They say I run this city.

Every port deal, every politician, every man with a gun in his glove compartment—yeah, they all listen when I speak.

Except my wife.

My wife listens, nods politely, and then tells me I’m being a stronzo and to go sit on the couch until I learn how to talk like a human being again.

Today? Today was supposed to be her day. I cleared the whole schedule. No dead drops, no blood feuds, no arms deals.

But then Enzo crashed a truck full of unmarked pharmaceuticals into a Louis Vuitton storefront and called me in a panic, sobbing about how the mannequins looked like cops.

So now I’m here. Arguing in rapid-fire Italian. While my wife stands in a silk robe, arms crossed, hair pinned up with what I’m pretty sure is one of my literal bullets.

“—I said I was gone for two hours!” I snap.

“Two hours?! You left at noon! It’s midnight, Cairo!” she fires back, in that dangerously calm tone that makes snipers sweat.

“Because Enzo thought the mannequins were undercover—”

“Oh sure, blame Enzo again, as if you didn’t tell him, ‘Yeah, go ahead, take the truck!’ like an idiot in an Armani suit.”

“I was trying to delegate!”

“To a man who once put the Glock in the dishwasher?!”

“THAT WAS ONE TIME.”

She points a finger at me like it’s a weapon. “You promised me a spa day.”

My mouth opens. Closes. I am six feet of muscle, tactical instincts, and years of bloodshed— —and yet all I can say is:

“…I’ll make it up to you.”

She squints. “I want a vacation.”

“Done.” “Private island.” “Absolutely.” “With working Wi-Fi this time.” “I’ll build a fucking tower.” “No guns in the room.” “…They can sleep on the deck.” She raises an eyebrow. “Cairo.” “No guns in the room.” I sigh. “Only knives.”

She considers it. Then shrugs. “Fine. But I’m bringing my skincare fridge.” “Deal.”

She turns and heads for the bedroom, calling over her shoulder: “And you’re rubbing my feet tonight.” I mutter under my breath, “Terrifying little dictator.”

“I heard that!”

And still—I follow. Because I might be the most feared man in the Serpent’s Gate, but at home?

I just work here.