The girl who once dreamed of scholarships was gone. Buried beneath blood, smoke, and a name written in ash—Valentina Cruz.
She sat on a worn-out couch in Mateo's hideout, staring at a wall covered in cartel photos, maps, and names connected by red thread. Her fingers dug into her knees, knuckles white.
Mateo handed her a steaming mug of black coffee. "You need to eat."
"I need answers," she snapped.
He didn't flinch. "They'll come. But you're not ready yet."
Valentina looked up, eyes burning. "Try me."
Mateo gave a half-smile. "That's what your father used to say. Before he got smart."
She didn't know what hit harder—that her father had secrets, or that she might never know the full truth.
"You said you owed him. Why?" she asked.
Mateo sighed and leaned against a table cluttered with weapons and cash. "We served under the same crew. Back when Mexico's underworld wasn't ruled by suits and American suits. Your old man… Rafael Veracruz."
Valentina's head snapped up. "What did you say?"
Mateo blinked. "Didn't he tell you his real name?"
"No." Her voice was a whisper now. "He was Manuel Cruz. An accountant. A nobody."
Mateo chuckled darkly. "No such thing in this world. He walked away from the game years ago. Faked his name. Hid you and your sister in plain sight."
Valentina stood, the floor suddenly unsteady beneath her feet. "Then why kill him?"
"Because he found something," Mateo said. "Evidence. Real, dangerous proof that Xavier Herrera—the golden boy of corruption—has been moving billions. Dirty billions. And your father had the only copy."
Valentina remembered the Bible. The hidden paper.
"He left it for me," she muttered. "He knew they'd come."
Mateo nodded. "He did. That's why you're here."
Later That Night
Valentina stood in front of a cracked mirror in the backroom bathroom. Her face was hollow. Eyes sunken. Hair tangled. A ghost.
She whispered to her reflection, "If I'm already dead, I might as well rise as someone else."
She tied her hair back. Cleaned the blood from her hands. Put on a jacket too big for her and tucked the Bible inside.
She stared into her own eyes.
I'm not Valentina Cruz anymore. Not just.
I'm the storm coming for them.
Back in the main room, Mateo tossed her a phone and a burner ID. "New name. New number. And rules. You don't move unless I say. You don't trust anyone unless I clear them."
She looked at the ID. It read Camila Ruiz.
"Cute," she muttered. "But I'm keeping my real name. They'll learn to fear it."
Mateo shook his head. "You got fire, niña. That's good. But fire gets people killed fast if it burns too hot."
She locked eyes with him. "I'm not scared of fire."
He sighed, like he'd seen too many just like her. But something about the steel in her voice… it wasn't just rage. It was purpose.
La Reina Escarlata wasn't born yet…
…but tonight, the dead girl had started to crawl out of her grave.