Raven's POV

The safe house was quiet now, the only sound the faint hum of the industrial air conditioning unit. But even with the low buzz in the background, the silence felt suffocating.

We were all gathered around the table, but my mind was a thousand miles away. Back to that night. Back to when I was just a helpless kid.

My hands trembled as I stared at the bag of money in front of me. Thirty million dollars. But it wasn't about the money. It never had been.

"Raven, you with us?" Lucas's voice broke through the fog in my mind.

I blinked, pulling myself back to the present. Lucas was looking at me with that same, steady expression, but his eyes held a hint of concern. He could always tell when my mind wandered too far. And tonight, it was hard not to. This job, this mission-it wasn't just another heist. It was personal.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. "Yeah, I'm good," I muttered. But I wasn't. Not really.

"You don't look good," Lucas said, his voice low.

I shot him a look, one that said everything without needing words. He wasn't wrong. But tonight wasn't about my discomfort. It was about the Cartel-and it was about my father.

***

It had been more than a decade since that night. More than a decade since I stood there, frozen in terror, watching as my father, the man who had raised me, the man who had been my only parent after my mother died, was murdered right before my eyes.

The Cartel's ruthlessness knew no bounds. My father had been loyal, had done everything they asked. But when they no longer had any use for him, when he had become expendable... they took him out. Cold and brutally.

My sister Marianne and I had barely escaped. But we were children. The Cartel had no mercy, and I knew that if we hadn't run when we did, they would've killed us too.

It took years for me to come to terms with that night. Years to accept that my father was dead, and that no one-no one-would ever pay for it. The police were on the Cartel's payroll. The investigation was a farce, and they didn't even bother to hide it. For a long time, I told myself I didn't care. That I could bury it, move on, live a life far from Spain, far from everything.

But I was wrong.

***

At twenty, I returned to Spain. That decision was a turning point. I wanted answers. I needed answers. The years spent in America had done nothing to numb the ache of what had happened. The grief, the anger-it was still there. Raw, sharp.

I dug into my father's past, finding only breadcrumbs that led nowhere. It was then I realized something that shook me to the core.

The police had done nothing. And they never would. Because the Cartel had bought them all. Every single officer, every official in the city, was in their pocket. There would be no justice. Not from the system. Not from anyone who was supposed to protect me.

It was then that I knew-there was no other way. The Cartel had to be destroyed. From the inside.

And that's when I met Lucas and the others. Victims just like me. They had their own scars, their own stories of how the Cartel had destroyed their lives. It was a moment of clarity. I wasn't alone in this.

We were all fighting for something bigger than ourselves.

Raven's POV

The night was damp and biting cold, the kind that clung to your skin like guilt. I stood still outside the abandoned warehouse, the same one I named in the note. The only light came from a dying streetlamp flickering like it was on its last breath honestly, same.

This was a test, not just of my plan but of myself...my nerve...my bluff...my ability to convince one of the most dangerous men in Spain that I was worth more alive than dead. The thing was, I wasn't here to survive. I was here to win.

The wind picked up, tossing my coat around my legs like a cape I didn't ask for. I'd worn simple black nothing flashy I didn't have any jewelry on no phone in hand no metal weapon except for a single blade sewn into my boot and a tiny mic embedded in the lining of my collar. Franca would be listening, chewing her nails somewhere, probably cursing in three languages. I didn't blame her even I was vaguely regretting my life choices, and I made this one.

A distant hum grew louder,engines. Three black SUVs peeled into the lot like they owned the ground beneath them they probably did. They moved in sync, perfectly timed. Not the kind of arrival you improvise. The kind that says: We already dug your grave.

Doors opened in sequence first, the guards were three on each side. Tactical gear, cold stares, hands twitching near triggers. Then the middle SUV's passenger door opened and out stepped Mario Gonzalez.

He looked like he belonged in a different setting like a boardroom, or a funeral he arranged. Immaculate suit, tailored to fit him like it had been grown on his skin. Dark eyes that scanned the space like he could see in infrared. Sharp jaw, cold aura. You didn't survive this long at the top of the Gonzalez empire by smiling and handing out lollipops.

He walked toward me saying no words. Just the kind of slow, confident steps that said: I've already imagined killing you three different ways and picked my favorite.

"You're braver than I expected," he said finally. His voice was smooth, but not soft. Like velvet stretched over a knife.

"I tend to surprise people," I said, voice level.

"You broke into my vault," he continued, stopping a few feet away. "You stole thirty million dollars. And then, you left a note."

"I'm polite," I replied. "And I like to be direct."

Mario cocked his head slightly. "It's a rare thing, being suicidal and smug at the same time."

I didn't flinch. "You got the money back that counts for something."

"Does it?" His tone was icy. "You're lucky you're not dead."

I held his gaze. "I'm not lucky I'm careful."

He stared at me, long enough that I wondered if he was picturing how my blood would look on the gravel. Then he said, "What do you want?"

"Your attention," I answered. "And now that I have it, a position."

"A position," he repeated, as if the word offended him. "You rob me, humiliate my security team, and you want a job?"

I smiled. "I don't want to work for you. I want to work with you."

That got a reaction. A flicker of something behind the cold mask. Disbelief? Amusement? Maybe the ghost of curiosity.

"You expect me to bring you into my organization because you played a trick?" he asked.

"That wasn't a trick," I said. "It was a demonstration."

I took a step closer. The guards shifted behind him, like dogs ready to pounce. But Mario didn't move. He didn't need to.

"You're bleeding influence since your father disappeared," I continued. "Your rivals smell it. Your people feel it. I could help fix that. I know how to go unnoticed. I know how to get into places your men can't. I can earn trust, infiltrate,disarm and clean up messes without a single fingerprint left behind."

"You think I trust you?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I think you're smart enough to use me before you kill me."

He laughed. It was short, humorless, the kind of sound you make when you stub your toe on a dead body. "That's bold."

"I'm not here to beg," I said. "You kill me, you still have problems. You let me work, you might solve a few."

He stepped even closer. His breath ghosted the air between us, warm and unnerving. "Give me a reason to believe you're not a spy."

I raised an eyebrow. "If I were a spy, I'd have run by now."

"Or died trying," he said.

A moment passed. He studied me. I didn't blink.

He finally turned to one of his men and gestured. A burner phone was tossed my way. I caught it with one hand.

"You get one shot," he said. "This number only. If you call anyone else, I'll know. First job comes at dawn."

"And what if I don't pick up?"

"Then I'll assume you made your choice." He stepped back toward the SUV. "And I'll make mine."

The door slammed behind him. The engines roared back to life and then they were gone.

I stood in the silence that followed, phone in hand, heart pounding but steady.He had taken the bait.

Now I just had to keep playing my part until he handed me the keys to his kingdom.

So I could burn it all to the ground.