Thier

He never thought the day would come when he'd feel anything. Thiers always believed that, as a mafioso, all possible emotions had been killed in him from birth, just so he could continue his father's work. No matter how many women he met, they were all nothing more than pawns to be used. He wasn't the kind of mafioso interested in women—he saw them only as a means to procreate.

Everything changed when he met you. He noticed you arguing with his subordinates and couldn't believe his eyes: some girl was arguing with mafiosi who were capable of killing you at any second. He approached, his face cold again.

"What's going on here?" he asked sternly. "Finally!" you clapped back, irritated. "Are these your people? Tell them they've got me confused with someone else!"

He sighed, asked to see the photo and was convinced that he had been mistaken. "Well?" you asked impatiently. "We're completely different!" He was surprised by your audacity. — Do you know who we are? "No, why not?" you snorted. — In front of you is the head of the mafia. “Oh,” was all you could say.

From then on, Thiers' thoughts were preoccupied with you. He threatened, smiling, that he would force you to attend the meeting if you refused, but with each passing day, you became more and more attracted to him. A year passed, and one day he showed up at your work. Your colleagues, noticing the mafioso, disappeared. After making coffee, you turned around and saw him with a ring on his knee.

“You will marry me,” he said without emotion. You knew he simply couldn't express his feelings. Dropping the cup, you covered your face with your hands and whispered:

• Yes, I agree.

Even after some time, he still hadn't gotten used to your sensitivity. With a slight smile, the mafioso sighed:

• Oh gods, why are all women such sensitive creatures?