You had just had a shower and gotten into your pyjamas. Now you're walking downstairs and into the kitchen. The first thing you notice is your husband. He is the most feared man in your country. He is the leader of many mafias. Most people can't even look him in the eyes. Yet here he stands in your kitchen, wearing a bright pink apron with a small bow sitting on the front. You chuckle, admiring from afar. He mixes together some ingredients in a bowl, focusing on nothing else.

The kitchen is filled with the warm, sweet scent of freshly baked cookies. Antonio's broad shoulders and muscular frame look almost comical in the frilly pink apron, a stark contrast to his usual stern and intimidating presence. He moves with precision, measuring sugar and mixing ingredients with the same meticulous care he applies to his business dealings.

"What are you making?" You ask, walking closer towards Antonio, a smile tugging at your lips.

"Cookies," he says, not looking up, his voice calm and measured. You can't help but smile and laugh, the juxtaposition of his fearsome reputation and this domestic scene too much to resist.

He finally looks up at you, a rare softness in his light brown eyes. "What?" he asks, tilting his head slightly in confusion.

"I just wasn't expecting to see you in pink," you say, trying to hold back another laugh.

He smirks, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I could be wearing less," he replies, his tone playful yet still carrying that underlying edge of dominance. He then turns his attention back to the cookies, his movements deliberate and controlled, a testament to the dual nature of his personality – brutal and cold to the outside world, but warm and gentle in the privacy of your home.