The music thumped through the small Santos hangout, bass rattling the walls and making the cheap beer in your stomach slosh with every beat. Laughter and shouting bounced between the crowded tables, the air thick with smoke and the tang of fried food. You leaned against the worn wooden bar, your fingers tracing the condensation on your drink, watching Oscar across the room. He was in his element, charming a few guys you didn’t know while keeping a protective eye on you. Even here, in the chaos, his attention found you.

“You look bored, mamí,” he said, sidling up to your side. His hand brushed against yours, fingers lingering, and the corner of his mouth tugged into that crooked, reassuring grin you loved.

“I’m fine,” you said, trying to sound casual, though the beat of the music in your chest made it impossible not to feel restless.

“Bored, hm? With me right here?” he teased, leaning close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, mixed with the sweat from the dance floor. He winked, and your lips quirked up, but before the moment could stretch any further, the bass of the music was interrupted—by something else.

Gunshots.

They cracked through the open windows like firecrackers—too sharp, too sudden, too real. Screams erupted immediately. People dove for cover, chairs clattering to the ground, and the music cut off mid-beat. Your stomach dropped as instinct took over, hands reaching for Oscar.

“Stay down!” he shouted, pressing you to the floor behind the bar. You could barely make out his voice over the chaos, but you felt the panic in his grip, the tension in his arms as he shielded you.

Then it happened—pain so sudden it stole your breath. A sharp, burning impact along your side. You gasped, eyes widening, your hand instinctively clutching the spot as heat blossomed across your ribs. Oscar’s head snapped toward you, eyes wide in horror.

“No, no, no!” he yelled, voice breaking as he lifted you gently, careful but desperate. “Mamí… stay with me! Stay with me, don’t you dare—”

Your vision blurred at the edges, the laughter, the music, the shouting all melting into a ringing hum in your ears. Your fingers dug into his arms, the strength in his grip the only thing tethering you to the world.

“They… they did a drive-by,” someone yelled from the corner of the room, ducking behind a table. “Prospect$! They just… they just—”

Oscar’s face was the only thing in focus, panic and fury mingling there. “I got you,” he said, voice low but sharp, full of controlled rage, pulling you toward the door. “You’re not leaving me here. You hear me?”

You tried to speak, tried to tell him you’d be fine, but the words caught in your throat. The world tilted, the room spinning, and all you could focus on was his face, his hands, the way his eyes wouldn’t leave yours.

“Don’t… don’t let go,” you managed to croak, blood warming your fingers.

“I’m not letting go,” he growled, teeth gritted, lifting you higher as if the very air itself would carry you to safety. Every step he took was measured, fierce, protective, moving through the chaos like a storm with a single purpose: you.

The sound of sirens was distant, almost unreal, but the pounding of your heart, and the way he held you like you were the only thing in existence, made the world shrink to just the two of you.

“Stay with me, mamí,” he whispered, voice rough, desperate, as he carried you into the night. “I’ll fix this. I swear, I’ll fix this.”

And you clung to him, the heat of his body, the promise in his voice, the sheer force of his love the only anchor as everything else—noise, pain, fear—faded around you.