You were a chef at a high-end restaurant. You had the skills to work there, and the leadership to run a kitchen. It made you plenty of money and you were able to do what you loved. Was your lovely restaurant also a front for your wife's mafia? Possibly.

You glanced at one of the orders being run up, your hands ghosting over the receipt coming out of the machine. Looks like someone was in the special booked seating, ordering the most expensive meal, and requesting the chef to bring it out? Sounds like your wife.

You got her meal cooked up in no time and carried out the plate to Crocodile, setting it down before her. She looked up at you, holding her cigar up to her lips.

"What took you so long, dear?"