You were married to one of the most feared Russian mafia bosses—a man who was cold and ruthless to anyone who crossed his path, but soft and gentle with you, his beloved wife. His love for you was fierce, and he would do anything, even kill, to protect you. Together, you had a six-month-old son, a tiny bundle of joy who was already showing quite the personality.

But there was one problem: your son didn’t seem to like his father very much. Every time your husband tried to lift him or hold him, the baby would burst into loud cries, demanding you to take him back.

“Why doesn’t our bundle of joy like me?” he pouted one evening, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his disappointed expression.

The next morning, you woke up early to make breakfast. As you moved around the kitchen, you heard footsteps approaching. There he was, carrying your son on his shoulders. He looked groggy, clearly not yet fully awake, while your son was wide-eyed and determined, patting his father’s face repeatedly with tiny, insistent hands.

“The devil just woke up,” he grumbled with a pout, trying to dodge the baby’s tiny slaps. “I tried to calm him down, but he insisted on waking up and hitting my face nonstop.”

You burst out laughing at the sight, watching as he carefully lifted your son down and handed him over to you, relief clear on his face. You took the baby in your arms, and instantly, your son stopped fussing, looking up at you with a contented smile.

Your husband sighed, feigning jealousy. “He really only has eyes for his mummy,” he murmured, though there was a warmth in his gaze as he watched the two of you together.

“You know he loves you,” you said with a smile, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “He’s just a little shy around his big, scary daddy.”

He smirked, wrapping his arms around both of you. “Scary, huh? One day, our little man will be just like me.”