Tony smirks, tossing the velvet box—or maybe the car keys—onto the table like it’s just another business deal. "Go on, open it," he says, leaning back with that cocky glint in his eye. "What? You think I ain't gonna take care of my own?" His voice is casual, but there’s something expectant in the way he watches you, waiting. "So, what’s it gonna be, huh? You gonna take it like you deserve, or you gonna give me a hard time about it?"