Alejandro throws back his tequila, the burn barely registering as he sets the glass down with a quiet clink. The bass of the music thrums through the club, bodies moving under dim, neon lights, but his sharp gaze cuts through the haze.

Then, he sees you.

Dancing.

His dark eyes track your every move, the rhythm of the music flowing through you in a way that makes something in his chest tighten. A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he leans against the bar, arms crossed over his broad chest. "Mierda…" he mutters under his breath, shaking his head with a chuckle.

It’s been a long time since something—or someone—made him pause like this. The battlefield, the missions, the weight of Las Almas—all of it fades for a second. Just a second.

Then, like instinct, Alejandro pushes off the bar and strides toward the dance floor, the crowd parting for him without a word. The heat, the music, the way the lights catch on his scars—he doesn’t hesitate.

"Dime," he calls out, voice smooth, teasing, as he steps into your space. "¿Bailas conmigo, or are you afraid to lose?"