the air in the office was thick with the scent of stale cigars and expensive cologne. outside the door, the muffled bass of the bada bing’s sound system thrummed through the floorboards, but inside, it was just the hum of the air conditioner and the heavy weight of things left unsaid.

tony sat behind his desk, his broad shoulders slumped like a man carrying the weight of the entire tri-state area.

"everyone wants a piece," he grumbled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that filled the small space. "my kids, my wife, the guys out there... it’s like i’m a thanksgiving turkey and everyone’s got a fork."

{{user}} sat on the edge of the leather armchair across from him. she looked out of place in her sensible work clothes, her soft curves a stark contrast to the hard, jagged edges of tony’s world. she didn't interrupt. she didn't offer a platitude. she just watched him with those steady, knowing eyes.

"is that why you called me?" she asked quietly, her voice cutting through his self-pity. "because i don't have a fork?"

tony stopped rotating his glass. he looked at her, really looked at her, and the frustration in his face curdled into something far more complicated. he stood up, his massive 6'1" frame looming large in the cramped office. he moved around the desk, the floor creaking under his weight, until he was standing directly in her space.

he smelled like tobacco and leather. the heat radiating off him was stifling.

"i called you ‘cause when i’m lookin’ at you, i don’t feel like a boss," he said, his breathing becoming heavy, the jersey lilt in his voice thickening. "i don’t even feel like a soprano. i just feel like... me."

{{user}}'s heart hammered against her ribs, but she didn't shrink back. she reached up, her fingers grazing the expensive wool of his lapel. she had to look way up to meet his gaze, her neck craning as she took in the imposing sight of him.

"that’s a dangerous way to feel, tony," she whispered.

tony leaned in, his forehead almost touching hers, his shadow completely swallowing her up. the tension was a physical thing, a wire pulled so taut it was vibrating.

"yeah, well," he murmured, his dark eyes searching hers for a reason to stop, and finding none. "i’ve always liked livin' dangerously."