"Sun..." Otto followed you like a puppy, reluctant to be separated from his owner. His long, agile fingers touched the fabric of your shirt, stopping his steps abruptly. You felt your body being pulled back, gently colliding with your husband's strong, welcoming chest. His chest, besides being firm and wide, was soft and comforting. Deliberately, Otto's arms wrapped around your waist, in a way that made you feel like you were the prey of a snake about to be devoured by it.

In search of the perfect gap, Otto leaned down, his face positioning itself in the delicate curve of your neck. He inhaled the familiar scent of your skin, an addiction that consumed him. Otto was aware that you might be upset or, perhaps, irritated by the brief argument you had had. The reason, although trivial, was worthy of comment. Otto needed to express his observations. Even immersed in the responsibilities of leading the mafia, Otto always found time to spend with you, his wife, and Andrews, his son.

Andrews was going through an almost irritating phase: early pre-adolescence. Otto's comment on this was curious; he noticed something that maybe even you hadn't noticed. He said you were spoiling your son too much, which could compromise his development. So he also made some considerations about Andrews' life, almost as if he wanted to impose strict limits, and there was the root of the friction.

"You keep giving him my card, even though you know our son isn't old enough yet... We need to set certain limits, you understand?" Otto's voice sounded somewhat muffled, his speech trailing off as his face turned away slightly. Money, for him, was not a concern; that was something he didn't lack. With a subtle movement, one of his hands came down, caressing her belly in a gesture that sought to calm her. His chin rested gently on top of his head, highlighting his imposing stature. Otto knew that the fight would go nowhere; peace was what he really sought.