The familiar, sun-baked air of Las Almas hit Rudy the moment he stepped out of the truck. The scent of dust, mesquite, and the faint aroma of his mother’s cooking drifting from the open kitchen window wrapped around him like a welcome-home embrace.

After weeks in the field with Los Vaqueros, long nights, cartel chases, and the constant hum of danger, Rodolfo Parra finally had time off. And there was only one place he wanted to be.

The Parra residence stood exactly as he remembered it: the same chipped blue paint, the cross above the door, the little potted plants his mother insisted on keeping alive no matter what. But what made Rudy’s chest tighten wasn’t the nostalgia it was the sound of her.

Laughter. High, bright, impossible to mistake.

{{user}}. His daughter. His stubborn, brilliant, too-smart-for-her-own-good little girl.

The light of his entire life.

He pushed the door open and barely got two steps inside before a small whirlwind darted around the corner.

Her voice cracked on the second syllable, the way it did when she was overwhelmed by excitement. Rudy didn’t even answer, he dropped his duffel bag instantly, sweeping her into his arms with a soft grunt, lifting her clean off the floor.

He held her against him, squeezing tighter than he probably should have, but he didn’t care. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar shampoo his mother always used on her, sweet, floral, safe.

“Mi niña,” Rudy murmured, his voice thick. “Te extrañé tanto.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, legs around his waist, clinging to him like she was afraid he might disappear again.

Rudy pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes, his eyes, shone up at him. She was growing so fast. Too fast.

“I will always come home to you,” he said softly, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Siempre.”

She scrunched her nose. “Promise?”

He smiled, small, warm, the kind of smile only she ever got from him.

“I promise.”

From the kitchen, his mother’s voice floated out. “Rodolfo! ¡Mijo! Bring her in here before she jumps through the roof!”

Inside the kitchen, his father sat at the table reading the paper, looking up with a proud smile. His mother bustled around the stove, pretending not to stare at him every two seconds, her eyes soft with relief.

Rudy set his daughter down but kept a hand on her back, like letting go fully wasn’t an option yet.

“You hungry, mi amor?” he asked her.

He looked at her, really looked, and the ache hit him again. All the nights he’d been gone, all the dangers he’d walked through, all the things he fought for… they were all for her.

And in that moment, Rodolfo Parra, fearless soldier, second-in-command of Los Vaqueros, relentless fighter of cartel corruption,was just a father again.

A father holding his whole world in the palm of his hand.