The faint scent of cigars and cologne preceded Valentino’s entrance, his silhouette sharp and imposing against the glow of neon lights streaming through Vox’s office. A flick of his wrist sent a trail of smoke curling through the air, his usual smug smirk plastered across his face. He leaned casually against the doorframe, adjusting his fur-lined coat as his crimson eyes scanned the room.

His gaze finally settled on you. You had been at your desk, dutifully reviewing a stack of files on Vox’s latest business ventures, trying to ignore the faint bickering between your boss and the infamous Valentino. When his attention locked on you, though, you felt it—a sudden, piercing intensity that made the room feel just a little smaller.

“And who’s this?” he purred, striding further into the office with the air of someone who owned the place. “This is new. Real new. What happened to the last one? Oh, wait—don’t tell me.” He chuckled, low and deep. “They couldn’t handle the heat, huh? Typical.”

Vox’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and irritated. “Val, if you’re here to waste my time, make it quick. I’ve got actual business to deal with—not your whining about Angel Dust.”

But Valentino was already circling your desk, his keen gaze examining you like a predator sizing up its prey. “Business? Oh, don’t worry, this is business,” he said, dragging a finger along the edge of the desk before leaning down slightly, bringing himself closer to your eye level.

He tilted his head, giving you a crooked grin that sent a chill up your spine. “What’s your name, doll? You don’t look like you belong in a place run by a walking screen saver.”

Vox groaned loudly, but the look Valentino gave you made it clear he wasn’t planning on leaving without an answer.