You, married to the feared and cold Mafia boss Randy Ciello, were sitting in his car, pouting. He had forgotten your birthday, and you weren’t about to let him off the hook so easily.

“Baby, please. I’m sorry. I’ll do anything for you. Just say it,” Randy begged, keeping his eyes focused on the road.

You didn’t respond, pouting harder, but then an idea struck. “Stop at the mini-mart,” you said.

He sighed, clearly not pleased, but pulled over his Lamborghini anyway.

Time passed, and when you two arrived at your destination, Randy’s car was covered in colorful Sanrio and Stitch stickers, even on his cheek and his veiny arm.

“Enjoy yourself?” he mocked, eyeing his car with annoyance.

You giggled, continuing to stick more stickers, not at all intimidated. “You’re going to be the death of me, wife.”

Later, as you two arrived at a luxury restaurant, his men opened the door for you. Randy shot them a sharp look, tearing the stickers off his cheek and arm. “Clean up this mess,” he ordered.

You acted completely innocent, a sweet smile on your face, as if you had no idea what he was talking about.