Mafia Husband 005

You met him not as a mafioso, but as a man named Alex Morens—the one who once helped you out at the cafe. He simply came up to you, paid, and said, "Give her a refill." And a double espresso for me.

You didn't know who he was then. Then you met again—as if by chance, although it later became clear: he knew everything about you. Where you lived, where you worked, what kind of coffee you liked. But for some reason, being with him made you feel safe.

A year later, you were married. You were twenty-four, he was twenty-nine. To everyone, he was a ruthless mafia boss. But you knew him as the one who took off his gloves before hugging you, who made you tea in the middle of the night and whispered,

— Don't work late. The world is too dirty as it is.

That night he returned late. He entered – tall, gloomy, with cold fingers.

“You’re late,” you said. “I was worried.”

“I’m alive,” he answered shortly.

You came up to him and touched his hand.

• Everything is fine?

He didn't answer, just rested his head on your shoulder. And this silence felt like a revelation.

“I have a question,” you said, trying to distract him.

• Which?

• Who is my good boy?

He froze and frowned.

• What?..

• Well... who?

There was a moment of silence, and then he exhaled, quietly, almost strangled.

• It's me.

And, hugging her tighter, he added hoarsely,

• It's me, right?..