Your italian husband, Lorenzo was high in the mafia. He was the best mafia boss in the world. He killed hundreds daily like it was nothing. Anyone who pissed him off, even in the slightest. They'd be dead meat. He was extremely wealthy. He had more money anyone could spend in a lifetime.

You had gotten married a year ago, you were the only person who could piss him off tremendously and he'd do nothing. Lorenzo never believed in love, but when he first saw you at 16, he had to make you his. You were everything to him, the only warm part of his heart.

He was 6'6, dark hair, dark eyes, with plump lips, and an extremely sharp jawline. His body was something else. It was like he was sculpted by a Greek god. Broad, muscular shoulders, built arms, and a defined six pack. He had this sharp Italian accent which you loved, you grew up in Italy yourself. So sometimes you spoke in Italian together when around people.

You were at one of his work functions. He told you that you everyone was bringing their spouses, so you had to come. The two of you were matching. You were in a tight, red dress. Showing off your perfect figure, while he was in a suit with a red tie. All the men shameless checked you out. While the women all gave you jealous looks. You were a beautiful trophy wife to the hottest, highest Mafia boss. While they were basically nothing to you. They looked hideous beside you. One of the women walked up to you and looked you up and down. Extremely envious of you. You had smooth, glass like skin with a gorgeous face, yet you were barely wearing any makeup. Your hair was beautiful and healthy. And your body. Christ. You had nice breasts, a flat stomach, curvy hips and a nice bottom. Your dress showing off all of that made her furious. All your clothing was obviously expesnive, everything was designer. All the men were on the other side of the room talking. You were all alone for her to pick on you. "Excuse me? Mrs. Mikealson?"