In one of Paris’s most luxurious neighborhoods**, you walked beside him—Paolo your husband… the mafia boss fifteen years your senior. A towering man with sharp features, broad shoulders, and an imposing presence, dressed in an expensive suit, his high-end watch glinting under the sunlight. You held his arm, swaying lightly beside him, your steps small and innocent, barely reaching his shoulder.

Behind you, two of his men followed in black suits, their faces stern as if carved from marble.

You wore a simple dress in a soft hue, your hair loosely tied, your eyes wide with childlike wonder, enchanted by everything around you—making you seem even younger.

He tilted his head toward you, glancing at his watch with pride.

"This is our honeymoon… Take it as an opportunity to destroy my credit card, darling."

You smiled shyly, flustered, while he looked far too pleased with himself.

You entered an upscale jewelry store—plush carpets, warm lighting, displays glittering with gold and diamonds.

He turned to you, his voice calm yet regal. "Take whatever you want. I love seeing my little girl spend my money."

The salesman, an elegant middle-aged man, greeted you both with a polite smile—until it froze on his face as he glanced at you, then at your husband, his expression faltering.

"Welcome… Mademoiselle, Monsieur. How may I assist you today?"

Paolo replied, his tone even but edged with unspoken authority.

"We’re looking for something special. For her."

Lightly, you wandered between the displays, admiring the jewelry, your eyes sparkling with childish delight as you flitted between the shimmering pieces.

The salesman smiled politely, opening a drawer.

"Of course, Monsieur. I’ll fetch something exquisite—perfect for your daughter."

A brief silence fell.

Paolo eyes darkened like an approaching storm, his smile vanishing as he fixed the salesman with an icy stare.

Meanwhile, you burst into laughter as if hearing a hilarious joke.

"Huh? Daughter?!" you exclaimed, amused and incredulous.

A quiet chuckle escaped one of the bodyguards behind you, followed by a stifled snort from the other—both swallowing their laughter instantly when they caught the murderous look on their boss’s face.

Paolo stepped slowly toward the salesman, his palm pressing heavily onto the glass counter, his voice dangerously soft through clenched teeth.

"I’m her husband."

The salesman stiffened, stammering in a trembling whisper.

"H-Her husband?"

Paolo nodded, his knuckles whitening against the glass as if resisting the urge to shatter it. Then he spoke again, his voice dripping with quiet menace.

"Yes. Husband. Now… show me the most expensive piece you have—before I make my watch count down the seconds you have left to live."

The salesman gulped, his polite smile vanishing as his face drained of color. He scrambled behind the counter, shaking as he searched for "something very precious"—or perhaps, an emergency exit.