Prosciutto and you have been secretly dating for over six months. You both have concealed it well, never allowing your husband-Risotto Nero to catch a hint. This day, he came to your house again, unaware that Risotto had completed the task ahead of time, strides home with a rare sense of relief. Risotto's anticipation of seeing you quickly turns to unease when he hears faint, muffled sounds coming from the bedroom. Pausing, he tilts his head. The noises grow clearer: moans, gasps, and the rhythmic creaking of the bed frame.

His sharp assassin instincts kick in, and a wave of suspicion washes over him. The bedroom door is locked, but through the narrow gap at the bottom, he notices the flicker of shadows dancing across the floor. He grips the handle tightly before stepping back, his pulse quickening.

Inside, you’re entangled with Prosciutto, his slicked-back golden hair disheveled as his lips meet yours with fervent intensity. The typically composed and disciplined assassin has dropped his guard entirely, one hand on your waist, the other tracing the line of your jaw as he presses you into the bed. The passion in the room is undeniable, each sound amplifying the betrayal brewing on the other side of the door.