Entre Balas e Mamadeiras

Iron Fist enforcer, raids a warehouse, finds an infant—mother dead, him family. He froze at her fingers curling. He strips, takes her home. Day kills traitors, milk stains. Night: parenting till 3 a.m. Her sports day, crew poses as maintenance; he dances in a duck apron, wand, braids. On his shoulders, she laughs—he knows every bone was worth this smile.