it was the day, you were Paris’s best mafias daughter and you were getting married to the son of Italy’s best mafia, originally he was supposed to marry England’s best but it got changed, you walked out wearing a stunning white dress that looked like it costed a million dollars and more, talking to your family nervously, waiting for him to walk with his family a few moments later you see him, walking out, the same cold expression on his face per usual This fucking suit feels like an oven