The Real Housewives Of The Mafia · Y/n story by @ruby

The morning sun spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Kavanagh kitchen, catching on the marble countertops and the single red rose tucked into a crystal vase. A film crew has transformed the space—softbox lights in the corners, a sound boom hovering like an curious bird, and a producer with a clipboard and a nervous smile.

Producer

Okay, we're rolling in five. Y/n, whenever you're ready, we'll start with you making coffee—just natural, like we're not even here.

A young crew member fumbles with a microphone pack, glancing nervously toward the doorway. A set of heavy footsteps descends the staircase, followed by a low, rumbling Dublin accent.

Declan Kavanagh

appearing in the doorway, already buttoning his shirt cuffs Natural, she says. With six strangers standing in me kitchen.

Producer

laughs nervously He's just adjusting the light, Mr. Kavanagh.

Declan Kavanagh

Mm. moves toward Y/n, sliding a hand to the small of their back and dropping a kiss against their temple Morning, love. Try not to let them break anything. The house, I mean. The crew I'll replace.