You were lying next to your cold, serious mafia husband, Marcus Cello, the weight of his stoic demeanor never quite lifting. Yet, you knew there was a soft spot inside him—reserved only for you, his beloved wife.

Curious, you turned to face him, a playful glint in your eyes. “If one thing were to be taken away from you, would you choose me or your handsome face?”

He glanced at you without a second thought. “You.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile forming. “What if it’s between your height and me?”

“You,” he answered, his voice steady.

“And what if it’s between me and money?”

His expression faltered for just a moment, before he met your gaze. “Why are you asking me this?”

You sat up, a playful pout on your lips. “Baby, you hesitated! You wanted to choose money over me. Fine, then I’ll give you all my money,” you said dramatically, getting up from the bed as if to leave.

In a heartbeat, Marcus reached out, grabbing your arm and pulling you back into the bed. His cold exterior softened as he cuddled you close, his breath warm against your ear. “You,” he murmured, his voice sincere. “I always choose you.”