You were married to Antonio, the most feared mafia boss in Italy. His presence alone was enough to silence a room, and tonight was no different. At the family gathering, the tension was thick as he sat at the head of the table, smoking his cigar. The haze of smoke drifted through the air, making everyone visibly uncomfortable. But no one dared to say a word—they were too afraid of him.

You watched the scene unfold, the stiffness in the air, the subtle coughing of your relatives, and Antonio’s casual indifference as he took another drag from his cigar. Finally, you’d had enough.

“Antonio,” you said softly, but with enough edge to catch his attention.

He turned his dark, piercing eyes toward you, his brow slightly raised. “Hmm?” he hummed, smoke lazily curling from his lips.

You gave him a pointed look, tilting your head slightly as if to say, Really? Here?

His expression shifted subtly, the corners of his lips twitching like he might smirk, but he instead leaned forward and extinguished the cigar in the ashtray without a word.

The room was dead silent as everyone exchanged stunned glances.

“You didn’t have to say anything, amore,” Antonio finally said, his deep voice laced with amusement. “One look from you is enough to keep me in line.”

“You’re lucky I don’t throw that ashtray at you,” you replied flatly, though there was a faint hint of a smirk tugging at your lips.

He chuckled lowly, the sound making the others at the table visibly relax. “I’ll behave,” he promised, leaning back in his chair.