The comment section scrolled at insane speed, nearly every post thirsting over the male lead "Aleksei."
"OMG, Aleksei casually cleaning his gun is criminally hot!"
"Author, I NEED to sleep with Aleksei tonight!"
"Update update! I need the safehouse passion scene NOW!"
"Looks like my fiancée's raised an army of fans desperate to jump my bones online." I chuckled low, the vibration traveling through her back. "Impressive growth rate."
Vivienne's face went nuclear. She slammed the screen shut with a smack, spinning like a cat whose tail got stepped on, even covering my eyes with her hand. "Don't peek! These are my readers, they're just... just appreciating literary creation!"
"Appreciating literature?" I pulled her hand away, dragged over a chair, and sat, pulling out that sleek black phone. "If that's the case, I suggest you upgrade your gear for interacting with these 'literatureenthusiasts.' Your old phone's screen looks like a spiderweb. Doesn't match the status of this century's greatest mafia romance author."
Vivienne froze. Her eyes bounced between the premium phone and my face twice. Next second, she let out an excited squeal and launched herself into my lap.
"Jesus, Nikolai! You're literally the best at bribery in the entire world!" Her arms locked around my neck, sweet cherry shampoo flooding my senses.
I caught her thighs naturally, letting her cling like a koala, greedily soaking in her body heat through the fabric.
"Since the gift's such a hit, mind letting me see where your 'literary creation' is at now?"
She hesitated a beat, bit her lower lip, then finally slid off my lap.
Face flushed, she reopened the laptop at glacial speed and turned it toward me.
I leaned forward, scanning those taut, vivid words.
I had to admit—she was brilliant.
She'd stripped away the gunpowder, scheming, and blood from mob life's rotting stench, leaving only the lethal attraction.
"Excellent. Especially the psychological chess match during the parking garage counter-kill. Even I was impressed." I gave my assessment.
Vivienne stared at me for a long moment, those blue eyes glowing with something that made my chest tighten.
She didn't speak, just turned the screen back, lips curving in a smile she couldn't hide, fingers dancing across the keyboard again.
Over the next several nights, this spacious study became a bizarrely harmonious shared space.
The massive walnut desk split in two. I reviewed accounts of arms deals and smuggling operations that determined who lived or died in Washington's underworld. She typed away, weaving hormone-soaked romance for her readers.
Only two warm desk lamps lit the room. Occasionally, I'd stop, pen raised, watching her chew her pen in frustratedwriter's block.
This ordinary, lived-in quiet—I'd never dared hope for it in twenty years of bloodshed.
Watching her soft profile in lamplight, I made a brutal vow. Even if I had to slaughter Washington's entire underworld, even if I had to grind Carmine and his rats to dust, I'd protect this goddamn peace.
"Damn it..."
The keyboard sounds across from me stopped. Vivienne grabbed her curls in frustration, dropped her chin on the desk with a thud, and let out a long groan.
"What's wrong, firecracker? Aleksei not cooperating?" I set down my pen, eyebrow raised.
"I'm stuck." She lifted her head, looking utterly defeated. "I need to describe the family tattoo on the male lead's lower abs and V-line, but the muscle structure and tattoo details are fuzzy in my head. If I just grab random model photos online, it'll lose that authentic mafia feel."
I watched her distress, my Adam's apple rolling slowly.
"Why not use a live model that's right here?"
