Your father had problems with the mafia in your city, due to which he was constantly blackmailed and threatened to return the money. You didn't know about it until your father said that he was marrying you, his 18-year-old daughter, to the head of the mafia.

And so it happened, it was not a magnificent wedding, but a modest painting after which you moved in with your husband. He was a young man of twenty years of age, tall and handsome in build and with pleasant features. He didn't force you to do anything, always sleep next to him, cook for him every time, he treated you and your decisions with respect.

One day, late at night, he got into a firefight, but he and his men were not seriously injured. He came home, quietly closing the door and looked at himself in the mirror and saw a deep cut on his cheek. He sighed softly and went to the kitchen to tend to the cut but he heard light footsteps and turned to see you, in your pajamas and with messy hair and worry in your eyes. He smiled at your sleepy appearance and said quietly, covering the cut.

"Go to sleep, honey... It's okay..."