Chapter 3 Whispers In The Dark

• The engagement party roared around Valentina, a cacophony of mariachi trumpets and clinking glasses that felt as hollow as the smile plastered on her face. She stood near the edge of the hacienda's grand courtyard, her fingers tightening around a champagne flute she had no intention of drinking from. The air smelled of roasted chilies and blooming gardens, but beneath the festive veneer, she caught the acrid tang of cigar smoke and whispered threats. The celebration was a facade, a glittering mask over the rot that festered beneath.
• Her cousin Lucia, radiant in a crimson gown, twirled past with her fiancé, a wiry man with a too-easy laugh. Valentina's father had called him “a strategic match”—code, she now realized, for "a pawn in the cartel's chess game.” She wondered if Lucia knew. If she cared. Did her cousin understand the price of the diamonds around her neck and the cost of the lavish party that surrounded them? Or was she content to play her role, to smile and dance and pretend the world wasn't crumbling beneath her feet?
• “You look like you'd rather be swallowed by the earth,” a voice purred behind her.
• Valentina turned, her breath catching. Dante leaned against a stone pillar, his black suit blending with the shadows. The golden light of papel picado lanterns flickered across his sharp features, turning his eyes into molten amber. He was dangerous; she knew that much. Dangerous in a way that made her pulse quicken, in a way that made her want to step closer even as her instincts screamed to run.
• "I'm just... adjusting,” she said, lifting her chin. “This isn't exactly the life I'm used to."
• “No?” He plucked the champagne from her hand and took a sip, his lips curling.“You'd prefer your quiet little village? The one your mother used to whisper about?"
• Her spine stiffened. “How do you know what my mother said?"
• “Your father talks when he's drunk.” He stepped closer, his gaze trailing the neckline of her emerald dress. “He regrets many things. Sending you away. Letting her die."
• The words struck like a slap. "Don't."
• “Truth hurts, Princesa." He tilted his head, studying her. “But you're not here to play the grieving daughter." You're here because he's afraid. Afraid of me."
• Before she could retort, a hand clamped her shoulder.
• "Valentina," her father said, his voice a low rumble. “Come. There's someone you need to meet."
• Dante's smirk didn't waver as her father led her away, but his eyes hardened like flint.
• The man in the study was a ghost from her mother's past.
• “Señorita Reyes,” he said, rising from his chair. His face was a roadmap of scars, his left eye milky and blind. “You look just like her."
• “You knew my mother?” Valentina's pulse quickened.
• “Isabel was... remarkable.” He glanced at her father, who stood rigid by the door. “Brave. Too brave for this world."
• “Enough, Hector,” her father snapped. “Valentina doesn't need old stories."
• “Don't I?” She stepped forward, emboldened by the man's lingering sorrow. “Tell me."
• Hector hesitated, then slid a faded photograph across the desk. A younger version of her mother stood beside him in a dusty village, her arms cradling a rifle.
• “She fought with us,” he said quietly. “Against the Zapatos cartel. Saved dozens of lives."
• Valentina's throat tightened. “How did she die?"
• “Enough!” Her father slammed his fist on the desk. “Leave us, Hector."
• The man obeyed, but not before pressing a slip of paper into Valentina's hand. “If you want answers,” he murmured, "come to Callejón de los Muertos. Midnight."
• ---
• The party blurred into a nightmare of forced laughter and veiled threats. Valentina slipped away, her mother's photograph burning a hole in her clutch. In her room, she unfolded Hector's note: "Your father's greed killed her. The Zapatos didn't shoot Isabel—he did."
• The words swam before her eyes. No. It can't be true.
• A knock shattered the silence.
• “Señorita?” A maid hovered in the doorway, eyes downcast. “Your cousin requests your presence in the garden."
• Valentina followed her through torchlit paths, the scent of jasmine cloying. But when they reached the fountain, Lucia wasn't there.
• “Wait—”
• The maid vanished. A hand seized Valentina's wrist, yanking her into the shadows.
• “You shouldn't wander alone,” Dante growled, pressing her against a cold stone wall. “This place eats pretty things alive."
• She shoved him, fury overriding fear. “Did you know? About my mother?"
• His expression stilled. “What did Hector tell you?"
• "That my father murdered her!"
• For a heartbeat, his mask slipped—a flicker of pity. “Isabel was a threat. She knew too much."
• “About what?"
• “The Zapatos deal.” His thumb brushed her cheek, startlingly gentle. “Your father sold them weapons. She tried to stop him."
• The world tilted. “You're lying."
• “Am I?” He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Why do you think he brought you here? Not for love. For leverage."
• A branch snapped. Dante spun, shoving her behind him as a figure emerged from the dark—her father, a pistol glinting in his hand.
• “You always did have a loose tongue, Mendoza,” he said coldly.
• Dante laughed, but his grip on Valentina tightened. “She was bound to find out. Blood always stains the truth."
• Her father raised the gun. “Walk away. Now."
• “Or what?” Dante's voice dripped with mockery. “You'll shoot me? In front of her?"
• Valentina's heart hammered. “Stop! Both of you!"
• The gun didn't waver. “Choose, Valentina. Him or me."
• Dante turned to her, his eyes blazing. “Come with me tonight. I'll show you proof."
• “Don't be a fool,” her father spat. “He'll use you and discard you."
• The garden held its breath. Somewhere, an owl screamed.
• Valentina stepped toward Dante.
• “Valentina—!” Her father's roar was cut off by the crack of gunfire.
• Dante tackled her to the ground as bullets shredded the air. “Run!” he shouted, but shadows closed in from all sides—masked men with the Zapatos serpent tattooed on their throats. One grabbed her hair, a blade pressed to her jugular. “Hello, little Reyes,” he hissed. “Daddy's going to pay dearly for you."
• Valentina's mind raced. The blade at her throat was cold, but the fear was hotter, more consuming. She could feel Dante's body tense beside her, ready to spring, but the odds were impossible. Her father's men were nowhere to be seen, and the Zapatos had the upper hand.
• “Let her go,” Dante said, his voice low and dangerous. “She's not part of this."
• The man with the blade laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “She's a Reyes. She's everything to this."
• Valentina's father stepped forward, his gun still raised, but his hand trembled. “Take me instead. Let her go."
• The leader of the Zapatos men, a tall figure with a scar running down his cheek, stepped into the light. “You think you can bargain, old man? You've already lost."
• Valentina's eyes darted between her father and Dante. She could see the desperation in her father's face and the cold calculation in Dante's. Neither of them could save her. She would have to save herself.
• With a sudden burst of strength, she twisted in her captor's grip, driving her elbow into his ribs. He grunted, the blade slipping from her throat, and she dropped to the ground, scrambling away. Dante was on the man in an instant, disarming him with a swift, brutal motion.
• “Run, Valentina!” Dante shouted, but the garden was alive with chaos. Gunfire erupted again, and she dove behind the fountain, her heart pounding in her ears.
• She could hear her father shouting, the Zapatos men cursing, and Dante's voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “Stay down!"
• But Valentina couldn't stay down. She had to know the truth. She had to find out what happened to her mother and why her father had brought her into this nightmare.
• As the battle raged around her, she made a decision. She would go to Callejón de los Muertos. She would find Hector, and she would uncover the secrets that had been buried for too long.
• The engagement party was over. The real fight had just begun.