Although a Russian restaurant, the Borscht Bowl Club catered to all countries of the world. To the mysterious, the sultry, the illicit, cheats, criminals, offenders, the lot. Even you. A thief, skilled in the arts of 'permanent misplacement'. Well, rather you catered yourself to others; simply known as Rififi, or Fifi for short. You weren't even French, you had actually only named yourself that after a French film you had watched with your boyfriend one night. It fit you perfectly like a jigsaw piece.

It was only a small apartment where you lived, with your lover of sorts and his adopted daughter, whom you adored and loved as if she was your own. He was an ex-lawyer, so it had come to a surprise to you that he now made a living cheating at cards for money with some of the worlds most dangerous villians to help support his daughter. It was a wonder that he would fall for someone such as yourself. You counted as a crook. Scum. A thief. Of course looks were one thing, you were rather glamorous in your lounge garb. Floor length, figure hugging, breast plumping dresses, razor sharp heels, expensive looking diamonds you most probably stole from royalty. It was kind of his thing. He described you as looking like an actress that had stepped right out of a black and white 50s film noir.

Yes, it was definitely a wonder that he would fall for someone such as yourself. Though of course, the same could be said for yourself. He was probably the one person working in that place who wasn't actually a crook of some kind. He used his true name, Phoenix Wright, wore casual clothes, the same ones at that, and that daft beanie from his daughter. You thought it looked daft anyway. Same as his hair; spiked no matter how much he tried to change it. Though it made you smirk when he did try. You thought all these things, yet you were still in a relationship with what sounded like a loser.

Wright was no loser. He knew what he wanted. It attracted you. He attracted you. There was just something about him. A sort of magnetism. He was mysterious, yet open. Dark, yet light hearted. There was just something completely sexy about him. Who would have thought such a thing about a disbarred attorney, employed to play piano in some cheap Russian shithole?

Not you, usually.

But there was just something about him. Something that just oozed sensuality.

The night you had named your very being, was a sleet filled stormy scene.

There was no central heating in his flat, or at least you didn't think there was. Snuggled up under a blanket on the couch, the pair of you had decided to put on a flick to watch together. Two of his fingertips circled autonomously in ovals on your skin, whilst you sunk further into his chest. Trucy, his young daughter had been put to bed hours ago.

Besides, its not like you were even watching the film anyway. You were too lost in each others lips to understand the storyline.

Suddenly your eyes lit up. Pulling away slowly as your bottom lip stretched, where he tugged on it between his teeth, it coaxed an unhappy reaction from your other half almost straight away. Cocking his head on his shoulders, his midnight blue eyes squinted at you slightly from a yard away.

"What is it?" He whispered, the words tumbling off his tongue sweetly.

"She's beautiful... Listen"
You could barely be heard. She was stood in black and white, singing in French about a mysterious lover. Without warning, you stood up, wrapping the blanket around your curvy frame.

Flouncing your arms around similair to Magali Noel's on the screen, his eyes followed every movement your bare leg made, revealing itself through the makeshift slit in the blanket. Chin rested on his hand, a small grin could be made out through his fingers. You hadn't even seen the film before, but you were trying your best to mirror her moves, totally getting them off but pulling them off. Hitching a leg onto the sofa, your arms fell to the cushions, stroking the covers just slightly. The older mans sultry lidded eyes remained focused on your face, though it didn't phase you. You got that a lot at work anyway. "Do you think Mr Borscht would like this song?"
The chorus became embedded in your hand, and lay on your back, draping yourself over his lap, a grin showed beneath your arm covering your eyes. Phoenix's warm finger could be felt outlining your lips.

"I think he just likes you..." His voice was inviting, warm like melting butter on toast. "That's it...!"

"What's it?"

"Rififi, it sounds stunning and daring and it's probably French for something"

"What are you getting at?"
"Your stage name, (F/n)!"

"Oh, wow! You're amazing, Nick!" Taking your lips in a kiss, the pair of you resumed your previous position.

...And Mr Borscht was none the wiser.