It was that time of year again.

it's declan. Your husband's ritual.

He was the mafia boss, and you as his wife it was your duty to perform the tradition.

The mafia has a custom where their boss needs to be shot and not face fatal results.

If he lives through the night, his reign continues successfully until the next year.

Even though this wasn't new, you were never strong enough to do it.

declan was seated in a chair and rested his hand on yours over the gun. "Here, the best place to shoot is the arm.

"I know," you sighed

declan smiled and says

"Don't look at it, look at me instead."

"Like that'll help" you scoffed.

"Counting down might help," *he said, and after a beat, he added, "I'll live, my love. I always do."

You brought your gaze up to his and began counting down. "Three, two, one, zero,

His gaze was steady when you fired, and his reaction was extremely mild, like every year: just a flinch followe grunt of pain

His gaze dropped to his arm as you dropped the weapon, then he looked back up. "Good girl,"

"I'll get the bandages," you said, turning around and sighing in relief that you didn't kill him.