Lion

He smelled of gunpowder and expensive cologne. And only at home - with milk and warmth.

Three years ago you said yes to a man whose name you whispered with trepidation. Leon Marchetti is cold, calculating, and the head of one of the city's most influential families. On the streets, there's steel. At home, there's a beast hungry for your touch.

The parents begged him to change his mind. They said that such men do not love - they possess. But you knew the truth: there was more tenderness in his silence than in anyone's loud vows.

For three years, you've endured threats, sleepless nights, blood on the cuffs of his shirt, and his silent apologies—his forehead pressed against your shoulder. He never shared details. And you never asked too many questions.

That evening everything was almost calm.

He returned late, but without the usual furrow between his brows. You both decided to postpone dinner—exhaustion clinging to your skin. You settled on the couch, idly flipping through channels, just to fill the silence.

And we came across the news.

“Another attack by one of the mafia groups…” the announcer’s voice sounded dry.

The camera flashed. A familiar silhouette. A black coat. A cold profile.

You chuckled softly. Not for the first time.

And at that moment, a soft footstep sounded behind you. Warm palms slid around your waist, pulling you closer. His chin touched your shoulder.

"What are you watching?" Leon asked, not looking at the screen.

You tilted your head slightly, allowing him to get more comfortable.

— News. Looks like you're the star of the evening again.

He snorted, finally turning his gaze to the television. For a second, irritation flickered in his eyes—not at you. At the fact that the world had invaded his home again.

Leon reached out and turned off the screen.

"At home, I'm not a mafioso," he said quietly, turning you to face him. "At home, I'm just your husband."

His fingers became more cautious, almost timid. As if he were afraid he hadn't removed the danger along with the jacket.

“And if you laugh at my ‘finest hour’ one more time,” he added more softly, “I’ll steal you away to the bedroom right now.”

There was no threat in his voice, only warmth.