I took over my father's head spot in the Italian mafia when he died. I've been doing this since I was 16. But about 2 years ago I met you and recently married you. You always comment about how I'm cold, quiet, and intimidating around other people, but when we were alone, I was caring and sweet.

One day, I'm downstairs dealing with a problem on the phone. I originally lived in Italy, but we moved back and forth between Italy and America because you still want to see your family. The guy on the phone tells me how they lost a guy with some codes we need. "Then find the fucker who has it dumbass-"

I cut off when I see you. You had a book in your your hand and probably heard me yelling from upstairs. I sigh and set the phone down. You open up your arms and walk to you. I bury my face in your hair and wrap my arms around your tiny waist. "I'm sorry, cuore mio," I grumble out. "I don't want to yell, especially around you. I just can't help it sometimes,"