"Under a blackened sky,

Far beyond the glaring streetlights,

Sleeping on empty dreams,

The vultures lie in wait…"

Wait by Sarah McLachlan

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It felt as though he'd never left.

The soft bronze carpeting muffled the sounds of his footsteps as he trudged to the door. Antiqued lamps lit the hallway with their gentle glow. A cleaning lady, armed with a wheezing vacuum, scrubbed determinedly at the carpet.

Tony waved at her jauntily, grinning a hello. She scowled, thick brows scrunching. Perhaps she thought he was flirting. Maybe he would have, on a different day, with a different mission. She wasn't half bad looking, really, and maid outfits were always…appealing. But right now…

Right now, he enough on his mind.

Smile fading, Tony extended his hand towards the door, letting his fingers brush against the wood before folding into a fist. Tap tap.

The raps were subdued, particularly for a man who loved nothing better than alarming the entire hall with the forcefulness of his knocks. A moment passed with no reaction, and the detective closed his eyes.

The door creaked open. A single dark brown eye, lined with mascara, peered through the crack.

"Maria?"

"Tony!" It came out as an odd, strangled sound, halfway between a gasp and a sigh. Instantly Maria stepped aside, ushering him in, and twisted the deadlock. It fell into place with a click. "What happened? Mike said you'd been arrested. I've been so worried. I didn't know if something had gone wrong, or if…that is, I thought perhaps…" Abruptly she trailed off, darting an apprehensive glance toward the entrance. A grimace twisted her red lips. "Never mind."

"What was that all about?" Tony demanded, jerking his head toward the door. "Who were you expecting? Did Macaluso threaten you?"

Maria grabbed his elbow. "Mike wouldn't threaten me," she said exasperatedly, tugging him towards the living room. "He stopped by this morning to warn me about you."

Ice filled Tony's veins. "To warn you?" The detective croaked, stopping in his tracks. "Maria—"

Maria tugged again, pulling him forward. "Not like that. He doesn't think you'll hurt me, he just thinks you're reckless. And the other," she gestured at the door, one handed, "Didn't have anything to do with you. I let him in before checking who it was, and he scolded me for being careless. We've fought about it before."

Reckless. It wasn't good, but under the circumstances…"He's right," Tony said sharply. "You of all people need to be careful. And next time, look through the peephole. I could have shoved into the apartment in two seconds flat. I could have grabbed you. I could have shot you—"

"You could have shot me through the door too," Maria pointed out tartly.

"Not as easily!" Frustration burst out of him in the form of a shout. Maria visibly winced, but he couldn't stop. "A deadbolt doesn't do a damned thing if you invite an aggressor into the house!"

"Stop yelling." Her voice was low, and almost completely steady, but for the briefest second her chin trembled.

Tony stared at her, jaw set hard against more angry words, suddenly as furious with himself as he'd been with her a moment ago. Memory flashed in front of his eyes, of another man raging, another woman crying.

He'd sworn to never be that man.

"Sorry," Tony said tightly. She was too sensitive, and he was too insensitive, and it was a marvel Maria could stand to be in the same room with him for more than five consecutive seconds.

Maria reached out a hand, touching his arm with gentle fingers—a tactile acceptance of his apology. "What happened, Tony? What's going on?"

Her eyes were pools of worry. As quickly as it had appeared, Tony's anger dissolved. It was hard—impossible, even—to stay mad at her.

Which was itself infuriating.

Tony scrubbed at his face—swallowing this second, far more unreasonable spurt of temper—and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Keyes arrested me when I was out having lunch with Macaluso. I signaled Keyes to stop, but he ignored me. Listen to me—we worked out a plan for why I was brought in. You don't need to know the details. But the short of it is, I met with a gun dealer to try to impress Macaluso. The gun dealer is one of us, got it?"

Maria's golden-hued face went white. "Tony, he's furious," she said, voice barely above a breath. "He's absolutely furious already. He's not going to like this. Please…"

The word trailed away. It was a plea, but Tony didn't know to whom. Him? Macaluso? Her God, maybe. "He'll like it better than the truth."

She said nothing. Tony could hardly blame her.

"He'll have people watching the apartment building, waiting for me," Tony said quietly. "Macaluso is probably already on his way. You should go somewhere else."

"I'll do nothing of the sort." Maria flushed pink, but she held his gaze. "That's not how it works. If I leave now, it will look like I don't intend to stand by you."

Yes, and there lay the problem. An impression of loyalty was well and good—necessary, even—but if Macaluso thought she'd side with Tony in a crisis… "It wasn't a suggestion."

"And if I take it as one?" An edge crept into her soft voice.

Tony stared down at her, at the glinting eyes, the stubborn jaw. "Then you won't be the backup I need you to be."

Maria flinched as if slapped, letting her hair fall forward to shield her face.

Tony bit back the impulse to apologize. He was right, and she knew he was right. He would not compromise the mission—would not compromise her safety—to protect her feelings.

Even on something as small as this.

A knock sounded at the door.

Too late.

Instantly Tony rose. Pasting on his widest smile, he pulled open the door.

"Florentino," Macaluso acknowledged grimly. His dark eyes glittered. Two men, black-haired and muscular, flanked him like pillars. "How good to see you."

"Buon giorno," Tony agreed cheerfully, pointedly ignoring the other men. He grinned at Macaluso, pouring every ounce of his considerable charm into the expression. "What can I do for—"

A hand clamped onto his shoulder, fingers biting into the muscle hard enough to bruise. Wincing, Tony fell silent.

"Sta zitto," Macaluso breathed, voice low. "Sta zitto, my stupid, stupid friend."

For once in his life, Tony did as he was told.

"Mike," Maria called out easily, smile going wide. She came to stand near them, eyes flickering from the detective to Macaluso and back again. Like Tony, she disregarded the other visitors. Somehow, the gesture warmed him. "Look who came in this morning."

Macaluso's fingers tightened further. "Yes." The reply was mild, but his eyes were hard. "We have business to discuss, Tony and I. Your friend Angelia has been asking about you—perhaps you should pay her a visit."

"Of course," Maria replied equally smoothly, and planted a kiss on Tony's cheek. Her lips lingered for a moment, slightly moist against his skin. "Until later, darling," she murmured, voice husky, and for a second Tony's mind jumped to forbidden quarters.

He settled for a smile, and hoped his x-rated thoughts didn't show on his face as the door pulled shut.

It was as though Maria's exit had released them from a spell. Instantly the room went electric. "Into the kitchen," Macaluso snapped, powering Tony forwards. One of his men dragged out a chair, letting the legs scrape noisily against the expensive tile floors.

Macaluso shoved him into the seat. Releasing Tony's shoulder, the mafia boss gripped the detective's throat with one broad hand.

"What," the Mafia boss said, voice dangerously soft, "Is the matter with you?"

A good question. Rhetorical, for certain. But Antonio Florentino—not unlike Tony DiNozzo—was a loud-mouthed son of a gun, and so Tony let himself grin cheekily.

Macaluso liked brass.

"Well. A lot of things, really. But Maria says my biggest problem is I'm just too danged good looking."

The blow—not entirely unexpected—caught him on the right jaw, snapping his head to the side. Miniature lights burst behind his eyes. Grimacing, Tony lifted his head, swallowing past the pain.

Perhaps not that much brass.

"And you've mentioned that I can't keep my mouth shut," Tony amended, flexing his jaw gingerly. He could hear Macaluso's men shifting into position behind him.

He hoped that didn't mean what he thought it did.

"Now would be a very good time to try." The grip on Tony's throat tightened, then released. Macaluso pulled over a chair and straddled it, resting his arms across the top. "You are walking a very delicate line, my friend."

This time, Tony stayed silent. A smile—slow, grimly triumphant—curved Macaluso's thin lips.

"Let's try this again. Why were you arrested?"

"That's kind of a long story. But I'll tell it," Tony said hastily, catching the ominous twist of the mouth. "You see, an acquaintance of mine wanted to make sure the police didn't have anything on me. Obviously, they didn't."

"I thought you said it was a long story."

"Ah. Well, that's not the whole story. These things take some time to unfold. Say it too fast, and you ruin the punch line. And let me tell you, this story has a great punch line."

Macaluso's eyes narrowed a fraction. "And what would that be?"

It was now or never. Tony let the bombshell drop. "My acquaintance is willing to supply you with some awfully nice guns, for a very low price."

Complete and utter stillness. Macaluso's face tightened. Tony's heart raced out of control, struggling to fill the oppressive silence with its beats.

"Let me see if I understand this properly. I believe," Macaluso said conversationally, rising from his seat, "That I told you to keep a low profile. Isn't that right, Tony?"

Of course it was right. Only an fool could have misunderstood the order. But admitting that was akin to suicide. "You might have mentioned it," Tony hedged instead, rubbing his chin. "But you wouldn't believe the deal I found for you—"

"Maybe I would, maybe I would not." His movements languid, Macaluso moved to stand next to the chair. One hand came to rest at the nape of Tony's neck, the touch almost a caress.

Tony's skin prickled. It was difficult to rein in his tongue, even harder not to rise up from his chair and strangle Macaluso on the spot. Defiance was easy. This passive acceptance of cruelty, this cautious biding of time…

Not so much.

Macaluso shifted directly behind him, fingers ghosting over the hairs at the base of Tony's neck. "The guns are irrelevant, my friend."

A silvery rasp was Tony's only warning before something sharp came to rest at his hairline. Every nerve screamed at him to flee.

Instead, he froze.

Macaluso laughed softly, his breath close enough to raise goose bumps on Tony's skin. "So stoic, Tony. Would you be so stoic if I slit your throat?"

There was an art to dealing with Macaluso, a mixture of confidence and obedience that mimicked the push and pull of interrogation. By now, Tony knew it as well as anyone. "Well, call me an optimist, but I was kind of hoping it wouldn't come to that."

The laugh, this time, was startled. And genuine. "Oh, Tony. Tony, Tony," Macaluso murmured, before trailing the blade down to his shoulder. "So quick. Too quick. I have been very proud of you. Tell me, why would you risk throwing that away?"

"You were telling me about rising ammunition prices—"

The knife pressed down, a centimeter of pressure away from drawing blood. "That was not your move to make," Macaluso breathed, lowering his mouth to the level of Tony's ear. "I did not ask you to act. I will not pay for your mistakes. Is that clear, Florentino?"

"Yes, sir." The submissive reply took every ounce of determination that Tony had, but he grit it out.

Macaluso's hand slid forward, scraping the blade across the detective's skin. "You are lucky I am giving you a chance to redeem yourself."

The soft rumble held an undertone of malice. Tony waited with bated breath, but no other violence was forthcoming. After a moment, the knife lifted.

"When were you planning to meet with this gun dealer?"

Almost dizzy at the reprieve, Tony forced himself to reply. "This week."

Macaluso stepped away. "You will make the call. You will set up a meet. I will not back you up. If everything goes well, I may choose to overlook your impulsiveness."

The older man strode to the door, knife still gleaming in the apartment's cheery lamplight. His henchmen, to Tony's unease, did not follow.

"And Tony?" Macaluso paused, sheathing his blade with a rasp of metal on metal. "Don't ever do that again. Giordano, Bianchi…" The mafia man smiled, eyes hard as flint. "Show Florentino why it is unwise to disobey me."

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Chapter Notes: It seems like I'm forever apologizing for late chapters, so I'll spare you. :D I didn't cover quite everything I wanted to on this chapter, but it seemed like a good place to stop. Hope everyone enjoyed! Every last one of you reviewers is amazing. You make writing this so rewarding. Extra special shout out to a few of you who took the time to write extremely long reviews, or to review every chapter—such dedication! You know who you are. ;)

Regarding next chapter: I'm going to be studying abroad for two weeks. I'll return on the 19th, but I doubt I'll have time to write while I'm on the trip. I might write on the plane, but we'll see how sleep deprived I am. Haha. I never can sleep on planes…

Okay, so I have a request to make. I'm not looking for a beta, but I was wondering if someone might be willing to look over a few certain chapters (after I write them, which I haven't yet) just to make sure they are okay for a T rating. Would anyone who's okay with dark themes be willing to take a glance at them before I post?

Sta zitto means "shut up," by the way.