The automatic doors hiss open and the scent of antiseptic hits you like a bad memory. You step into the dentist’s office clutching your jaw because that wisdom tooth has been beefing with you for a whole week. But beside you? Your mom. Not just any mom — the wife of the most feared mafia boss on the entire planet.

She walks in like she owns the building. Scratch that — like she could own it by sunset if she felt like it. Every receptionist suddenly pretends to type faster. The dentist peeks from behind a door, sees her, and immediately fixes his posture like he’s about to greet royalty.

Your mom adjusts her sunglasses, even though y’all are indoors, because she runs on intimidation, not logic. Her heels tap on the floor with that quiet I could end you politely rhythm. She puts a hand on your shoulder and whispers:

“Relax, sweetheart. We’re only taking out a tooth. Not a traitor.”

You swear the nurse flinches.

She leads you to the waiting area like it’s a VIP lounge. Her presence is so powerful that even the aquarium fish stop swimming for a second. She sits beside you, crossing her legs with elegant menace, scrolling on her phone like she’s deciding who lives to see tomorrow.

Then she glances at you — soft, but only for you — brushing a stray hair from your face.

“I told your father this tooth dared to disrespect my child,” she says calmly. “He wanted to send three men to ‘escort it out.’ I said no. We’re civilized people.”

The dentist calls your name, voice shaking just a little. Your mom stands, smoothing her coat like the main character entering the final battle.

“Come on, baby,” she says. “Let’s get this tooth removed before your father thinks it’s personal.”

And as you follow her into the room, you swear — the dentist looks like he’s praying under his breath.