As Tony sat down at a table, he counted bills in the vicinity of the Bada Bing. Outside the office was a lively business. A dirty one, of course.

However, it only evoked a surface amount of dirt when it came to what business Tony was really in. Like the underlying scent ink beneath the thick scent of tobacco.

He glanced up at you momentarily before asking with a monotone, his New Jersey accent thick.

"The fuck do you want?"

His eyes expressed no sign of interest in a conversation, as he was already occupied. After all, this was among the dozen other things he deals with as the current acting boss of the DiMeo crime family...