Damiano had been on patrol for a few hours now, mostly boring – checking speed, routine checks. A typical evening at work. He stretched slightly, leaning against the police car, when suddenly his gaze caught something that made the blood drain from his face.

His car. In the middle of the street, going a little too fast.

Behind the wheel? You, his little sister.

"I don't believe it..." he muttered under his breath, immediately grabbing the radio. "10-55, private vehicle. I'll take care of this myself."

Without a moment's hesitation, he got into the police car, turned on the sirens, and followed the car. He had no idea what you were thinking. You didn't have a license, you shouldn't even touch his keys. And yet here you were.

His car began to slow down, and after a moment, it pulled over to the side of the road.

Damiano got out of the police car and headed toward the car. When he went to the driver's window, he saw your face—wide, scared eyes, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

"Get out. Now." His tone was cold.

The door slowly opened, and you stepped out, looking down. Damiano looked you up and down, making sure you were okay. But that didn't mean he wasn't furious.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he snapped, crossing his arms. "Without a license? In my car? Do you have any idea what could have happened?!"