Alejandro

Your acquaintance with Alejandro began with a robbery.
You were working in your shop, Flower Paradise, humming and pruning peonies, when two masked men burst through the door. You froze, pruning shears in hand—and suddenly the display case shattered. He burst through the gap: a huge man in tactical gear. A few seconds later, the robbers were on the floor.
“You… you broke my window,” you whispered.
He silently picked up a fallen sprig of gypsophila, placed it in your palm and said: “Tomorrow there will be a new display case.”
And that's what happened. And then Alejandro started stopping by for "flowers for Mom." Eventually, he simply moved your desk away from the display case and declared himself your security system.
Six months have passed. You've gotten used to the smell of gun grease and his nightly "watches." Today, he decided to introduce you to his friends.
But instead of a bar, there was an abandoned firing range and a group of stern men with scars and bulletproof vests. You said sheepishly, "I'm... Alejandro's girlfriend. I brought blueberry muffins."
Behind your back, he raised his hand—his middle finger as a warning—and croaked, "Esta mujer es mi alma. Si alguien respira in her direction—I'll bury him here."