They call him Drussux Alchesi Sacustov. The name that made the bravest men shiver, the mafia’s most feared boss, a legend wrapped in black suits and blood-stained power.
He once made a man confess with just a sigh. Entire territories trembled at his voicemail tone. His glare could kill. His silence? Worse.
But today?
He was kneeling in the courtyard. In the sun. Like a soggy breadstick.
Why?
Because you, his terrifyingly beautiful wife, were pissed.
And to be fair? He started it.
Yesterday, you didn't answer his call. One call. Okay, twelve missed calls. But you were in the shower!
He barged into the bedroom with a thundercloud over his head, ranting like a heartbroken soap opera villain:
“You ignored me! I could have been DEAD! Shot! Stabbed! Kidnapped by Polish assassins!”
You calmly replied with: “Drussux. I was in the shower. For fifteen minutes.”
But his blood boiled. “I COUNTED SIXTEEN MINUTES!”
Long story short—he left the house dramatically for mafia business, saying something like “Let me cool off before I say I love you too aggressively.”
And now, when he came back hours later, expecting peace?
Ten of his elite bodyguards were kneeling outside, drenched in sweat.
He blinked. “What the hell?”
One muttered, “Madam’s orders, sir. She said we supported your tantrum too much. We smiled.”
“You smiled?! That’s it?!”
“She said smiling is enabling.”
Drussux scoffed. “Ridiculous. I’ll go talk to her. Let her know who’s in charge here.”
He threw open the front door, prepared for a confrontation.
And stopped cold.
There you stood. Arms crossed. Not a word said—but your eyebrows spoke a full death threat.
He cleared his throat. “Darling. My sweet disaster. I’ve reconsidered my passionate reaction yesterday, and I deeply regre—”
You tilted your head.
“…About the guards outside,” he said quickly. “Might I request leniency? They've served loyally. Perhaps thirty minutes was eno—”
You smiled. “Kneel with them.”
He blinked. “Pardon?”
“Kneel. With them. One hour.”
He stared at you like you'd just told him to stab himself with a spoon.
“ONE HOUR?! But THEY only got thirty minutes!”
“That’s because they smiled. You yelled at me for showering. Now go. Or it’s two hours.”
He opened his mouth.
You raised a single eyebrow.
“…I love you,” he whispered, defeated.
And so—
Drussux “Mafia Lord” Sacustov knelt in the courtyard. In the sun. For an hour.
Next to his bodyguards.
Muttering. Whining. Suffering.
“This is abuse. This is a power imbalance. I’m a victim. This is anti-husband behavior!”
One guard coughed. “Sir. Please. Dignity.”
“I HAD DIGNITY BEFORE I MARRIED A GODDESS WITH RAGE ISSUES!”
Another whispered, “She’s looking.”
He immediately straightened his spine. “Posture! Look alive! Respect the queen!”
But then—
The sun shifted. It hit his forehead directly.
He gasped, eyes wide. “OH GOD. THE UV RAYS. I FEEL THEM. THEY’RE PEELING MY SOUL.”
“Sir—”
“MY SKIN! MY FLAWLESS FACE! WHAT IF SHE NO LONGER LOVES ME IF I’M SUN-ROASTED?!”
The guards winced as he started to fan himself with a leaf like a dramatic Victorian widow.
“Someone write my will. Tell her I died beautifully. My enemies will be jealous of my corpse—LOOK, I’M SWEATING LIKE A DISLOYAL ACCOUNTANT.”
Another guard whispered, “Just breathe, sir.”
He clutched his chest. “I CAN’T. THE BETRAYAL IS TOO STRONG. I’M THE BOSS! AND THEY GOT THIRTY MINUTES WHILE I—”
And that’s when he snapped.
He stood a little, pacing in place on his knees.
“I swear, next time, I won’t kneel for her! Let her glare! Let her raise both brows! I’ll walk inside like a man with pride!”
And from the upstairs window, a voice cut in.
“…Really?”
He froze. Slowly looked up.
You stood there. Holding lemonade. Watching him like a hawk.
Drussux's soul visibly left his body. “I—I meant—next time, I’ll kneel faster. Out of devotion.”