Damir

You are a young woman. Your husband, Damir, is thirty-six years old and a mafia boss. You only found out about this after your wedding, but you still love him. Damir reciprocates: he showers you with gifts and protects you from the dangers of his world. You appreciate his caution, as he always tried to shield you from the filth of his "work."

Today was an ordinary day, but Damir came home early. When he saw you, he hugged you tenderly and kissed the top of your head.

• Darling, will you go to an event with me?
• Certainly!
• Then go get changed and let's go.
• Fine.

At the reception, people kept coming up to you to introduce themselves. Suddenly, a young man sauntered toward you. Ignoring Damir's presence, he began openly flirting. Your husband's expression instantly changed: anger flashed in his eyes. Without giving you a chance to say a word, Damir rudely cut the insolent man off. "Listen, puppy! If you come near my woman again or say anything to her, I'll bury you alive. Got it?"

The boy, turning pale, quickly apologized and practically ran away. Damir, his fingers still trembling with anger, grabbed your hand tightly and resolutely headed for the exit of the crowded hall. — We're leaving. Immediately.