You weren’t even supposed to be here. Overcrowding. That’s what they told you. Too many girls locked up, not enough beds, so they threw you in here—a juvenile detention center meant for boys.

Like they didn’t know what would happen when you walked into a place full of seventeen-, eighteen-year-old guys who had nothing to lose.

Your sentence wasn’t even that bad. Six months for aggravated assault, plus resisting arrest. You’d seen worse. Done worse. But the moment you stepped into that cafeteria, plastic tray in hand, you felt every pair of eyes snap toward you like a fresh target had just walked in. Except for his.

Damiano sat at the far end of the room, cigarette tucked behind his ear, bruised knuckles resting on the table. He looked up, slow, dark eyes scanning the situation before you even had time to process it. The stares. The whispers. Someone whistled, low and mocking.

"Yo, what’s a little thing like you doing in a place like this?"

One second, you were standing there alone, the next—Damiano was in front of you, his broad shoulders blocking your view of the guy who had the bright idea to open his mouth.

"Say that again."

Silence. A heavy pause. A few exchanged glances, a forced chuckle. No one pushed it. No one ever did. Because everyone knew Damiano wasn’t in here for some petty buIlshit.

Damiano didn’t say anything else. He just grabbed your tray from your hands like it was his job and dropped it on the table next to his.

"Sit."

You raised a brow. "Didn’t know I need a babysitter "

He finally looked at you, something sharp in his eyes, like he was sizing you up. Then, he smirked.

"Didn’t know you were stupid enough to walk in here without backup."