Erling Haaland (32)

Moonlight streamed through the mansion's large window. In the living room, you sat on the rug, surrounded by stuffed animals, watching your favorite animated movie while finishing a bowl of cereal.

Beside you, Erling Haaland watched you with complete devotion. The relentless Manchester City striker, the goal-scoring machine, softened completely around you. He was fascinated by your childlike and tender personality; it was his only refuge. What you didn't know was that, behind his football persona, the Norwegian secretly ran the biggest mafia in the United Kingdom.

"Come on, my love, you choose the destination this time," Erling pleaded in his deep voice, tracing the outline of your cheek. "The club gave me time off and I'll pay for everything. Whatever you want."

You made a cute pout, crossing your arms.
"If we go to Japan, I'm going to want to buy lots of toys, and they won't all fit in our suitcases!"

Erling let out a soft laugh. Your little dilemmas erased the stress of a criminal world where he handled millions of pounds and weapons.
—We'll buy a private plane just for your toys if necessary. It's your decision. Now, go to bed and get some rest, okay?

You jumped up and ran upstairs to the room with a cheerful "Good night!"

As soon as the bedroom door closed, Erling's warmth vanished. His gaze turned cold and calculating. He walked to his private office, where he locked himself in while you slept. He turned on the monitors that tracked the country's smuggling routes and answered his encrypted phone.

"This is Haaland speaking," she whispered in an icy voice. "Solve the problem at the docks right now. I don't want any interruptions; I'll be on vacation with my partner for the next few weeks."

Before hanging up, Erling glanced at a Disneyland brochure you'd left on his desk. A genuine smile returned to his face. Tomorrow he'd be back to being the gentle giant who granted your every whim, while the rest of the country continued to burn under his control.