It's been 3 weeks since they've checked me out of the hospital, 3 weeks since Marcello began his move to the U.S. 3 weeks since I agreed to move out of my small apartment and into a bigger place with Marcello.

The hospital parking lot is where he'd asked me. Uncle Benny drove off moments before so I was left to my own devices. He'd come from Itsly to live in America, and I saw what a life without him was like. I didn't want to risk losing him again. So I happily said yes.

Now, looking at my surroundings, it's hard to believe that this is my life with Marcello. It's not everything I'd imagined, like the ugly beige couch set he had insisted on getting. But everything was still perfect.

I haven't even run into a wall yet so it's safe to say that this house isn't as abusive.

Marcello, who was previously giving me an impressive tour of the house, plops down onto the matching beige loveseat and blows out an exaggerated breath.

I walk slowly toward him until I'm standing between his bent knees. His signature dark wash jeans look particularly good on him today paired with the black t-shirt that fits him almost perfectly.

Part of me still can't believe that he gave up his life in Italy to be with me here.

Of all places.

Here. My hometown. The two are hard to put into the same equation.

Marcello is an Italian mafia boss and he lives in the same town I'd grown up walking home from school. Getting ice cream with Uncle Benny. Meeting my first best friend who would eventually betray me. Losing my virginity.

That last one makes me feel guilty as I refocus my eyes on Marcello.

I guess it's hard to see someone so perfect in a town that's so...imperfect.

It's as if Marcello belongs in Italy, where everything is as beautiful and flawless as he is.

But he's here with me. I'm most definitely not complaining.

"What're you thinking about?" He asks in his silky accent that I've grown used to. Sometimes I forget he has an accent altogether, but when it's as pronounced as it was in his question, I melt all over again.

He brushes a stray hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear gently, his eyes attempting to read my own, as if he can read my thoughts if he looks hard enough.

"I don't know. It could have something to do with that unibrow you've been growing." I tease.

"You. Did. Not." He gasps dramatically, pulling his hand from my face to trace the outline of his nonexistent unibrow. His eyebrows are perfect, actually. I think I'm more prone to grow a nice unibrow than he is.

"Oh yes I so did." I say with a laugh, swatting his hand away from his face, "We both know that your body would never commit such an injustice. Your genes are too pretty for hair in unwanted places."

A smile plays on his lips and I just know he's about to say something quirky, so I silence him with a kiss just in time. It was supposed to be a peck on the lips but he wraps his arms around my neck, craning his neck to deepen the kiss.

His lips move slowly against my own, completely controlled and passionate.

Sometimes I can feel the change in our relationship through how he kisses me. For the first two weeks since he's arrived here, every kiss I'd recieved from him was unsure, desperate, and feverish.

Now it's a bit more calm, but heated enough to send a wave of butterflies through my stomach and all the way down to form a second heartbeat.

I pull away before we could get too caught up. We still have some more unpacking to do.

"Let's go unpack the rest of our bedroom boxes." I tell him, pulling with all my weight to lift his heavy frame off the loveseat.

To no avail.

Before I can comprehend what he's doing, his arm yanks me forward and the other curls under my knees so he sweeps me off my feet. Quite literally.

I can't stop the fit of giggles as he holds me against his chest a pecks every available spot on my face.

Blow after blow of kisses, he finally let's me settle onto his lap.

I shed a solid tear from laughter that I wipe away quickly.

"Okay, nice try, buddy, but you can't distract me. Let's go unpack." I demand, staring him down. It's hard to be taken seriously and even take myself seriously when I'm being cradled like a baby.

"But Brimmyyyy, I don't wanna." He bends his neck down and buries his face in my chest.

I may be the one that's being held like a baby, but the real baby in the relationship is him.

"But Marcellooo, we have to." He lifts his head, pouts and let's his head fall back down to rest on my shoulder.

I huff, "Marcello, did you even-"

Without any warning, he stands, with me still in his arms, and carries us to our bedroom.

We already have the bed, TV, a multifunctional dresser, and all the necessities here. We just have to unpack the rest of our clothes, my jewelry, and whatever junk Marcello's keeping in his 'extras' box.

He'd just finished setting up his office earlier, to which I asked him what he needed an office for.

He told me simply 'leaving' the mafia wasn't as easy as it sounded so he'd be finishing up some business before he could cut his ties.

I have a feeling he'd be working on cutting these ties for a while, but I didn't mind. As long as he keeps anyone with Ill intended harm and a gun away from the house.

Just because he lacked security in his house back in Italy doesn't mean I'll let anything related to his work infringe upon our new house.

This will be the place we spend our lives in, I refuse to have any destruction within these walls.

I'd already given him the lecture, which he told me he understood and pinky promised me that no one will discover when we are.

A jab at my side kicks me back into awareness and the first thing I focus on is a mischievous Marcello holding my back scratcher.

The filed and polished wooden stick with mock fingernails on the back proves to be a good weapon when Marcello jabs me again.

"Excuse me, you got a problem?" I ask him, attempting to snatch the weapon from his hands.

"Maybe, maybe not." He replies with a snicker, getting another poke in at my leg.

"You little..." I begin, then interrupt myself with a lunge at him, my hand tugs the stick out of his hands, leaving him weaponless.

"I thought we were supposed to be unpacking boxes." Marcello comments underneath me, letting me victoriously trap his hands with my own.

"Don't act like you didn't initiate this." I free one of my hands to poke him in the chest.

"Initiate what?" He blinks innocently, earning an annoyed huff from me.

I climb to my feet, with him following shortly behind me.

"It's already 8pm, I have work tomorrow, mister." I give him a mock glare and focus on unpacking my box.

I fold my clothes quickly, and am satisfied when I see him emptying his box quickly.

It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes upon seeing him unloading guns from his 'extras' box. Go figure.

He set up a gun shelf in his office, which all space is already occupied, so he built another shelf in the closet. Which he places a hand gun in the very last spot.

"Are you sure you need all these guns?" I ask with a shake of my head once he pulls the last small gun from his box and puts it in the drawer on our shared nightstand.

"Mmmm, yes." He replies, bending down to retrieve the last item from his box.

This time, I can't stifle the urge to roll my eyes, so I turn away to unfold my box so I can put it in the garage with the rest of the boxes.

"Brim." Marcello calls behind me.

"Hm?" I respond, still working on the box.

"Brimmy." He repeats, more adamantly.

"Marcello, I'm trying to unfo-" When I whip around to lecture him, my words disappear into thin air. "What? What're you doing?"

My eyes must be deceiving me because moments ago, we were joking around and messing with eachother and now...

My throat attempts to close up on me.

"Brimmy, I've been wanting to ask you this and I haven't been able to find the perfect timing but.." He trails off, looking as if the urge to cry is threatening him as well, "Brimmy, I love you more than anything else in the world. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and maybe even as ghosts we'll be together. I don't know how that works but I was hoping you'd interrupt me by now because I'm sometimes a nervous rambler and-"

I understand where he's going with his rant, so I stop him before he can take his speech into an aimless direction.

My lips against his have never felt as good as they do when I grab his head and push myself against him.

One of his hands finds itself tangled in my hair and the other is trailing my body hungrily.

I pull away, struggling to breathe.

He looks at me hesitantly, "So, uh...is that a y-"

"Yes, Marcello. It's obviously a yes." I grin, letting out a small laugh to match the amusement laced into my tone.

At this point, we're both on our knees as he takes the ring from its case and slips its perfectly onto my finger.

The diamond sparkles happily.

After I'm done admiring it, I look back up to see a gleaming Marcello. His eyes shine almost as bright as the big rock he'd just given me.

He tosses the ring box aside and lifts me up, carrying me to the bed.

"Time for some real action." He says with a wink, dropping me beneath him and looking down at me.

"Damn right, let me show you who the real boss is." I reply with a giggle, grabbing the back of his neck and dragging him down onto the bed with me.

He lays on his back, propping his head up with his hands, "The stage is all yours, Mrs. Pietro."