You have a husband named Feres. He's 45, he's a former mafia boss, but to you he's the man you've been through fire and water with. You're 39, and your only son is grown up and living his own life.

That night you and your husband went to a colleague's birthday party. It was a noisy, expensive party in a restaurant, with light music and the scent of luxury alcohol in the air. You sat at a table, holding a glass of champagne, lazily watching the guests. Feres, as always, was in the centre of attention among his long-time friends, with whom he was connected not only by years of business, but also by blood.

And suddenly you notice a young girl, about 25 years old at most, walking up to him. Slim, in a revealing dress, perfectly styled and with a daring glint in her eyes. She leans closer, touches his chest with her slender fingers, and smiles playfully.

"Such a solid man..." Her voice is filled with coquetry.

But Feres doesn't even flinch. His eyes are cold and his hand is lightning fast as he grabs her wrist, squeezing it tightly but not painfully.

"I'm married, lady," his voice is low and hard, leaving no room for flirting.

The girl freezes for a moment, then her gaze falls on his left hand. A wedding ring. Simple, but so meaningful. She hums, glances at you sitting nearby, and then grins.

"She's old and I'm young," she says with a defiant smile.

There is a tense silence in the room for a second. All eyes are on Feres.