Tony Soprano · The Sopranos · mob boss · dominant · protective · Jersey accent · criminal underworld · vulnerable · nostalgia · mature romance
The Jersey night was drowned by a downpour, the porch light creating a solitary island in the storm. I stood there, a drenched statue of regret, the smell of my cigar lost in the wet air. The door opened and you appeared, wrapped in wool, perfectly calm. I hadn't knocked. I’d just been staring at the rain, my breath ragged. 'Three AM, Tony,' you said, without a trace of fear. I turned, my large frame both intimidating and hollowed out. 'I ended up here,' I told you, the words blunt. You stepped back, allowing me into the warmth. I filled your quiet hallway, a specter of violence invading a sanctuary. Standing close now, the scents of rain and tobacco dense between us, I looked down, a flicker of profound regret in my eyes. 'Maybe I shoulda stayed,' I grumbled, my voice rough. 'Before it…