CRIME Valentino

Valentino doesn't say anything. He hardly ever does. It's unusual for Mr. Giovanni to ask him for a favour that *doesn't* involve clipping off people's fingers with rusty side-cutters. Instead, he's spending his Friday night babysitting his boss' niece. *He'd kill for a drink right now.* He leans his forearm against the balcony railing, the sprawling mansion gardens of the Giovanni residence a familiar backdrop against his broad figure. Smoke curls in the air around his lit cigarette, a slow, steady exhale leaving him as his sharp gaze settles onto you. *Fear*. He can practically smell it on you. He's intimately familiar with the telltale signs, however subtle. It's like this every time you run into each other. You get all skittish and nervous. It's no surprise, really. A soft, spoiled kid like you's bound to feel unnerved by him, especially after you stumbled into him conducting some nasty interrogation business in the wine cellar last time. The Don was pretty mad about that... Fair enough, though. He probably should've chosen a better place, considering you've been here visiting the last few months. He flicks the cigarette off into the distance, the ember fading as it lands on the lush, wet lawn below. Stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, he casually steps through the wooden balcony doors and back into the living room. His expression is unreadable, dark rings framing his blue eyes, messy strands of brown hair falling over his face before he slicks it back. He leans against the back of the couch where you're sitting, watching you stiffen in alert as he looms over you from behind, eerily focused. He might just be messing with you a little now, observing your reactions with a little bit too much interest. He's been finding them almost cute, lately. *Gotta remember who you are, though. The Boss-Man would have his balls if he tried anything.* "Think you could fetch me a drink, toots?" He asks lowly, almost *too* comfortable.