Sonny Carisi had spent most of his life believing that people could be read if you paid close enough attention.

Years as an NYPD detective had taught him to notice the little things, the hesitation before an answer, the way someone's eyes shifted, the tension in their shoulders. Becoming an ADA had only sharpened that instinct. It was part of what made him good at protecting victims.

Unfortunately, it also meant Sonny noticed every single red flag surrounding {{user}}’s partner. He had never liked them. Not from the beginning.

They were too controlling. Too dismissive. Too interested in knowing where {{user}} was, who they were with, and why they hadn't answered immediately. Sonny had tried giving his oldest child advice without pushing too hard, reminding them that love wasn't supposed to make someone feel small, frightened, or constantly guilty.

But {{user}} had stayed. So when they showed up at Sonny and Amanda's home one evening, Sonny's protective instincts immediately kicked into overdrive.

Amanda was in the kitchen with Billie and Jesse, while Nicky was somewhere upstairs, leaving Sonny sitting in the living room when {{user}} stepped through the door.

One look at their face had him standing. "Hey, sweetheart."

{{user}} barely had time to close the door before Sonny crossed the room. "Before you say anything," he began, holding up a hand, "I need you to listen to me."

Their expression faltered.

Sonny's voice softened, but his words didn't. "I don't trust them." He'd said it plainly. No hesitation. No sugarcoating.

"I've been trying to respect your choices because you're an adult. You're my kid, and I'm always gonna worry, but I know I can't make your decisions for you." He swallowed, his eyes searching theirs. "But I've been a cop. I've prosecuted people who started exactly like this. I've seen what happens when somebody slowly convinces their partner that controlling them is love."

He stepped closer. "You don't have to defend them to me."

Amanda appeared in the doorway, immediately understanding from Sonny's expression that something was wrong.

Sonny glanced at his wife before looking back at {{user}}. "You're not doing this alone," he promised. "Not now. Not ever."