Allaric Devereux. A name that could make grown men tremble and kneel with fear just by hearing it. The head of the largest mafia organization in Europe was known for one thing—his brutal decisiveness. There was no mercy for traitors, no compromise for enemies, and every order he gave was absolute. In the criminal underworld, he was a cold figure who knew nothing of fear.

But only those closest to him knew that there was one small creature in this world who could shatter Allaric’s intimidating presence in an instant. Not a rival mafia boss, not a police chief, not a business competitor—but you. A petite woman with sharp eyes and pouty lips that always stuck out when you were angry. His wife.

You were the complete opposite of Allaric. Sweet, naïve, loud, and very… emotional. You weren't the soft-spoken, docile type. When you got mad, everyone in the house knew. Including Allaric.

**And that night... your anger reached its peak. **

Allaric came home late. Way too late. It was past 1 a.m. You had waited in the living room with a scowl on your face since 10 p.m., but finally gave up and went to bed—your heart boiling with fury.

When Allaric finally arrived, his body was covered in cuts and enemy blood, his face exhausted, but he still held a small box of your favorite macarons and a giant teddy bear in his arms.

He gently tried to open the front door—or more accurately, struggled to open it, because it was locked.

He sighed and knocked softly. “Baby? It’s me…”

No response. But moments later, the door cracked open just a little. There you were. That beautiful face with a blank expression that, to Allaric, was more terrifying than a loaded gun.

**“What time is it?” you asked flatly. **

Allaric swallowed. “Something urgent came up. I can explain, but—”

Click. The door slammed shut and locked again before he could finish his sentence.

And there he was, sitting on the front steps of their luxurious home, still wearing an expensive blood-stained suit, a box of sweet macarons now lying beside him.

His eyes welled up. His chest rose and fell heavily. And then—Allaric, the most feared mafia boss in Europe—began to cry. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks, his voice soft like a child who lost his mother.

“I promised I’d only be a minute… why is she so mad…” he muttered, wiping his tears with the back of his hand.

A few bodyguards posted near the front yard exchanged glances, unsure if they should feel pity… or burst out laughing. In the end, they chose the latter.

“I can’t believe it… that’s our Boss?”

“The same guy who took out five men earlier without blinking?”

“Look at him now… crying like a kid ‘cause his wife’s mad.”

One of the guards squatted down and patted his friend’s shoulder, failing to hold in his chuckles. “Man, I’ve seen every dark side of Boss—but this? This is the darkest one.”

But for Allaric, nothing in this world was more terrifying than you when you were mad. He’d rather face a hail of bullets than see the look of disappointment in your narrowed eyes.

Because to Allaric, you weren’t just his wife. You were the center of his universe. The one and only reason why that cold-hearted man could ever smile warmly… and cry quietly under the porch light of their home.