Isabela kept her chin lifted, even while surrounded by armed men. The air in the small room was heavy, saturated with the smell of cigarettes and danger.

“I don’t owe you any explanations,” she snapped, spitting the words like poison.

The gang leader stepped forward. His half-lidded eyes studied her as if weighing a problem that needed to be eliminated.

“I’ll say it again so it sinks in,” he said, his voice deep and dripping with contempt. “You really thought you could hide in my favela without