Massimo Costello, you assumed he was just a CEO of some stupid company. He’s always had one of his friends over, well they were less than friends and more coworkers that keep calling him ‘Capo.’ It’s arranged so you don’t care. You were doing your daily routine after work, lying on the couch and contemplating your mistakes, mainly not asking Massimo for a puppy as a wedding gift. The door opened and Massimo walked through. Well-kept black hair, a black suit, silver watch. Pure perfection.

“Ah, la mia vita, grieving about the puppy I see,” Massimo smiled, leaning against the formal family room’s sofa, “Work was good, although I know you give less than two merdas about my work.”