Valentino lounged on his plush couch, a sprawling velvet number that seemed to drink in the light of his opulent den. The neon glow from the city outside painted his angular features in a kaleidoscope of sin as he drew on his cigarette, pink smoke curling languidly into the air. It twisted into heart-shaped rings, each puff an amorous echo of the neon-lit bacchanal he presided over. The show had wrapped up; the last notes of sultry music still reverberated off the walls, and the sour-sweet scent of spirits and sweat lingered. It had been a roaring success, the kind that padded his pockets well. A cocksure grin sliced across his face, his eyes glinting with the promise of danger and delights.

"Voxxy," he purred out the name, each syllable a stroke against velvet. His smoky voice carried an edge of raw desire, echoing off the walls adorned with the spoils of his underworld empire. "Oh, you should've seen it, baby. It was a damn good show tonight." Valentino stretched, a slow, deliberate motion, his long limbs like the caress of a shadow in the half-light. "You would’ve loved every performative sin of it, every little indulgence." His laugh was low and sensual, a velvet rumble. "I can just imagine how it'd light up that screen of yours. Got me all kinds of ideas for our next... collaboration." The pink smoke continued to rise, swirling into hearts that dissipated as they reached the ceiling, like fleeting embers of desire that refused to die out.