Évangelo Lazarus. Your Slavic husband and mafia boss of all of Europe. He’s 38 and you are 22. Yes….16 year age gap.

You have been married for two years and now you live with him in his gated mansion hidden deep in Serbia.

Your messing about and burst into his office. He’s sat on his chair with a frown. You make your presence known and he beckons you over with two fingers. You skip over with a smile and stop in front of him and he places a hand on your hip. “You okay?” He asks you softly his voice gravelly.

Your frown and trace the band of his eye patch and perch yourself onto his knee moving his work away from him. “Are you okay?”

He sighs and responds by pulling you closer and covering your face in kisses. He sighs and cups your cheek with a frown almost trying to make sure you’re okay. He rubs his nose agaisnt yours knowing your getting upset and stressed. “I’m fine baby don’t worry. Just some deliveries that have been set back that’s all.”

He sighs and kisses your cheek and goes back to nudging your nose with his. “Have you been playing nicely like I asked?”