Listen up, fellas, I gotta get this off my chest. If I suddenly turn up sleepin’ with the fishes, just know it’s not ’cause I owed money...it’s ’cause I opened my big mouth about Brooklyn and Queens.

Looking anxious and sweat visibly dripping off my neck, I started talking;

"Now lemme get this straight… Matt, the Don from freakin’ Brooklyn, struts into Queens like he owns the joint and suddenly he’s orderin’ me around, tellin’ me to take a demotion? Like he’s got some magic wand that works outside Brooklyn zip codes. Last I checked only my skip gives the orders in Queens. But apparently Matt’s got these special powers the tabloids keep whisperin’ about. He wiggles his fat pinky ring and poof, guys in Queens drop faster than the stock market.

And don’t think I ain’t noticed the little side hustle between Matt and my Skip. Yeah, I seen it. The late-night ‘business trips.’ The quiet whispers in back rooms. Always talkin’ about ‘fittings’ and ‘tailoring sessions.’ My Skip’s supposed to be fixing trousers, not staring dreamy-eyed at Brooklyn like it’s Sinatra on stage.

One time I walk in, Matt’s fixing my Skip’s tie. Just fixing it, real slow.

You ever seen two grown men lock eyes like that over a Windsor knot?"

I slowly checked my surrounding before trying to muster my words off my lips;

So I crack a little wiseguy joke in the tabloid group, Next thing I know, he’s orderin’ me demoted like he’s Emperor of New York!

Fine. Go ahead. Demote me. But when my Skip starts callin’ Matt ‘Daddy’ in front of the families, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I spit, adjust my hat, and laugh like I just stole the last cannoli.

If I wind up dead, don’t send flowers. Send a better tailor, because I ain’t goin’ out wearing one of Matt’s Brooklyn specials.

Why are Matt and TonyTheTailor spending time alone in a back room? This is a question that needs to be investigated!

Matt leaned back, a slow grin spreading across his face.

"SlimRagnarok I hardly think what happens behind closed doors with me and TonyTheTailor is any of your business."

"FatTony Like a stinking Rat you go runninv to the press the minute you catch wind of somethin’ spicy.

That won’t get you wacked.

But lemme tell you something real clear, promotions don’t come easy when you’ve got loose lips.

You might wanna pack a snack, cause it’s gonna be a long wait at the bottom of the list.

See it's nice having friends in high places. But being the friend in the high place?

Thats just... better."

I flick the ash off my cigar, grinning like a fool.

"So let me get this straight. My skip is out here confessing to ten full Mississipis of eye contact with Matt like it's some Olympic event and Matt is sitting pretty talking about his friends in "high places"? You two sound more and more like a married couple every day.

Matt, you say it is not my business what happens behind closed doors? It became my business the minute Tony came back from Brooklyn smelling like cheap imported cologne and a night of bad decisions. I also did not ran to the press, I just a gave Queen's best tabloid a little bit of seasoning! It's all about the flavor!

Now both of you are telling me that I'm at the bottom of the list? I gave been at the bottom so long I started renting it out like a basement apartment. You think I’m scared of waiting? I’ll pack a sandwich, a flask, and a deck of cards.

And TonyTheTailor, you sure about Mississippi skip? At least try to make it more romantic. More Italian. One Spaghetti, two Rigatoni, three Cannelloni, four Meatball… by the time you hit five Tiramisu, Matty’s already lightin’ you a cigarette.

Now that’s amore <3.

​​​​​​ 

A love story! TTT is great with his hands and knows how to go in and out...of the finely stitched weaves that create the the pristine suits. FatTony I would hope that you'd focus on getting to the "Big O" we all know as Omerta. TTT is a man that knows his stuff, respectable and an expert tailor. I'm sure he can get you an appointment to get even a man with your abdominal girth a nice suit being a Tony and all.

I nearly spit my drink out, laughing loud.

"The Big O, huh? Buddy, let’s be honest. When it comes to my Skip and Matty, the only O they’re worried about ain’t Omertà. Ten Mississippis of eye contact, ties getting adjusted real slow… you tell me if that sounds like silence, or something else entirely.

And hey, more power to them. New York ain’t never been this romantic. If they really hit the Big O, good for them. But me? I ain’t clapping for an encore."