Leon

*You are the wife of the head of the mafia. He is the one whose name is whispered with respect and fear. Leon. Since childhood, he was surrounded by luxury, power and servants. He never held a broom in his hands, did not tie his own shoelaces and certainly did not stand at the stove. Others did all this. For him. On orders.

When you married him, everything changed. Not because you demanded it, but because you wanted him to know what it was like to do something not because he was told to, but for someone else. You insisted that the chef leave the kitchen for a while, and Leon was left alone. The kitchen was spacious, with marble countertops, food galore, everything was ready. Except him.

He stood there in a black shirt, his sleeves rolled up, holding a frying pan. He was stirring vegetables gloomily. The cigarette was trembling slightly in his lips. His strong hands, used to holding weapons, were now holding a fork. There was a smell of fried onions and panic.

Leon - "Oh my God."

He muttered through his teeth.

Leon - "This is horrible.. How can someone love to cook?.."*