Chapter 7 What Bleeds In Silence

• The abandoned warehouse stank of rust, gasoline, and old blood. Faded graffiti scarred the concrete walls, and a trail of boot prints marked the dirt-caked floor. Dante leaned against a wooden crate, shirt peeled open to expose his bandaged side, while Valentina stood by the narrow window, watching the sunrise lick the rooftops of the sleeping city.
• Her hands trembled, not from fear, but from the clarity that came after violence. She had killed two men last night. Clean shots, no hesitation. The girl from Santa Cecilia was long gone.
• "We need to move," Hector said from the shadows, checking the rounds in his rifle. "The Zapatos will track us. Dante, they’ll hunt you harder now that they know you’re alive."
• Dante didn’t respond. His gaze was locked on Valentina.
• She finally turned. “What?”
• “You’ve changed.”
• “You wanted me soft?”
• His jaw twitched. “No. I just didn’t want you to become one of us.”
• She stepped toward him, her voice low. “I already am.”
• Silence stretched between them. Then Hector’s phone buzzed.
• He checked the screen, expression hardening. “We’ve got a problem. A local contact tipped me off—Lucia’s still alive. And she’s playing the long game. She’s making a deal with the Colombians."
• Dante cursed under his breath. "If she merges with them, the Zapatos double their power. That’s a war we can’t win."
• Valentina’s mind raced. “Where?”
• Hector zoomed in on a satellite map. “Cartel stronghold on the east side of the city. Old textile factory. She’s meeting their liaison in two hours.”
• "Then we intercept," Dante said, standing despite the pain. "We end it before it starts."
• Hector scoffed. “We’re three people against an army.”
• Valentina grabbed her gear. “Then we make it a massacre.”
• The textile factory looked like a relic of the last century—broken windows, rotting brick, and steel towers clawing at the sky. But the guards were fresh, their rifles modern and polished. The Colombians weren’t amateurs.
• Dante spotted the convoy first—four black SUVs with smoked windows, crawling toward the compound like beetles.
• They had minutes.
• “We go in from the west wall,” he said. “Take the scaffolding up to the third floor. Lucia’s paranoid—she’ll take the high ground."
• Hector handed Valentina an earpiece. “Stick to cover. Shoot only when necessary. Get eyes on the meeting first. Then we strike."
• Valentina nodded, adrenaline cutting through her fear like ice.
• They moved fast.
• Scaling the west wall was easy. The inside was a maze of rusted machinery and moldy fabric. Pigeons scattered as they crept toward the third floor.
• Valentina took point. Her footsteps were soundless. When they reached the catwalk overlooking the central chamber, she dropped flat and peered through a crack in the steel.
• Lucia stood below, clad in black leather and flanked by two Zapatos soldiers. Her arm was in a sling. Her lip split from the firefight at the compound. But her posture oozed venom.
• Across from her was a man in a white suit, his smile sharp as glass. The Colombian. Two more men stood behind him, faces hidden by sunglasses.
• Lucia spoke first. “You get weapons. We get your ports.”
• The Colombian tilted his head. “And the girl?”
• Lucia’s expression darkened. “She dies. But not yet.”
• Valentina’s stomach turned.
• Hector whispered in her ear. “We have one shot. Take the head of the snake.”
• She aimed her rifle, crosshairs settling on Lucia’s chest.
• Her finger tightened—
• Then a flashbang exploded behind them.
• Valentina screamed as light swallowed her vision. Gunfire erupted. The catwalk shook. A bullet tore through Hector’s thigh.
• “Ambush!” Dante roared.
• Valentina blinked through the daze, ears ringing. Figures swarmed the catwalk. Lucia’s men. They had known all along.
• Dante pulled her behind a beam, returning fire with brutal precision.
• Hector crawled to cover, blood trailing behind him.
• They were pinned.
• Valentina fired blindly into the haze. Screams followed.
• Dante cursed. “They boxed us in!”
• Lucia’s voice rang out from below. “Valentina! Come down, and I’ll let your men live.”
• Valentina snarled. “Rot in hell.”
• Then she saw it—Hector’s grenade belt. Still intact.
• She crawled to him. “Can you throw?”
• He gritted his teeth. “You planning to turn this place into a tomb?”
• “Only if we’re not in it.”
• He nodded and handed her two grenades. “Window. North side. Five seconds.”
• She pulled the pins and hurled them.
• Explosions rocked the catwalk. Screams. Fire. Chaos.
• Dante grabbed her arm. “Now!”
• They ran. Ducking fire. Climbing down twisted rebar. Out through a smashed window.
• They didn’t stop until they were four blocks away, crouched behind an abandoned bus.
• Hector collapsed, pale. “I need a medic.”
• Valentina’s chest heaved. “Lucia knew. Someone tipped her off.”
• Dante’s face was grim. “Then we have a mole. Someone close.”
• Valentina looked at him, her voice sharp. “Who?”
• He didn’t answer.
• Then his phone buzzed.
• Unknown number. One message:
• "I know who you are, Dante. I know what you did to her. Meet me at the chapel. Alone. Midnight."
• Valentina read it and went still. “What is that?”
• Dante didn’t speak. Not right away.
• Then he looked her in the eye.
• And said, “There’s something I didn’t tell you about Isabel.”