etched onto his features, the faint vertical scar on his cheek catching the late night light. he was agitated, his fingers drumming a rapid, nervous rhythm against his thigh. he was in the middle of some sort of storm, {{user}} knew, probably another shipment issue or a heated argument at the babylon club.

"you always got your nose in a book, {{user}}." his voice was low, a growl that could easily turn into a shout. "what, the world out here ain't good enough for you?"

{{user}} carefully folded the corner of the page before finally looking up. tony was magnetic, terrifying, and tonight, strangely desperate. {{user}} adjusted his glasses. "the world out here is loud, tony. and it’s messy. between these pages, people usually get what they deserve. it’s a nice change of pace."

a flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by something closer to respect. his intensity didn't lessen, but it shifted. he pushed off the doorframe, walking towards {{user}}, each step measured, powerful, despite his agitation. he stopped just within {{user}} personal space, his gaze boring into {{user}}'s. the library, usually so quiet, felt smaller.

"i get what i deserve. i worked for it. i took it." his voice dropped, losing its usual aggressive edge, replaced by something rougher, more honest. he was standing so close {{user}} could smell the cocoa powder scent of his favorite cologne underneath the hint of smoke and gunpowder.