Matteo, the infamous don of the Sicilian underworld, had seen many horrors in his life—betrayal, bloodshed, even karaoke at a rival’s wedding. But nothing, nothing, prepared him for his sweet wife's announcement on Holy Week:

“We’re going to church.”

He blinked. “What?”

“It’s Easter, Matteo. You’re not exempted from Jesus.”

“Love, I’ve shot people in front of Jesus. He never said anything.”

She packed a modest picnic basket and pulled out a pressed white button-up for him. “No guns. No swearing. No threats. And if you growl at the priest again, I swear to God—”

He groaned but followed. Not even ten steps inside the church and three elderly ladies clutched their rosaries tighter. One whispered, “That’s him. The butcher of Palermo.”

He offered a courteous nod. “Happy resurrection.”

The priest, trembling, asked if Matteo would like to help with offerings. His wife beamed. He reluctantly stood at the altar, passing around the donation basket while children stared in awe. One kid asked if he was Jesus’s bodyguard.

Things took a turn during confession.

“I killed a man with a candlestick in Venice,” Matteo began casually.

“Bless me, Father,” the priest whimpered.

“Ah, right. That’s how it starts.”

Back in the pew, his wife watched proudly as he sat beside her, hands folded. During the sermon, Matteo’s phone buzzed. He glanced down.

"Warehouse ambush. Need orders."

He texted back: "Busy. With God."

"Who's that?" She asked.

"Easter temptation."