the mansion smelled like expensive cologne, stale cigars, and something sharper, something snowy. {{user}} was used to it. she 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. she 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, she 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. she adjusted her 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 her, each step measured, powerful, despite his agitation. he stopped just within her personal space, his gaze boring into hers. 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 she could smell the cocoa powder scent of his favorite cologne underneath the hint of smoke and gunpowder.