Valeria's POV

The streets of Los Rojos are never silent. Even at this hour, the air is thick with the hum of the city—muffled conversations behind closed doors, the occasional bark of a stray dog, the distant screech of tires from a reckless driver speeding through the main road.

I move through the shadows, keeping to the alleys where the streetlights barely reach. I know these streets. I grew up in them. I know which doors stay locked no matter how hard you knock and which ones open with a flick of a knife. I know which streets belong to which gang, which rooftops have easy access to escape routes.

I know how to disappear.

Slipping past a group of men huddled near a rusted-out car, I pull my hood lower, my hand instinctively hovering near my pocketknife.

By the time I reach César's hideout, the air is thick with humidity, clinging to my skin like a warning.

The old building stands at the end of a narrow alley, hidden behind a rusted fence. I slip through the gap in the panels, moving with the ease of someone who's done it a hundred times before.

I knock—once, twice, pause, three times.

A few seconds of silence. Then, the door creaks open.

César's face appears, his dark eyes widening the second he sees me.

"Val!" He hisses, grabbing my wrist and yanking me inside. "Are you crazy?! What the hell are you doing here?!"

The door slams shut behind me, locking us in the dimly lit room.

I scan the place out of habit—same mattress in the corner, same flickering candle, the faint scent of cigarettes and stale air. A few plastic bags sit on the rickety table—probably food Lucas left for him.

César steps back, crossing his arms. "I thought you were gone for good."

I shake my head. "I had to lay low for a while."

"Yeah?" He scoffs, his voice tight with frustration. "Lay low in a fucking mansion?"

I sigh, rubbing my temples. "Don't start."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't push it. Instead, he studies me carefully, his gaze dropping to the blade strapped to my belt.

"Why are you here, Val?"

I exhale sharply. "I need to see Carlos."

César flinches like I just told him I'm walking into a burning building. "Are you fucking insane?"

"Probably."

His face tightens. "You know what he's like, Val. If he finds out you've been gone—"

"I'll handle it."

He swears under his breath, pacing the small space. "You should be running the fuck away from here, not walking back into it."

"I can't," I say simply. "Not until I get answers."

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "What answers?"

"Emilia."

His brows furrow. "I already told you—it was a businessman. Someone powerful."

"Yeah," I nod. "But I need names."

César hesitates. He doesn't like this. I can see it in the way he clenches his jaw, the way his fingers twitch at his sides.

"You're gonna get yourself killed."

I shrug, unbothered. "Maybe."

His nostrils flare, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he glances at the wad of cash I pull from my jacket—the money Lucia gave me.

"Where the hell did you get that?"

I don't answer. I just shove it back into my pocket and step toward the door.

"Val—"

"I need to do this, kid." My voice is softer now.

César watches me, his shoulders dropping. He sighs in defeat.

"Just be careful, okay?"

I nod once before stepping out.

---

The low hum of voices fills the dimly lit room, broken only by the occasional burst of laughter. A few of his men sit in the corners, their eyes tracking my every movement.

I keep my stride calm, measured. If they sense weakness, it's over. Carlos is lounging at his usual spot, feet kicked up on the table, a cigar pinched between his fingers. His eyes flick up when I approach, and a slow smirk spreads across his face.

"Well, well. Look who finally decided to show up." I don't react. Instead, I step forward and drop the stack of cash onto the table.

"Your cut." My voice is even.

Carlos raises a brow, leaning forward to pick up the money. He flips through the bills, nodding in approval.

"Not bad," he mutters. "Was starting to think you skipped town."

I force a smirk. "Come on, Carlos. You know I don't run." He exhales a cloud of smoke, watching me closely. "Yeah? Then where the hell you been?"

"Getting what you asked for," I lie smoothly. "Moving things, keeping low. You know how it is."

Carlos watches me, his smirk twitching. For a second, I think he's going to call me out. But then he shrugs, chuckling. "Long as the money keeps coming, I don't give a shit." I nod, pretending to be relieved.

"Anything else?" I ask, already preparing to leave. Carlos takes another slow drag of his cigar, his eyes still locked on me.

"Yeah," he says, voice casual. "You got a problem with Ramon's death?"

My stomach knots. But I don't react.

"What problem?" I say flatly.

Carlos grins. "Come on, Val. I know you and Ramon were close."

I tilt my head, my expression blank. "We were not close, he got what he paid for, I don't give a fuck about the bastard."

Carlos laughs. "Just making sure there's no hard feelings."

I smile, just enough to be convincing. "We all know how this life works."

Carlos hums in agreement, but his eyes stay sharp. He's testing me. Good. Let him think he still has control.

"Anything else?" I ask again, this time with a slight edge to my tone.

Carlos watches me for a long moment before waving me off. "Nah. You're good. Get the fuck outta here."

I don't hesitate. I turn, walking out the door with steady steps, but my mind is already racing.

Emilia's POV

The days without Valeria stretch long and hollow.

I move through them like a ghost, floating from room to room, unable to ground myself. Nothing feels real anymore. The house is too quiet, the air too heavy, and the walls seem to close in on me a little more each day.

I can't focus. I can't eat. I can't sleep without waking up gasping for air, feeling the weight of something unbearable pressing down on my chest.

She's gone.

I tell myself she's coming back. She promised. But promises mean nothing in a world like this. Promises don't stop bullets, don't shield you from blades, don't bring people back from the dead.

I should have stopped her. I should have held on to her, begged her to stay. But instead, I let her go.

And now I'm breaking.

---

The scent of food lingers in the air—freshly baked bread, roasted meats, warm spices that should make my stomach growl. But the sight of it turns my stomach. I sit at the table, unmoving, my plate untouched. The conversation around me is distant, muffled, like I'm underwater.

Lucia is watching me. Claire too. I can feel their eyes, filled with concern, with questions they're afraid to ask. "Miss Emilia," Lucia says softly. "You should eat something."

I don't respond. She's been saying this for days now, and each time, I ignore her. Her voice is gentle, but I hear what she's really saying beneath it. She's worried. They all are.

I push the food around my plate, forcing a tight smile. "I'm not hungry."

Lucia frowns, glancing at Claire. I know they've been talking about me behind my back. I know they think I'm spiraling.

"You haven't eaten all day," Claire says bluntly. "Or yesterday. Or the day before that."

I grip my fork tighter, my knuckles white. "I'm fine."

Claire exhales sharply, leaning forward. "No, you're not. Valeria isn't here, and suddenly, you're falling apart." I flinch. Her words hit like a slap. Because she's right.

The pain in my chest tightens, spreading through my ribs like something sharp and cruel, but I don't say anything. I don't trust myself to speak.

---

The bed feels too big. Too cold. I curl up on my side, pressing my forehead against the pillow, but it doesn't bring comfort. The sheets don't smell like her. She was never here long enough to leave a trace, but somehow, I feel her absence like a physical wound.

I close my eyes, but the nightmares come too quickly—flashes of hands grabbing me, voices whispering threats, the suffocating feeling of helplessness. I see them. Their faces, their laughter, the way they looked at me like I was nothing more than something to be used and discarded.

I wake up gasping, my hands trembling, my skin damp with sweat. My chest heaves as I struggle to breathe, to remind myself that I'm safe, that I'm home. But she isn't.

Valeria isn't here.

The realization sends a fresh wave of panic through me, something raw and uncontrollable. She's out there, alone, walking straight into danger, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

I press my hands against my face, willing myself to breathe, to stay calm, but my body won't listen. I don't pray. I never have.

But tonight, I do. I whisper into the darkness, my voice breaking.

"Come back to me, Valeria."

Valeria's POV

Days have passed, and I'm no closer to the truth.

The streets are quiet when they shouldn't be. People who usually talk too much have suddenly learned to keep their mouths shut. Fear lingers in the air like a sickness, wrapping its claws around the neighborhood. No one wants to mention Dominic's name, not even in whispers.

But I know they know something. Everywhere I go, I hear nothing. Just silence. Nervous glances. Averting eyes. And it pisses me off. I need answers. I need to know who touched her. Who hurt her.

Because once I do—once I have a name—I will bury them.

The sound of laughter drifts through the alleyway, breaking through the thick tension of the night. Two men stand near the entrance of a rundown building, smoking and chatting like they don't have a damn care in the world.

I stay hidden in the shadows, back pressed against the wall. Waiting for something.

And then—

"I still can't believe Carlos and Ramón got to have a taste before finishing the job," one of them says with a low chuckle.

The other one exhales, shaking his head. "That was some fucked up shit, man. She was already gonna die. They could've just shot her and been done with it."

"Yeah, well, you know Carlos. He likes to take his time."

I don't hear the rest of the conversation. My body goes cold.

Carlos. And Ramón.

The names burn into my brain, setting fire to every rational thought left inside me. I tighten my fist around the pocketknife in my pocket, my nails digging into my palm. The anger in my veins is no longer anger.

It's something darker. Something that has no name.

I wait until they finish their conversation and leave.

I wait until the building is empty, until I know Carlos is alone.

Then—I move.