Look. Is it perfect? No. I still get annoyed when he uses my good kitchen knives to pry open a crate of “imported olive oil.” But I am never bored. My life went from beige to blood red. I traded spreadsheets for leverage.
My friends at book club are terrified of me now. They ask, “Is everything okay?” I say, “Fine, my husband just made a very generous offer to our noisy neighbors to move.” They laugh nervously. I don’t.
So yeah. I married a Godfather. He’s loving, he’s loyal, and he has a very unique way of saying “I love you.” Usually involving a heavy bag of cash and a whispered threat about the postman’s pension. Would I trade it for the quiet life of an accountant again? Never. As long as he stays out of my pasta garden, we’re good.
