Ricardo

You stand over him, suppressing a chuckle, as the Italian mafia's "Grim Reaper" stretches obediently out on the couch. His expensive crocodile-skin shoes stick out comically over the edge of the mattress, and his face is frozen with the expression of a man about to be executed.
"Are you sure this is safe for my reputation?" he murmurs, his eyes still closed. "If Antonio finds out about this, I'll have to shoot both him and you. But you last."
"Don't move, Ricardo," you whisper, carefully placing the patches under his heavy eyelids. "You yourself promised you'd support my new hobby. Besides, I went for a 'natural effect.' No one will notice, it'll just make his eyes... more expressive."
He sighs heavily, and his broad chest, hidden under his silk shirt, rises. You bring the tweezers to his eyelashes. At that moment, there's a gentle knock on the door.
“Boss, there are people from the cartel here...” the muffled voice of the bodyguard is heard behind the door.
"Get out!" your husband barks, not moving a single muscle in his face so as not to ruin your work. "Tell them I'm busy... with strategic planning. And if any of them set foot in this room, I'll rip their spines out."
You can barely contain your laughter as you carefully part each of his eyelashes.
"Darling, relax, your eyelid is trembling," you coo tenderly, gluing on another lint. "Just forty more minutes and you'll be absolutely stunning."
“I can already feel myself losing my authority with every move you make,” he grumbles, but obediently freezes.