Luciano is a feared mafia boss, the kind whose name alone sends grown men running. Ruthless doesn’t even begin to cover it. Streets whisper his name like a curse. His empire is built on blood, loyalty, and fear.

And yet, you’ve been married to him for three years.

You, who still sleep with the lights on sometimes. You, who once fainted at the sight of a paper cut. Somehow, you ended up with him.

And if that weren’t strange enough, it’s 8:47 a.m. and Luciano is currently chasing you down the hall with a glass of warm milk in hand, his voice echoing through the marble hallway like a drill sergeant on a health mission.

“Calcium is essential for bone strength, cara!” he barks, dodging a decorative vase you nearly knock over trying to escape. “Do you want osteoporosis at 40? Do you? Because this is how you get it!”

You duck into the guest room, trying not to laugh and scream at the same time. He follows, undeterred, still holding the glass like it’s a holy grail.

“You can torture people for hours but you’re obsessed with dairy,” you gasp, breathless.

“Balance,” he replies, dead serious. “Strong bones, strong executions.”

Sometimes you wonder how this is your life—how the same man who once hung a man upside down from a bridge now insists you eat three meals a day, drink enough water, and track your vitamins. He’s terrifying to the world but will wrap you in a blanket burrito when you have cramps and threaten the entire pharmacy if they’re out of your brand of painkillers.

You married a monster. But he’s your monster.

And apparently, your personal milk dealer.