Because the Mafia is/was a Beautiful Thing

I went to bed alone and woke up alongside the Spartan. The very same Spartan who showed up just to cook me breakfast, the one I thought I could/would never miss. The Mister whose ego when in the same room with my own can control electrical devices and possibly, the tides. And it didn’t scare me, it revived me. It wasn’t alarming, it was refreshing. The winds have shifted and I can’t blame it on hormones this time. This time, he’s right; this mafia is a beautiful thing. We have a beautiful thing.