Tattooed by My Boyfriend's Mafia Uncle

Elise's POV

Rain night.

A pure black Rolls-Royce slowly came to a stop in the deserted street block, and I sat in the back seat, gazing out the window at the building before me. It looked utterly unremarkable—quiet, elegant—seeming impossible to associate with the residence of a mafia godfather.

The driver in the front seat didn't turn around, only saying, "We're here."

I nodded, retrieved my toolkit from the back seat, and opened the car door. The cold air mixed with a faint metallic scent of blood rushed toward me as the door swung open. I stepped one foot into a puddle on the ground, and as I closed the door, the driver reminded me, "Go straight in. Victor doesn't like people being late."

"Alright."

I acknowledged with a word, pulled my trench coat tighter around myself, and walked into the pitch-black building.

The structure of the building wasn't complicated, and just as I had been informed beforehand, I pressed the button for the 12th floor in the elevator. During the wait, the silence here was so profound that I could only hear my own heartbeat. Yet in the darkness, it felt as though several pairs of eyes were watching my every move, which made me vaguely uneasy. Fortunately, this process wasn't long, and before I could truly begin to feel nervous, the elevator finally arrived.

At the end of the corridor, in a room, waited the client I was to serve today.

I had heard countless rumors about him—that he had killed numerous people, that his temperament was violent, that he was cruel and ruthless, and that his whereabouts were mysterious. Before coming here, no one had mentioned anything to me about his appearance, physique, or age. Only a name—Victor.

I stood before the door, took a deep breath to ease my nervous tension, then decisively pushed the door open and entered.

Inside, the lights were still off, with the only source of illumination coming from the moonlight streaming through the window. I noticed that on the desk by the window in the living room sat half a glass of whiskey without ice. A leather office chair faced away from the door, and moonlight filtered in from outside, casting the silhouette of someone sitting in the chair.

I had thought I would be so nervous that my voice would tremble, or that I wouldn't be able to speak at all. Before arriving here, I had rehearsed in my mind countless times how I would greet him, to avoid angering this man who held the power of life and death over so many. But I only heard myself asking in a calm voice, "Hello, are you Mr. Victor? I'm the tattoo artist you booked."

The person heard me but didn't move at all.

Somewhat puzzled, I was about to walk over to check when I heard a deep male voice coming from the shadows behind me. "I think you wouldn't want to see his front side."

My steps halted, and I turned around to see a man sitting on a single-seater sofa in the corner. He was tall and large, wearing only a white silk bathrobe, with most of him hidden in darkness. I could see that he was gently wiping a gun.

I staggered back a step. "You—"

"My apologies."

As he spoke, he stood up. He was approximately six feet two inches tall, not particularly burly in build, but even with his loose clothing, there was an obvious sense of tautness about him. He walked toward me step by step, and his features gradually became illuminated by the moonlight in the process.

He had a pair of gray-blue eyes with an indifferent gaze, pale skin as delicate and smooth as marble, and chiseled features like the most perfect sculpture. I stood frozen in place for a moment.

"What, afraid?"

I wanted to say I wasn't afraid, just somewhat surprised. I studied sculpture at the State Art University, but I would swear to God that even da Vinci couldn't have carved such a flawlessly perfect face.

"May I ask who you are?" I had to inquire aloud.

"You can call me Victor."

The man said flatly, then pressed the electric bell on the desk. After someone answered, I heard him give an order: "A rat has gotten in. Come clean it up."

Dense footsteps immediately sounded in the corridor, and five or six burly men in suits, carrying submachine guns, entered through the door and went to the chair I had initially seen, pulling up the dark figure behind it. When he turned around, I saw a bullet hole in the center of his forehead, caused by a gunshot, with viscous blood flowing all over his face. They swiftly carried this corpse out, along with the soiled chair.

Once again, only Victor and I remained in the room, the atmosphere quiet to the point of being somewhat eerie.

Victor walked over and stopped in front of me, looking down at me from his superior height. "Now, can we begin the work?"

Due to his proximity, I caught a scent of light pine fragrance. I looked at the collarbone and chest muscles exposed beneath his loose bathrobe and nodded.

"Before I came, I already received the design you wanted."

"Please find a place to sit down and remove your upper garment."

He nodded, turned, and sat down on the sofa. It was a sufficiently wide reclining sofa, and with his tall frame, sitting on it still seemed quite spacious. I skillfully opened my toolkit and spread it out to one side.

When I turned back around, Victor had already removed his upper garment. I could clearly see the robust and elastic muscles on his body. There were no other tattoos on him, and his skin was like the pale porcelain—clean and pale.

I walked over, my right hand directly touching his shoulder, and he raised his head to look at me. His gray-blue eyes emitted a quiet light in the moonlight.

I gradually regained my composure, remembering the purpose of my coming here today. Originally, I had only thought that no matter what, I must win his favor. But now, I changed my mind.

I smiled at him, and as if measuring dimensions, my hand slid from his shoulder toward his collarbone, brushed past his rolling Adam's apple, and finally lingered by his ear. My movements became increasingly gentle, until at last they were almost teasing.

I heard Victor's breathing gradually grow heavier with my movements. Finally, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into his embrace.

"Your courage is quite impressive."

Victor's voice was somewhat hoarse from arousal, and I sat on his lap, laughing brazenly. Although his expression remained faint, carrying a subtle hint of murderous intent, and the bloody smell in the room had not yet dissipated, I wasn't afraid. I knew that if he had no interest in me, he wouldn't allow me to tease him like this.

I had already won the gamble.

Disregarding that he was gripping my hand, I raised my head and lightly bit his Adam's apple. His body grew even hotter, and the heat of his breath sprayed onto my face and neck when he exhaled.

"Does your service always include this kind of content?"

Victor wrapped his arm around my waist, forcing me to press tightly against his chest, and through the fabric at his chest, I could feel his heart beating powerfully.

I smiled and shook my head, saying to him, "No, only for you."

Only you can be the blade I need.

For today, I had already prepared for five long years.

Victor's skin flushed slightly from arousal. "I think your work will have to be postponed."