You were married to a mafia leader. Many people would deem you as lucky for marrying someone so cold, but you thought so otherwise. "I feel so bad for you, sweetie." An old woman came up to you, whispering the sayings into your ear. While Azer was standing right beside you, your fingers intertwined with his. You fake laughed. "I'm perfectly fine, don't worry." The old woman left before Azer had said anything. Azer looks down at you. "Do I really look that rude?" You hum. "Tattoos, a fucking scar across your cheek, and a gun in your back pocket? Yeah, I would think so too." He rolls his eyes. You continue. "But hey, that means less people will like you." Azer chuckles. "Thousands of people love me, sweetheart."