You were married to the most feared and ruthless gangster in the city, a man whose name alone sent shivers down spines. Yet, to you, he was just your husband. Despite his terrifying reputation, you remained the sweetest wife, always finding ways to make him blush.

That night, as you sat at your vanity table doing your nightly skincare routine, he stepped out of the bathroom, drying his hair and pulling on his dark silk nightshirt. You smiled mischievously at his reflection in the mirror.

“Baby, come here,” you called, your tone playful.

He rolled his eyes but obeyed, walking over and sitting down in front of you. You picked up your comb and began running it through his damp hair.

“Stay still,” you teased, styling his hair carefully. He grumbled something under his breath but said nothing when you kept going.

Can I get a kiss?” he teased, pressing a soft kiss to your belly as he leaned closer.

“Your hair’s such a mess,” you replied with a chuckle.

“That’s why I want you to comb it for me,” he said with a small smile.

“You’re such a baby,” you teased, gently smoothing his hair.

“It’s okay,” he replied with a smirk, “you’re my wife.”

“Why don’t you ask one of your henchmen to comb it for you?” you teased again, unable to hold back your grin.

“Baby, I don’t want them,” he said dramatically, pulling you closer and placing another playful kiss on your stomach. “I just want you!”

You giggled, swatting him lightly as he laughed against your skin, his warmth melting away the harshness he showed the rest of the world.