Valentina pressed her back against the cold cement wall of the alley, heart thudding in her chest like a war drum. Her breath fogged the night air as she peeked around the corner. Two dealers. One lookout. All armed. All older, meaner, and twice as desperate.
Mateo's voice echoed in her head: "If you can't handle the dirt, you'll never touch the throne."
She wasn't just in the underworld now—she was crawling through its belly.
Earlier That Day
"You ever break someone's nose before?" Mateo asked, tossing her a rubber training knife.
Valentina raised a brow. "No."
"Then let's start there."
He moved fast—like a panther in boots. She barely dodged his first swipe, gritting her teeth as she stumbled.
Stay light on your feet, Lina. Think.
She remembered her father teaching her chess when she was five. "You're not the strongest piece, mija. But you can outthink them. Move like a queen."
Mateo came at her again. This time, she spun to the left and jabbed the blade into his ribs—lightly, as he'd taught her.
He froze, then smiled.
"There she is."
By nightfall, she was bleeding from her mouth and her ribs ached with every breath. But she refused to stop.
"Again," she panted.
Mateo's eyes gleamed with pride behind his cold mask. "That's the spirit. But now we level up."
He tossed her a brown hoodie, too big and reeking of sweat. "You're hitting the street."
Valentina stiffened. "Now?"
"You said you wanted to learn. Let's see what you've got when shit gets real."
Back in the Alley
Valentina inhaled sharply, steadied her shaking hands, and reached into her boot. The small blade there felt heavier than it had an hour ago.
The dealers were mid-argument when she struck.
She moved fast—silent as smoke. Took the first one down with a knee to the groin and the butt of her knife to the back of his head. The second pulled a gun, but she slashed his wrist and ducked. A shot rang out, grazing her shoulder.
Pain flared, but adrenaline drowned it.
Mateo emerged from the shadows, gun in hand. "She's good," he said, almost surprised. "Bleeds like the rest, but she moves like fire."
The lookout raised his hands. "Please—please, I got a kid—"
Valentina walked up, face stone cold.
"Then walk away and never come back." She looked him dead in the eye. "But if I see you again, you're done."
He ran.
Later That Night
Mateo stitched her shoulder in silence. She winced but didn't cry out.
"You hesitated," he said, tying the thread tight.
"I didn't kill anyone."
"That's not always a win," he muttered. "In this life, mercy can be a weakness."
Valentina stared at the bullet hole in her jacket, at the blood drying on her jeans.
"I won't hesitate next time," she whispered. "I promise."
Mateo nodded slowly. "You're learning. But remember this—your mind is your best weapon. Your fists just carry out the orders."
As she lay on the thin mattress that night, shoulder throbbing and muscles aching, Valentina stared at the ceiling.
Not long ago, she'd dreamed of college dorms and a bright future.
Now? She was learning to kill.
And in the silence, with pain singing in her veins, she smiled.
This is where it begins. Not with love. Not with hope. With blood.