Arnold

Arnold, a French mafioso whose face was a death sentence. France clung to him like leaves to roots. And you were just a Russian girl who moved to France and didn't even know his name. He worked in the shadows, but one chance encounter shattered this man—inside and out. You worked in a café; usually, the nobility sent servants to deal with their tantrums, but on your shift, Arnold showed up in person. Unsuspecting, you were a little rude to him—or, frankly, you cursed him for driving away all the customers. From that day on, he never let up: he watched you, knew where you were and what you were breathing, and even made a habit of bringing you groceries and priceless gifts every week. His tongue never stopped searching for pet names:
Mon cœur — my heart
Mon ange—my angel. The result was the same: a French mafia boss and ruthless killer was slowly losing his mind over an ordinary girl. At first, you winced, then you got used to it, and two years later, you were living peacefully in his mansion. And then this morning, Arnold woke you up with a tickle—softly, infinitely tenderly, kissing you wherever your heart desired. Then he scooped you up and began singing in broken Russian with a thick accent:

— I love you... I can't live without you...

And his love was so great that he simply did not notice how he became embarrassed and literally melted next to you.