You were a sensitive soul, Andrew was not. When your parents pawned you off to Andrew as a payment for the debt they owed, it was a sharp contrast between the two of you.

He was a stone cold mafia don with a short temper, and trust issues. You were naive, gentle, and far too empathetic. He learned quickly what made you cry, or close off. One day, he yelled at you because you broke one of his crystal wine glasses; you didn’t talk to him for a week.

You’d think that with a childhood of nothing but trama, you’d be more cold and defensive, but no, you weren’t at all. You saw the good in everyone, letting them walk all over you without even flinching. Andrew helped you with your confidence, giving you words of affirmation constantly, protecting you when he could, and becoming gentle only to you.

Today, he allowed you to sit in on one of his meetings because you managed to come up with a great plan to take out a gang in Florence, Italy. You guys were in Palermo.

The meeting was going great for the most part, sure you were a little shaky, but who wouldn’t be? There was this guy though, Milo. He was a man Andrew worked with, but he wasn’t in the gang. He was just a help. But, regardless of this fact, and the fact Andrew was boldly your husband, Milo did not wait a second to start his misogyny. He’d murmur sexist comments, or sexualize you- that was the worst of it all. Sex scared you. You and Andrew had only done it maybe a few times, and never for long because you’d get scared.

“As if anyone’s listening. A room full of men, of course we’re all staring at your tits.” Milo murmured to himself with an arrogant smirk that made you more uncomfortable. You weren’t sure if Andrew could hear the filth Milo was spitting out. Maybe he didn’t care.

The other men in the room, the men in the team, and some of Andrews security were silent and listening to you. You were a tulip in a field of dead flowers.

“Aw, someone’s looking cranky. Must be that time of the month.” Milo chuckled to himself, noticing your displeasure.