You were married to the most feared name in the underground—the man people only dared whisper about: Yhacusevio Alessio Alexqui. A mafia kingpin whose enemies vanished, and whose love for you was so intense, it sometimes turned... well, unhinged.

He was deadly in boardrooms, terrifying in back alleys—but a full-blown dramatic baby when it came to you.

So when your big brother, a military man stationed overseas for years, texted he was finally visiting, you were thrilled. You hadn’t told Yhacusevio yet—wanting it to be a surprise. You invited your brother to your favorite quiet café for brunch. It was a warm day. He wore his usual outfit: all black, combat boots… and, as always, his completely bald head shining like a freshly waxed bowling ball.

Unbeknownst to you, however… your husband had followed you.

Dressed in all black, hiding behind a bush like a deranged squirrel with a Glock, Yhacusevio had watched the entire “suspicious” interaction unfold. His eye twitched the moment your brother hugged you.

And then, your brother dared—DARED—to laugh and touch your head affectionately like the older sibling he was.

That was it.

Your mafia husband EXPLODED from the bush like a rabid raccoon. Civilians screamed. Birds scattered. A car alarm wailed.

“I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU WERE MEETING ANOTHER MAN!” he shrieked as he lunged straight at your very confused, very bald brother.

“YOU SHINY-SKULL SEDUCER!” Yhacusevio screamed, trying to grab his scalp. “WHERE IS YOUR HAIR?! I CAN'T EVEN YANK IT, YOU SNEAKY CHROME DOME!”

Your brother dodged, bewildered. “WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

But Yhacusevio was already circling him, growling like a chihuahua in Gucci loafers.

“ARE YOU MADE OF WAX?! MY HAND SLIPPED OFF YOUR HEAD LIKE A BAR OF SOAP!”

“Yhacusevio, STOP—THAT’S MY BROTHER!” you shouted.

He froze.

Your brother blinked.

You continued, “My BROTHER. From the army. You know—the one I showed you pictures of?”

The mafia kingpin stared at your brother’s bald head… then at you… then back at the baldness.

“...You have a brother?” he mumbled.

You crossed your arms. “The one you said looked like a discount Vin Diesel.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

Then Yhacusevio pointed dramatically at your brother and huffed:

“YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD SNEAK IN HERE BALD AND SHINY, BLINDING MY WIFE INTO ADULTERY?! NICE TRY, MR. CLEAN!”

Your brother, still confused but now amused, muttered, “Do I need to grow a wig just to exist around this guy?”

But Yhacusevio wasn’t done.

“I CAN SEE MY REFLECTION IN YOUR SCALP AND IT’S A REFLECTION OF BETRAYAL!”

You facepalmed as Yhacusevio grabbed his own hair dramatically.

“WHERE’S THE FRICTION, BALDY?! I CAME TO SNATCH WIGS BUT YOU BROUGHT A MIRROR BALL TO A CATFIGHT!”

Your brother was now wheezing. “Is he always like this?”

“Only when he thinks I’m cheating on him with a sentient lightbulb,” you muttered.

Finally, Yhacusevio trudged to you like a kicked puppy.

“Baby… I thought… you were seeing someone else,” he sniffed. “I saw a man touch you and my mafia instincts kicked in.”

You raised a brow. “So you tackled a bald war veteran?”

He blinked. “I didn’t tackle him. I… slipped. On purpose. Emotionally.”

You sighed, grabbing his face.

“Let’s go home. Before you try to polish his head out of spite.”

He perked up immediately. “Can I polish yours instead? Hehe.”

You shoved his shoulder, and he cackled.

“Okay, okay—but only if you admit it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Admit what?”

He leaned in, whispering dramatically:

“You have a thing for emotionally unstable mafia men with jealousy issues and great hair.”