The rain came hard that night—pounding against the rooftops like it was trying to wash the blood away.
Valentina woke up face-down in a puddle beside a dumpster, her ears ringing and her clothes soaked. Her fingers twitched. Her body ached. But she was alive. Somehow.
Isabella… mamá… papá—
She jerked upright, panic gripping her lungs. The alley spun around her. Her last memory: the masked men, the screams, the shots—her father falling.
"No… no no no—" she gasped, crawling to her knees.
A wave of nausea hit her hard. She clutched her stomach and vomited into the gutter.
The air reeked of rot and burnt tortillas from a nearby food cart. Somewhere, a baby cried. No one noticed her. No one cared. In Tepito, blood wasn't news.
Her heart thudded like it was trying to escape her chest. She reached into her pocket. Empty. No phone. No ID. No shoes.
She had nothing. Except the red Bible.
Taped inside the back cover: a crumpled slip of paper with a single address scribbled in trembling handwriting.
"Mateo Vargas – 153 Calle Roja."
She stared at it, shivering. Who the hell was Mateo?
"Keep moving," she muttered, teeth chattering. "You can't die in the street. Not today."
She limped out of the alley and into the city's underbelly.
Two Days Later
She hadn't slept. Barely eaten. Her feet were blistered, her knees scraped raw. But she made it.
Calle Roja was a ghost street near the Sinaloa freight yards—half the buildings were boarded up, the rest held secrets nobody wanted to know.
Number 153 looked like a mechanic shop, but the chain on the door buzzed open the moment she knocked.
And there he was.
Mateo Vargas. Mid-40s. Sharp eyes, bald head, sleeves rolled up to reveal scars and tattoos.
"Valentina Cruz?" he said in a voice that sounded like gravel and whiskey.
She blinked. "You know me?"
He didn't answer. Just stepped aside and said, "Get in. Fast."
Inside, everything was metal and weapons. Guns on walls. Tools. Smoke.
"I owed your father," Mateo said. "That debt's yours now."
She collapsed into the nearest chair, every nerve in her body ready to snap. "They killed them. All of them. I—I don't even know why."
Mateo lit a cigarette, exhaled slow. "You will. But first, you disappear. If Xavier Herrera sent those men… you're already a walking target."
Her stomach dropped. Xavier Herrera. El Arquitecto. The name whispered like a curse across every slum and street.
"Why would a man like that kill my family?" she whispered.
Mateo's gaze turned ice cold. "Because your father saw something he wasn't supposed to. And now you've got the key."
Valentina gripped the Bible tighter.
From student to fugitive…
Her jaw clenched.
...to something more.