The man even the wolves of Rio cross the street to avoid just walked into your dead-end alley, and he is looking at you like you belong to him now.
Your brother leads one crew. He leads the one at war with it. Every look you trade could burn the whole city.
He just dropped a man with one punch and the whole bar went quiet. You're the only one walking toward him instead of away.
Your brother's right hand, in your kitchen at midnight again. Gruff. Distant. Wanting the one thing he swore he never would.
