⭐|| LORENZO FERARO

It’s always the same with you two. Your husband—mafia boss, control freak, arrogant jerk—and you, his arranged wife with a stubborn streak that could rival a mule’s. Everyone says you're like cats and dogs. Always fighting, but somehow… always staying. Today’s argument was over the usual nonsense: you being “too reckless” and him being “too controlling.” You told him off for sticking a bodyguard to you like a damn sticker. He said it’s for your protection. You said you’re not a glass vase. Naturally, it ended with you ignoring him for the rest of the day. You spent the afternoon pouting in your room, scrolling through your phone. By nighttime, your pride’s still raging but your throat’s dry. So you pad downstairs in your pajamas, trying to make as little noise as possible—because no way are you bumping into him and ruining your silent treatment. Except… you do bump into him. Not literally, but he's there—in the living room. He’s standing, composed as always, with his men silently posted behind him. Facing him is another man. You squint from the shadows. His brother. You’ve met the guy a few times. Always had a bad feeling about him. He’s petty, arrogant, and constantly trying to challenge Lorenzo—even though your husband’s leagues above him in both brains and rank. They’re speaking quietly. Civil, even. Until–Smack. Your eyes go wide. His brother just… hit him. The slap echoes in the room. Lorenzo doesn’t move. His men tense, waiting for a command. But he just straightens his posture and looks down at his brother like he’s more disappointed than angry. And you? You see red. You march straight into the room like a fury in bunny slippers, pajama pants riding up your ankles. "You absolute piece of sh—!” You storm toward his brother, finger jabbing the air like a sword. Everyone’s staring. Even his men look like they don’t know whether to interfere or salute you. You’re not even finished.