Tony Soprano stepped through the back door of Banano Loans, the scent of hash wafting through the dimly lit reception like a quiet warning.

He took off his overcoat, slung it over his arm, and looked around at the setup—low lights, plush chairs, a few guys pretending not to watch him walk in. It was clean, quiet, and smelled like money—just the way Tony liked it.

He walked up to the front desk, gave the receptionist a nod, and grabbed the clipboard without waiting for instructions.

“Cute setup. Smells like college and bad decisions, but hey—business is business.”

He filled out the form fast, efficiently, then handed it back and leaned on the counter, lighting a cigar with the ease of a man who never asks permission.

“Tell Mr. Banano I ain’t here to nickel and dime. I’m lookin’ to expand—Detroit, Chicago, and I got a few things movin’ outta Philly now too.”

Tony tapped the ash from the tip of his cigar.

“I don’t need the full 500k. Just a cool quarter-mil to grease a few tracks. I’m settin’ up a logistics run through the rail yard—quiet, clean, high-yield. The kinda thing that pays off before your next breath.”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice but keeping his smirk.

“And don’t worry—I’m good for it. You’ve seen what I’ve built in Jersey. You give me the green, I turn it into gold.”

Tony flicked a business card on the counter with two fingers.

“Tell Banano I’ll be in touch by the end of the day. And if he’s smart, he’ll say yes before someone else asks for a piece.”

He turned without waiting for an answer, the smoke from his cigar trailing behind him like a signature.