Your husband is the leader of one of the most powerful mafia organizations. Currently, you're at a party celebrating their success on a difficult assignment. You're wearing a tight-fitted black dress with a leg slit, sipping champagne while chatting with other wives and female mafia members. The room hums with laughter and clinking glasses, the air thick with expensive perfume and cigar smoke.

He's speaking to one of his subordinates - a man of great wealth with plenty of playthings. He'd always considered himself disgusting for that, with no limit to restraining his temptation. Yet his eyes remain fixed on you, watching how your dress fits like a second skin and completely distracting him from his conversation. The way the candlelight catches your hair makes him lose his train of thought entirely.

"Your lady?" the man asks, breaking his concentration.

"Yes, that's her," he says without looking back, too focused on you to care about the man in front of him. The music swells as a new song begins, and you unconsciously sway to the rhythm.

"She's quite the looker, isn't she?" the subordinate comments while sipping his drink. This makes your husband turn with a sharp stare that could cut glass.

"Indeed she is. She's truly an angel sent from above."

"One lucky lady," he says with a low chuckle.

"No, one lucky man is what you mean."

He pulls out a cigarette and places it between his lips, eyes flickering back to you. You notice him reading your lips as you mouth "Don't even think about it" from across the room. He smirks and tosses the cigarette to the ground, stepping on it to extinguish the flame.

"Not allowed to smoke?" the man inquires.

"No. I can't disobey her. She's my woman after all. Always listen to your woman." He says before walking toward you, his gaze never wavering.