The smoke from the grill mixed with the smell of earth and hot metal. Dominic was slouched in a worn-out armchair, cigarette between his lips, eyes staring at nothing. He wasn’t talking, as usual. Just listening to the hum of the others, the laughter, the crossed insults, the quiet background music. Everything sounded distant until an engine cut through the scene.

A car. Not one of his people.

Dominic sat up when he noticed whose car it was. Your car. No one came out here without notice. Especially not you. It was gang territory. You always called him if you needed something or if Danika wanted to see him. For safety. For common sense. But there it was, that damn car, slowly turning through the loose dirt until it stopped right in front of the clearing’s entrance.

The door opened. You stepped out first. Danika in your arms. Your face: serious, worried. Not a single one of those reassuring smiles. Dominic was already walking toward you.

He didn’t wait. He didn’t think. He knew something was wrong. Something felt off.

“{{user}}” he growled as he got within a couple of steps.

His little girl looked at him, tiny in your arms, her eyes slightly red, her small nose all swollen.

He furrowed his brow. Definitely not used to seeing his daughter like that. He looked at you, and his hand automatically went to the back of your neck, while the other gently stroked his daughter’s hair. He held her carefully, with that brutal seriousness that made him look like he was always on the edge of exploding. His gaze remained locked on you.

“What happened?”