He had this crazy principle that the bed was for making love and not just having sex, and he had no intention of making love to anyone in the nearest and farthest future.

Skyclad and angry he lay on the ground, the lady feeling rather ecstatic after their wall play. "Get your things and get out," he said, rising from the ground where he lay. He just loathed the lady for no reason. He loathed most women for no reason.

But his wife was different, while he hated a lot of women for no reason, he loved her for no reason. He just loved her, and he couldn't say why.

"What?" the lady choked, as he tossed a bunch of Euros at her, and strolled to his mini bar again. "What the hell is this? What do you take me for? A cheap prostitute?" she raged, she had never been treated any lower in her life.

"Isn't that what you are?" he asked. "Get out." He clearly states again.

"You son of a b*tch! Who do you think you are? Do you know who I am? You idiotic bas…" her lips instantly went shut, she held in her breath, for with one long stride he stood in front of her in all of his glory, the rage, and anger visible in every popped-up muscle and vein.

"VATTENE!!" he roared into her face, his hands folded into a furious fist. The lady needed no prophet to tell her that she had hooked up with the wrong person that evening. Trembling in fear, she picked up her stuff, and slipped on her gown, fumbling for her underwear.

"Drop it." He says as she tried to pick up the money he had tossed at her, she wanted to protest, but was not even able to look up at him again, his voice was ice-cold, and his gaze was like Antarctica put in a blue ball.

Staggering and almost running, she found her way out of the apartment. "F*ck!!" with all his might he picked up the bottle of whiskey and smashed it hard into the wall.

"Ah_Ahh_Ah!" Marco who stood outside all the while heard the angry scream, it wasn't something unusual, he'd gotten used to it by now. But he still ran inside anyway, he had to make sure he wasn't doing anything stupid like cutting himself, he'd done it a lot in the past.

Seated on the ground, back against the wall, elbows propped upon his knees, Marco could see where his skin had split and blood ran on his knuckles, just some feet above where he sat, he saw the dent and blood stains on the wall. He breathed a pitiful sigh of relief.

Taking a seat on the ground next to him. He was his boss, yes, but they'd been through life-threatening situations together, they'd made it this far by watching each other's back. They were more like brothers than boss and subordinate.

"Marco,"

"Hm."

"Sono stanco." He confessed. "I'm so tired of living."

"I know Zee, I know." He nods, placing a comforting hand over his shoulder.

Burying his face in his palms, he could only show this side to some certain people in his life, and Marco was one of them. In front of every other person, he either had to be the great and sophisticated President of Vino Rosato during the day, or the feared and dangerous Mafia King at night. But he was not like that in front of Marco. As long as it was just the two of them in the room, he could drop all that load of being the boss.

It was like that with her too. She made him feel even more comfortable, she was his home and rest. Always there waiting for him to come back home to her, and he always did, until that very day when he came back home to find her on the floor soaked in her own blood.

"tidy up, I'll drive you home," Marco said. As lonely as it always seemed there, Marco knew that still, that place was his best comfort.

The ride back to his mansion was always the longest, it was the home he shared with her. Heavily guarded, it was a highly secured place, at least so he thought before she was killed right in the middle of all that security.

From the distance, he could see it coming into view, his head was out the window. He watched as the gates slid open, and they drove into the mass of land, tall trees on both sides greeted them as they drove in. Soon the building itself in all its wonder appeared in front of them.

It was almost a castle, every brick and tile was placed majestically, with huge gargoyles in front of the pillars.

Just like this he would ride back home, and she would at most times run out to meet him, he could still feel it, that sensation that enveloped him each time he swept her off her feet and up into his arms. The pure bliss he felt.

Heavy strides he took into the house, heading straight for the bar. Alcohol had become his only means of survival. Drunk and wasted, he could always see her, in every single thing. Especially in this house, as long as he was drunk, he could see her running around, in the kitchen, in the living room, in the bathroom, in her tailoring room where she worked, and in their bedroom.

And there, there he would lay on the bed, wrap himself up in the sheets, it's been five years now, but if he breathed in strong and hard enough, he could smell her orange tulip scent. Drowning in alcohol and pain, he let sleep wash over him.

That's when his paradise starts.