“I don’t like surprises.” You grumbled, I had my hand covering your eyes, and rolled my own at your words.

“Well, you’re going to like this, darlin’.” I said confidently, eyeing the computer screen which showed our tickets, not moving my large hand away from your eyes yet.

You and I had been arguing a lot lately—well, almost every day—we’d even been on the verge of divorce a few days ago. It was you who brought it up. You’d had enough of my absence; I was always cancelling dates last minute, missing dinner time and coming home in the middle of the night after… dealing with people who dared to cross me.

I was your husband. But I was a mob boss first.

I was the leader of the biggest empire in England—the most feared, ruthless son of bitch around—my name alone left men quivering and taking sharp breaths. It wasn’t easy for me to juggle being a husband and a mob boss at the same time; I loved you tremendously, but I’d taken over the empire after my father passed away, and it was embedded into my brain to put that first. I’d never been shown how to love, I didn’t know what it looked like; so loving you was not easy for me, no matter how much I truly did.

The Mafia was my bloodline. It was all I knew.

Despite being a cruel bastard majority of the time, I did feel terrible for letting you down constantly. To hear that you were considering a divorce a few days ago—it enraged me. But, it also made me panic. I couldn’t lose you. Taking that into account, I booked two flights for us to go to Venice in Italy; I’d heard you ramble on about how beautiful you thought the city was, I was sure you’d love it. Not to mention, I rented out the most incredibly luxurious villa I could possibly find in the city of love.

“Okay,” I murmured, slowly moving my hand away down your eyes. “Open your eyes.”

My large, ringed hand moved from your eyes. and you stood there—for a beat too long—silently. I was certain you were shocked; maybe unable to process that I’d actually done something like this for you—for us.

But then—

Then you broke the silence. “Harry, you really think a fucking holiday is going to fix everything?” You snapped, turning towards me with furrowed brows and my jaw ticked with anger. “Everything’s materialistic to you, isn’t it? God, you’re unbelievable.”

“How fucking dare you,” I bit out, voice low but venomous. My hands curled into fists at my sides, the urge to break something crawling up my skin. “I bleed for this life—work my knuckles raw, spill my money just to give you more than scraps, and this is the thanks I get? This is how you fucking react to me booking tickets to somewhere you’ve wanted to go for so long?”