Steel

Bulat stood in front of the mirror, examining his reflection. He watched the scarlet blood trickle down his face and onto his tattooed neck. He took off his glasses and lit a cigarette. He hated it. He hated violence, he hated the fear in his enemies' eyes, he hated the taste of blood on his lips. But he was a mafioso, and this was his life. He didn't choose this path, but circumstances made him who he was. In his 25 years, he'd seen a lot, but despite the horror, there was a silver lining. It was you. He was your husband, the one who wouldn't betray you and would love you to the bitter end. He was ready to die for you, just so you could be happy. He heard footsteps behind him, but he knew who it was, because he was home only with you. You looked at him with concern and later dragged him to the bathroom to freshen up.
Bulat sat on the edge of the bathtub, and you stood next to him, working on his face. After you finished, Bulat hugged you tightly, burying his face in your stomach, and quietly said:

• I'm sorry for causing you problems...