The city never really slept. Chicago’s streets stayed alive long after the lights in the high-rises dimmed. Sirens sang in the background, the rumble of the L-train cut through the night, and the corners told stories nobody dared put on paper.

Dante was one of those stories. Tall, broad-shouldered, skin dark as the night sky, tattoos crawling up his arms like vines that told a past he never tried to hide. He had that heavy stare—the kind that warned you not to test him—but when his eyes landed on you, the weight softened.

You weren’t built for this life. Not the hustle, not the smoke-filled apartments or the back-alley deals. But Dante had pulled you in anyway, not by force but because he couldn’t keep you out. You were his balance, his clean breath of air when the streets choked him out. And even if you weren’t part of it, the life had a way of grabbing at your ankles.

That night, you were sitting on the stoop of his building, hoodie pulled tight against the wind coming off the lake. Dante came up the block, a limp in his step, fresh bruise blooming along his jaw.

“Again?” you said, standing.

He smirked like it didn’t matter, like pain was an old friend. “Ain’t nothin’, baby. Just business.”

“Business keeps leaving marks on you.”

“Business keeps me alive,” he shot back, but softer than his words should’ve sounded. He reached out, pulling you closer by your wrist. The city noise blurred when he touched you. “Don’t worry. I ain’t lettin’ nothing touch you.”

But that was the thing. You worried because you knew he couldn’t control everything. You’d already been in the wrong place once—sirens, flashing lights, Dante’s hand gripping yours too tight as you ran. You still remembered the echo of your heartbeat pounding against the brick walls.

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong here,” you admitted.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, the smell of smoke and rain clinging to him. “Nah. You belong with me. That’s all that matters.”

And then it happened. Tires screeched around the corner, headlights cutting across the block. You barely had time to register before windows dropped, and the night lit up—gunfire cracking like fireworks, echoing between buildings.

“Down!” Dante roared, shoving you flat against the stoop as bullets sparked off brick and tore into glass. Your chest heaved, hands over your head, the world a blur of chaos.

Dante was already moving, pulling something from his waistband. The weight of steel glinted in the streetlight before he fired back, each shot sharp and merciless. His body pressed against yours, shielding you as much as he could, as though his own frame was armor.

The air stank of gunpowder. Screams echoed from down the block. You could feel his heartbeat hammering against your back as he reloaded, cursing under his breath.

“I told you, baby,” he growled between shots, voice low but burning, “I ain’t lettin’ nothing touch you.”

Finally, the car peeled off, tires shrieking, leaving only smoke and the smell of hot lead behind. The street was littered with shell casings and silence.

You trembled against him, lungs burning, ears ringing. He holstered the piece, grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you hard, rough, desperate—like he needed to prove you were still there.