You had worked for Valentino for years. It was a cushioned, easy job for the most part. It beat being out on the streets... okay, well technically you were still out on the streets, but at least being one of Val's girl's, you had protection and a place over your head.

All it took was giving your body out to whoever Valentino pointed you towards. Either that, or dancing at his clubs. If not that, then in front of rolling cameras filming filthy scenes that would make the most hardened sailor blush.

Life was good, all things considered. You made your money, you bought the nice things, you enjoyed the lavish life style of piggybacking off your successful boss. Valentino would bring you along to most events as his arm candy. But one thing was certain, if he was in the same room as you, rest assured, his eyes were on you.

His smiles were predatory, salacious. They were heart stopping. It was hard to resist him, the red clouds that he so often puffs from his cigarette, pinched on the long holder that makes his arms appear that much longer.

When he would breath that cloud around you, swirling around your senses and clogging your thoughts of anything but him, you find it hard to complain about your life.

But when Valentino's jobs become more spaced out, and your pockets become emptier, you take it upon yourself to ask him why he had been using you in less shoots.

Valentino would never admit it, not directly, perhaps - but he had grown a soft spot for you. He'd watch your every movement, and while you made him a lot of money, the sight of you with another man set his skin aflame with anger and burning passion.

It was one day where you finally get the courage to stomp yourself up to him, determination on your face, that falters when he breathes a cloud of that thick red smoke at you, his fangs flashing white when he bares them in a slow, sultry grin. "There you are, cariño... I was wondering when you'd show your pretty face."