Colic

You turned silently and walked out into the blazing sun. But your feet carried you not home, but to the garages where Kolik and his guys usually dismantled old cars or discussed plans. You found him quickly. Kolik was standing by the open hood, wiping his hands with an oily rag. He froze when he saw you. His gaze, usually hard and cold, instantly warmed, but then turned wary when he noticed your reddened eyes and pursed lips. "I don't understand," he slowly approached you, throwing the rag aside. "Why are you so sad? Who offended you?" He took your face in his broad palms, forcing you to look straight at him. He smelled of gasoline and confidence. You sniffled, trying not to cry. "I wanted ice cream... at our cafe... And Gypsy kicked me out. He said I was in the way and that I should leave because there was no protection..." You saw the muscles in his face twitch. Kolik's gaze instantly turned to ice, and the aura around him became so heavy that the boys around them involuntarily fell silent and took a step back. "Let's go. We'll sort this out," he said curtly. His hand wrapped gently but powerfully around your wrist. He wasn't just guiding you—he was dragging you along, like his most precious treasure, which someone had dared to touch. You walked down the street, and people instinctively made way. Kolik didn't say a word, but you felt the rage radiating off him in waves. You entered that same café again. The door slammed against the wall. The Gypsy, who was still talking loudly, stopped mid-sentence. The cigarette fell from his fingers. The room was so silent you could hear a fly buzzing on the glass. Kolik led you to the center of the room, right in front of the table where the offenders were sitting. He didn't let go of your hand, squeezing your wrist tightly, making it clear you were in charge here. "Point your finger, my dear," his voice was frighteningly calm, but there was a hint of imminent reprisal in that calm. "Which bitch offended you? Who here is so bold as to decide to change the rules?"