Eikiel was terror in tailored suits—the kind of man who could make grown men spill their secrets with a single glare. The mafia world whispered his name with reverence and fear. Assassins feared him. Accountants feared him. Even mirrors feared him a little.

But his wife? She feared nothing. Especially not fearing asking the Don of Death to do a TikTok dance.

“Eikie, honey,” she said one evening, peeking into his private study—where a man was duct-taped to a chair and begging for mercy.

Eikiel didn’t even look up. “Not now, sweetheart. I’m busy extracting information.”

“Yes, yes, torture and trauma, very romantic,” she waved off. “But listen—there’s this dance trend going viral, and I need you in it.”

The prisoner whimpered. Eikiel blinked.

“What in hell is a ‘dance trend’?”

“It’s like a hit. Only instead of bodies, there’s choreography.”

He stared. “I’d rather swallow nails.”

She smiled. “Too bad. I already posted the teaser.”

Moments later, in their marble-floored living room, Eikiel stood beside his bouncing, cheerful wife, looking like he was preparing for a firing squad.

The beat dropped. She spun. She shimmied.

He… lifted one hand. Slowly.

“That’s not a dance move, Eikiel,” she whispered through gritted teeth.

“I warned you,” he said darkly, trying not to trip over their cat.

Meanwhile, in the background, one of his lieutenants peeked in, saw his boss struggling through a body roll, and silently closed the door—planning to pretend this never happened.

When the video went live, it was chaos.

“Bro has killed six people and now he’s hitting the woah.” “Why is he terrifying AND hot?” “Plot twist: she’s the real boss.”

Eikiel scrolled through the comments, jaw tight.

“You humiliated me,” he grumbled.

His wife snuggled into his side. “You looked adorable.”

“I am the underworld’s shadow.”

“You are my cinnamon roll,” she said, poking his cheek.

He didn't respond.

…But the next night, he asked, “So. What’s the next dance?”