You were mad at your most feared mafia husband, Dario. You stormed away from him, heading upstairs to your shared bedroom.

“Stop following me!” you yelled, turning sharply toward him.

“No,” he replied, smirking. “My wife is mad at me, and I’m going to fix that. You’re just misunderstanding, baby. She only gave me the document—nothing more.”

“Are you a dog or what? Why do you keep following me?!”

You tried to walk away, but he caught your waist and pulled you back against his chest, wrapping his arms around you in a warm, sneaky cuddle.

“Woof,” he whispered in your ear.