The nightclub pulsed with bass and danger—every light flickering like it had secrets to spill. Somewhere between the haze of sweat, liquor, and perfume, Valentina stood still in a borrowed dress, her arms crossed, trying not to breathe in the stench of rot beneath all the glamor.
Her shoulder still ached from the bullet wound, but she didn't flinch. Not here. Not tonight.
Mateo leaned in, his voice barely audible above the reggaeton beat. "That's El Rata over there. He launders for Xavier. We're here to listen, not act. You see, you learn."
Valentina's gaze found the greasy man draped in gold chains, laughing too loud as he shoved cash into a waitress's bra. The table was full of wannabes—small-time dealers, crooked cops, and one man in a white suit who didn't speak but watched everything.
I need to remember that face, Valentina thought. Quiet ones are the real killers.
Mateo tapped her arm. "You see the devil?"
She followed his eyes—there, walking in like he owned the oxygen itself, was Xavier Herrera.
El Arquitecto.
He didn't look like a killer. No—he looked like a politician's polished brother. Silver hair swept back, suit like silk poured over power, and a smile carved from pure calculation. People stood when he entered, parted like the sea. Even El Rata jumped to his feet, nearly tripping over his gold chain.
Valentina's hands clenched.
That man ordered my family's death… and no one here even knows what he really is.
Xavier's eyes swept the room… then stopped.
For a terrifying second, Valentina thought he saw her.
But his gaze passed over, unfazed.
Still, her skin prickled like she'd been touched.
Mateo nudged her toward the bar. "Act casual. Order something cheap."
As she approached, a bartender gave her a once-over and smirked. "New around here?"
"Just thirsty," she replied, voice cool.
He slid her a drink. "First one's on the house… courtesy of the man in white."
Valentina turned. The quiet observer at Xavier's table raised his glass slightly. No smile. Just sharp eyes that said: I see you.
Outside, later that night
Mateo lit a cigarette, offered her one. She shook her head.
"What did you see?" he asked.
"Everyone's scared of Xavier. Even the ones pretending not to be."
He grunted. "Fear's his perfume. He wears it well."
Valentina stared at the night sky. "He didn't even blink. Like he's forgotten what he did to my family."
Mateo exhaled smoke slowly. "That's how monsters sleep at night. They don't see blood, just numbers."
She turned to him. "Then I'll make sure he remembers. Not with a bullet. With something worse."
Mateo raised a brow. "You're talking like a queen already."
Elsewhere, same night
In a private room upstairs, Xavier removed his cufflinks, sipping from a crystal glass.
Lucia Ortega, his assistant, stood by the window.
"She was there," he said, almost lazily.
Lucia turned. "Who?"
"The girl. The one that survived." He smiled faintly. "She thinks I didn't see her."
Lucia tensed. "Should I—?"
"No," Xavier said. "Let her grow. Let's see what kind of woman grief makes of her."
He leaned back in the leather chair, eyes glinting.
"Besides… it's more fun watching the mouse believe it's a lion."