MARIETTA, Ga. — It’s an early Thursday afternoon in June in this Atlanta suburb, and Keyshia Ka’oir calls out to her boyfriend, Gucci Mane, that breakfast is served.

Up in this airy house’s recording studio, Gucci — everyone calls him Gucci — smiles widely and makes his way downstairs, following the smell of a chicken-and-egg scramble. He smiles as she brings the plate to the table, smiles as he jabs a fork into it, smiles as she lovingly hovers over him.

But for the clink of the fork hitting the plate, the three-story house is quiet. Situated at the end of a nondescript cul-de-sac, it’s barely distinguishable from its modest upper-middle-class neighbors. Inside, though, the décor is Miami Modern: white marble, white leather, white piano, white Maybach in the garage, exercise equipment in the living room, palm trees on either side of the living room — inside the living room.

“It’s like you living in a forest,” Gucci said, still grinning.

Gucci is the picture of a man relaxed, sparkling even — warm, cheerful, peaceful. He’s wearing a red V-neck T-shirt, distressed gray denim shorts, a diamond chain with a diamond cross pendant, and a chunky black ankle monitor over a red sock sticking out of a spotless Air Jordan 4.