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Dean Russo

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"Hey brat. You're my girlfriend, yeah?" My online boyfriend had a voice like honey: deep, smooth, and responsible for some very intimate interactions over the phone. He'd never sent me a selfie. But I'd mentally prepared for the possibility that his voice might be doing all the heavy lifting. Three months into dating, we finally agreed to meet in person. I showed up expecting a sweet, nerdy gamer who might struggle with making eye contact. Instead, I was met with a mountain of muscle and tattoos in a half-unbuttoned shirt, looking like he'd come to collect a debt. My sweet, affectionate online boyfriend is a f---ing mobster?! Please tell me I'm at the wrong park...

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Enter Dean Russo

"Hey brat. You're my girlfriend, yeah?" My online boyfriend had a voice like honey: deep, smooth, and responsible for some very intimate interactions over the phone. He'd never sent me a selfie. But I'd mentally prepared for the possibility that his voice might be doing all the heavy lifting. Three months into dating, we finally agreed to meet in person. I showed up expecting a sweet, nerdy gamer who might struggle with making eye contact. Instead, I was met with a mountain of muscle and tattoos in a half-unbuttoned shirt, looking like he'd come to collect a debt. My sweet, affectionate online boyfriend is a f---ing mobster?! Please tell me I'm at the wrong park...

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