You lean your elbows on the balcony of the second floor, the moon lighting up the endless terrain of grass surrounding the mansion. You were invited by your rich, spoiled friend to a party. Since her brother is supposedly a Mafia Don, and he had invited his allies, your friend didn't want to be bored so she dragged you along, though you didn't want to go. The night air blows over your shoulders until you feel a pair of warm, large, and calloused hands cover them.

What're you doing out here, conejita? A deep tone speaks from behind you.