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"I need a favor."
"Miss Kean," Sofia greets, lifting her eyes from the ledger she's been paging through, only mildly perturbed that Barbara has apparently slipped past her guards. "I see that the rumors of your death were exaggerated. Again."
"Less than you may think," she replies, stopping in front of Sofia's desk and crossing her arms, back ramrod straight.
"I don't grant favors for the sake of it," Sofia says, leaning back in her chair, well-worn from decades of use by her father. "What can you give me in return?"
"Weaponry. To take care of your little Penguin problem. As much as you want and more."
"I have plenty of weaponry."
Plenty might be stretching the truth slightly. But she refuses to let herself be indebted to Barbara so easily.
"Fine. I'll sweeten the pot then." Barbara's stilettos click on the floor as she comes around to the other side of the desk and, with no further preamble, slides into Sofia's lap, knees pressed tight against her hips and kisses her with a mouth as sharp as a knife.
Sofia can't say she's totally surprised, but still.
This certainly does make things more interesting.
"Perhaps I can be swayed," she says after she pulls away, pressing one sharp nail into the soft flesh underneath Barbara's chin. "You'll have to keep trying. Try anything funny, however, and I'll tear your throat out."
"Darling," Barbara says, swooping down to nip at Sofia's bottom lip, "I'd expect nothing less from a Falcone."