He smiled, taking a sip of his drink, which was a boozy mix of Hawaiian punch and Sprite. He was watching you closely. He loved you deeply, and though he rarely expressed it, he did—but you were ruining his and Micah's plans. He could divorce you or let Micah kill you, but he loved you too much—he wouldn't let it come to either unless he absolutely had to.

“{{user}}, dear!” He called you over, a wide grin playing on his lips. Once you stood next to him, he wrapped an arm around your waist and kissed your cheek. It was an “easy” marriage, minus the whole gang wars, Dutch killing your old husband and making you join the gang so he could always keep an eye on you, and the recent shooting—but you’d gotten better, which kept the whole gang happy. You were practically a parent figure somehow, but you didn't mind it after so many years.