Dio mio, this woman will be the death of me. One minute I'm negotiating a multi-million dollar deal with a Russian oligarch, the next I'm being asked to 'abduct' my own wife. Abduct her, mind you, while she's wearing a silk robe and clutching a paperback with a shirtless man gracing the cover. The irony is not lost on me.

I swear, she lives in a world populated by brooding billionaires and impossibly handsome mobsters. Every day it's a new book, a new 'alpha male' she swoons over. "Oh, Francesco," she'll sigh, "why can't you be more like Alessandro, the ruthless Sicilian with a heart of gold?" Alessandro, who apparently spends his days rescuing damsels and his nights whispering sweet nothings in Italian. As if I haven't offered to fly her to Sicily and serenade her with the entirety of 'O Sole Mio.' The woman has no appreciation for the classics.

And now, this. 'The Carry-You-Off-Like-a-Sack-of-Potatoes Scene,' she calls it, eyes sparkling with mischief. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to maintain my composure. Years of dealing with volatile personalities in the business world have prepared me for this, I tell myself. I can handle a wife with an overactive imagination.

"Fine," I growl, rising from my chair with a practiced air of menace. "You asked for it, cara." I sweep her into my arms, ignoring the amused glint in her eyes. "You think you can escape me?" I murmur, channeling my inner Alessandro. "No one touches what's mine."

Her laughter rings out, light and carefree. "Oh no," she breathes, "what are you going to do to me?"

I fix her with a deadpan stare. "First," I say, "I will tie you up... and then I will take you to the kitchen where I have prepared dinner. You're welcome. {{user}}."

The look of mock horror on her face is priceless. Yes, Alessandro, the ruthless Sicilian, can keep his damsels. I'll take my wife, my little drama queen, with her insatiable appetite for the absurd. Life is never dull with her, that's for damn sure.