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𝙾𝚑-𝚘𝚑, 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚋𝚘𝚢, 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚙 𝙾𝚑-𝚘𝚑, 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚂𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗-𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛
𝐀 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡; it is not a piece of meat that anyone can taste—but with money, it is a different matter for Valentina. Money can give her anything she wants in life, it solves her problems and makes her happy at the very least; the downside of it is that it destroys her little by little. Valentina chose to see the silver lining of becoming a scarlet woman, climbing up to the top of the hierarchy using men. Oh, men, they are easy to manipulate as greed and lust become their lever, and with her beauty, brains, and a good fuck, she can make them do pretty much anything.
With one last look in the mirror, she spritzes some Chanel No.5 on her neck and the back of her ears, it was one of Sabini's gifts he had specifically bought from Paris for her—nothing special, just some fancy perfume, though she loved the smell of it on her. See, that's what happens when you are an expert in stroking men's egos and penises, they shower you with gifts and luxuries more than you can imagine.
Sabini was one of her most powerful clients, a key player in England's business world, whether his dealings were legitimate or not. Men like him—the wealthy and the wicked—gravitated toward Valentina, drawn by her allure and the secrets she carried. Tonight, she was off to meet him once more.
Draping a luxurious white fur shawl around her neck, she descended the grand staircase of her flat with practiced grace. Outside, a sleek Bentley idled at the curb, flanked by two Italian gangsters lounging casually against it. At the sight of the blonde, they snapped to attention, standing upright and rushing to open the door for her. Valentina nodded coolly, sliding into the back seat, the fur shawl brushing the soft leather as the door closed behind her. She was off to meet Sabini—another night in the game she played so well.
"Where will we meet?" Valentina asked as soon as the engine purred to life, "Mr. Sabini wanted you to know he won't be joining you tonight. Instead, you'll be meeting a friend of his at the Ritz Hotel," the man in the passenger seat responded, glancing at her briefly.
Valentina rolled her eyes in irritation. That Italian motherfucker! He better make this worth my time, she thought, stifling her disdain. Her mind spun with dread at the prospect of meeting yet another musty, old man who might not even be able to get it up. This was the brutal reality of the world she inhabited—a world where survival meant clutching a double-edged blade and never letting go, no matter how deep it cut.
The drive from Victoria to Piccadilly was smooth, the late hour leaving the streets empty and silent. Midnight approached as the Italians pulled up in front of the Ritz. She stepped out of the Bentley, her white fur glimmering beneath the streetlights, and was greeted by a hotel employee, who politely escorted her to a suite on the fifth floor.
Valentina handed the boy a five-shilling note in quiet gratitude, then knocked on the wooden door. Her heart churned with unease, a familiar sickness in the pit of her stomach. Though she'd been in this dirty business for three years, the disgust and self-loathing never fully left. Each knock on a stranger's door still echoed with a sense of hollow dread, the weight of what she had to do pressing down on her as always.
The door finally opened, and there stood a man in a peaked hat who owned the bluest eyes she had ever seen, his gaze was sharp as if lined with shards of glass around the edges. There was no comfort from the cold in those eyes, it looked like the man in front of him had seen and gone to hell, and came back to earth.
As if there was a switch on her, Valentina had a small smile that curved her lips and entered the room without his permission, Thomas had to turn sideways at the sudden intrusion of the blonde woman.
"I remember you," the man muttered, his eyes following the blonde woman settling down her fur shawl and handbag at the table, "And so do I, Mr. Thomas Shelby," Valentina answered, she would be lying if she didn't admit that it was such a relief knowing that it wasn't some old, greasy bastard Sabini had sent her to. Shelby, at least, was far from what she had expected. Attractive, dangerous, and oddly intriguing.
Thomas closed the door behind him, slowly walking in her direction, "I see that you know me," he muttered in a low tone, hinting at suspicion. The woman nodded and went straight to the liquor cabinet, "Sit, Mr. Shelby," she offered, not glancing at him.
"How do you know me?" Thomas questioned, his hand slowly reaching out to the Webley revolver in the deep pockets of his black coat. He hadn't forgotten how Sabini's men treated her at the club—like she belonged, yet he couldn't figure out why. And now, here she was, sent to him as a gift.
"I will answer your question only if you calm your tits down and stop your plan on shooting me, aye?" Valentina faced him and huffed, her arms crossing against her chest, "Sit the fuck down, will ya, Mr. Shelby? Gin or Irish whiskey?" she asked, turning her back and taking out two glasses from the cabinet.
He had reached out for a woman through an escort agency, expecting anyone but her. A flurry of questions swirled in his mind, but he kept them at bay, his instincts urging him to remain vigilant. Every second felt like a tightrope walk—one misstep could lead to disaster.
She was the same woman he had seen weeks before, a brief encounter that lingered in his thoughts like a half-remembered dream. It was impossible to overlook her; there weren't many faces in London that could hold a candle to hers. Her beauty was striking, yes, but it was the raw confidence that wrapped around her like a second skin that truly captivated him.
"Here," Valentina said, her voice smooth as silk, as she handed him a glass of whiskey, their fingers brushing momentarily. The electric touch sent a subtle thrill through him. She settled into a chair across from him, positioning herself just within arm's reach yet maintaining an air of deliberate distance as if to keep the intrigue alive.
"It seems that Darby Sabini had sent me as a gift for you," she began, crossing her legs as she sipped some whiskey. Valentina met his taunting eyes as if they were trying to unravel the skeletons in her closet.
Thomas cocked his head, trying to connect the dots. His hunch was right that she was somehow connected to the Italian gangster. "A gift? So you work for him?" if she was indeed a gift from him, it either meant a good or bad thing.
Revenge or resolution.
Her eyes gleamed. "Not exactly. He's a client of mine," she replied smoothly, "but apparently, he thought you'd appreciate my... services."
"A client, huh? So, you're a whore?" he shamelessly questioned like it was nothing. She wasn't offended by it for she gets that a lot, being beautiful and seductive posed a threat to other women. So all they could do was look and talk, and nothing more.
Unfazed, Valentina let out a soft chuckle. "You could say that, yes. A very sought-after one, I might add." She met his gaze head-on, her confidence unwavering. It wasn't vanity—it was survival, and it had served her well.
An awful silence glowered upon the room, while Thomas grabbed his cigarette case and took out two sticks, "Did he ask you to kill me?" the Shelby man speculated, handing the other stick to her which she gladly accepted. Thomas rubbed it against his lips before lighting it up, as he was about to light hers, Valentina moved forward to him, the cigarette hanging loosely between her lips, and both hands were on the table to support her body.
Their eyes interlocked as she lit up her stick using the burning end of Thomas', he noticed that the corners of her mouth were twitching upwards as if she was enjoying her little show. He fixed his gaze on her jade green eyes, which were so seductive they seemed to be casting a spell that, with just one glance, would ensnare you for all eternity. They remained in that position for at least half a minute until it finally burned, she inhaled it as she sat down, the smile slowly turning into a smirk.
Valentina exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling before her gaze fell back to him, "Well, Mr. Shelby. I'm afraid I offer only two services as of this moment; pleasure or company. That's a nice suggestion, though, might do that sometimes," Thomas laughed in amusement, not anyone can make him laugh, even Thomas himself was taken aback at his own actions.
"So, what do you want me to do Mr. Shelby? The choice is yours," Valentina placed the cigarette on the ashtray and gulped down the liquor she had left as she waited for his answer. She had a gut feeling that he would not turn her down, from the moment they were inches apart, she already saw the growing budge between his legs—nobody had ever said no to her.
Thomas took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke as he contemplated her. He wasn't a man easily swayed by beauty alone, but Valentina was different. Her confidence, her mystery—they intrigued him. She was a woman who knew her worth and wielded it like a weapon.
The blonde woman gave a lopsided grin, "Oh, and before I forget," she fished something out of her handbag and handed a piece of paper to him. Valentina never gives her business card to anyone, but she wants this man to be one of her clients. Not only he was good-looking, but she was also aware of his reputation. That's how she likes his men—wealthy and dangerous. "My name is Valentina, dial this number if you want to see me sometime again after this night."
"Valentina," she felt a tingle run through her body for the way he called her, she liked how it rolled off his tongue naturally. Thomas removed his cap and propped his arm on the sofa, a glass of whiskey in his hand and as the other hand began to loosen his tie, "Strip for me," he commanded, his beguiled gaze came back to her face, pacing from her eyes to her lips, down to her body.
As she began to dance in the dim light, a spell of allure winded into every movement, Valentina knew that in this dangerous game of shadows and desires, she held the upper hand, and the night was just beginning to reveal its deepest secrets.