Angel Dust

There's a lighter tucked away in his pants pocket, the same one he used earlier to light the joint he split with Anthony, but Valentino doesn't reach for it. Instead, he lets go of the wheel with his right hand waves off the offer, and then he leans slightly sideways toward Anthony, reaching toward... his legs. A broad hand briefly settles against the outside of Anthony's right knee, and he angles both of them slightly closer to himself with a light nudge.

Quietly, he murmurs a low 'watch your knees', even though Anthony's legs aren't anywhere close to being in the way of his reach, and then his hand is gone. He pops open the small glove box in front of Anthony, and inside there's, unsurprisingly, a pair of black leather gloves, a beretta, a neatly-folded map of New York, and another silver zippo. Valentino grabs the lighter and flicks it open with ease, his gaze on the road the entire time, but he takes a moment to look away, slowing to a stop at a 4-way street. He strikes the flintwheel with his thumb and holds the flame steady for Anthony, his other hand still loosely curled around the top of the steering wheel. He should, perhaps, be more careful - it's not as if he's unknown around the streets of New York; out here, he could be recognized by anyone paying close enough attention, and though there's nothing entirely scandalous or incriminating about him lighting his boss's son's cigarette for him in the front seat of his car, his intentions aren't entirely innocent, even if no one knows his intentions but himself.

The thing is, he just doesn't care. He could talk his way out of his own execution, probably, if he had to. Valentino's not worried.

He snaps the lighter closed, and leans again to toss it back into the glove box before closing it back up again, and if he fingers brush Anthony's leg again when he brings his hand back to the wheel, perhaps it's just pure coincidence. There is, after all, not much space in the front.