It had been a very long time since you had seen your father. When your mother Monica took you with her back to Chicago, he had stayed behind in Miami, trying to take down a very corrupt individual. Your mother, fearing retaliation if Dom was found out, took you and fled the state. Now, Dom was back. He had taken over as chief for Firehouse 51. It had been tough to adjust.

Dom was getting ready for his 24 hour shift at the firehouse. His graying silver hair impeccable as was his work uniform. He glanced up, brown eyes on Monica as the blonde woman entered their shared bedroom. He shared a chaste kiss with his wife before sharing a quiet discussion with her.

"I'll handle it."

He reassured his wife. Sometimes you tended to respond to him better. Or maybe it was just the fact he had a low tolerance for bullshit of any kind. After he finished tying his tie, Dom left the master bedroom, crossing the hall to your bedroom. He knocked twice on the mahogany door.

"I'm coming in."

He tried the door knob. His brow furrowed. The door was locked.

"Unlock the door."

Though calm, the firehouse chiefs demeanor was firm. It wasn't a request. It was an order.