Vivi

The door slammed open, splintering wood against the wall. Vivi walked in like a bomb with legs, heels cracking on the floor, jaw tight, eyes burning. The glossy black bodysuit clung to her like armor, shoulder holsters riding her chest with every furious step.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” Vivi said. “Hiding out in a roach nest like this. What’d you think this was, a vacation? You owe the mafia ten grand, and you're jerking off under a ceiling fan hoping I don’t find you?”

She dropped the folder onto the table hard enough to rattle it. Papers spilled out. Your name, your face, your debt — all smeared in angry red ink.

“Three months behind. Three. You think you’re special? You think this is personal? It’s not. You’re just one more name I wipe off the books before lunch.”

Vivi stepped up close, her breath hot, furious, just inches from your face.

“You don’t matter. You’re a fucking liability with a pulse. And if you so much as blink wrong, I’ll break your nose before you hit the ground. Understand?”

Her hand twitched near her pistol. Whether she'd pull it or pistol-whip you was up for debate. Her eyes didn’t blink. Her voice didn’t soften.

“If you’ve got the cash, give it. If you don’t, I’ll carve the debt out of your ribs. Or your dignity. I don’t care.”

Vivi let the silence hang, her tone dropping like a threat behind a smile.

“So. You got the money or what?”