Diego's POV
As I walked through the narrow road, I heard,
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
I froze in the middle of the road, my feet refusing to move, my breath catching painfully in my throat. For a heartbeat, everything went silent inside me—then the echo followed, sharp and merciless.
Walking alone on the streets of Mexico at night had never frightened me before. These roads had raised me. I had walked them my entire life—through heat, rain, hunger, and exhaustion. They knew my footsteps the way an old friend knew your voice.
That night, I had my head down, my mind drowning in familiar worries. My mother's health issues, house rent overdue again, and my final-year law school fees. The weight of everything depended on me was overwhelming.
I was tired mentally, physically, and emotionally.
So when I turned onto Calle Obsidiana—a narrow shortcut that led straight to my apartment, I didn't think twice. That road was infamous for its abandoned warehouses, flickering streetlights, and long stretches of shadow, but it saved me fifteen minutes of walking.
But tonight, I regretted taking that road.
The wind brushed past me, carrying the faint hum of distant traffic from the main highway.
Then—the gun shots sounded
BANG!
BANG!
My breathing turned hot and shallow, panic rising fast. I spun around, confused, my mind struggling to understand what was happening.
Fear gripped me with cold fingers.
I ducked behind a rusted metal drum near one of the warehouses, crouching low as my hands trembled.
"Oh God… what is going on?" I whispered, clamping a hand over my mouth.
Voices followed—men shouting angrily and wildly. Footsteps pounded against gravel, fast and heavy.
A black SUV skidded to a halt across the street.
Its windows were tinted so dark they reflected nothing. The back door opened slowly.
A tall man stepped out.
The air changed instantly.
The other men fell silent, their movements stiffening, their fear visible even from where I hid. My blood ran cold as recognition hit me like a blow.
Mateo De La Cruz.
I had only seen his face on whispered news reports on the streets like forbidden secrets. Seeing him in person was different and worse.
"The most feared mafia boss in Mexico," I breathed silently, my body shaking. "The man even the law fears."
He raised his gun without hesitation.
Four heavily built men dragged another man forward, forcing him to his knees. The victim sobbed, begged, and cried for mercy that never came. His voice cracked through the night, thin and desperate.
Then—A gunshot.
The man collapsed instantly, lifeless before his body even hit the ground.
I stared in horror, bile rising in my throat.
"Dispose of him," Mateo said calmly.
His voice was ice—steady, and unshaken, as if he had no conscience or heart.
I wanted to scream, to run, I felt like the ground should open up and swallow me.
As if the nightmare wasn't enough, I noticed movement in the SUV. A soft shift. Someone else was inside the vehicle—watching.
My heart skipped.
Another killer? Or
Another victim?
Before I could see who it was, Mateo suddenly turned. His sharp eyes scanned the street like a predator sensing prey.
That was when panic took over me.
I ran.
"What the hell was that?" someone shouted behind me.
"Get him!" Mateo barked. Boots slammed against concrete. Someone descended from the SUV and joined the boys as they came after me.
My lungs burned as I sprinted down the alley, fear fueling my legs. I didn't look back. I couldn't dare to stare back.
I jumped over trash cans, splashed through puddles, stumbled—but I kept running.
I burst into an open compound, tore off my jacket, and grabbed clothes hanging outside someone's house. My hands shook violently as I changed my top, my chest heaving. I paused as I heard footsteps. As I peeped, I saw the guy who came down from the SUV just when I started running. It would seem he is the leader of the boys, Mateo's right-hand man.
"Ricardo, go that way with the boys while I check around," he said. "If you find any person, bring the person to me first. Don't kill the person."
He told the boys to go through another path while he stayed back checking the compound where I was hiding, as if he knew I was there. When I turned to pick up my bag, before I could check on him again, he was gone. Fear gripped me, and I looked around to make sure no one was behind me.
Then I started running again, taking another route, but it felt like someone was trailing me. When I tried looking back, I couldn't find the person. Almost like the person didn't want me to see his face.
I kept my cool while running, but the truth is fear was written all over me. I was panting knowing someone was following me even though I couldn't see the person.
What have I gotten myself into? I murmured.
finally… none of them caught me.
At least, that is what I thought.
"What he didn't know—what he couldn't see—was that two people had seen his face clearly.
Isabella De La Cruz watched him disappear into the night.
Her breath caught—not in fear, but in something unfamiliar—-her inner affection. It was a strange pull she didn't understand. A stranger had witnessed her father spill blood.
A stranger who should have died.
And for the first time in her life…
She let someone go."
Hours later,
I was still shaking when I walked into
a small café not far from my house, my reflection was pale and haunted in the bathroom mirror. I washed my face three times, but the tremor in my hands refused to stop.
What if they traced me home?
What if my mother got dragged into this?
I couldn't go to the police. Not against a man like Mateo De La Cruz. The law didn't protect people like me—it protected men like him. I knew I had to do something but I didn't know what to do. It felt like my brain stopped working. All I could think of was the horrific scene I witnessed and how to protect myself and my mother.
When I stepped back outside, the streets were quieter and emptier. I paced in front of the small café, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I couldn't get over the fact that it felt like someone was after me, almost like the people were watching me discreetly with the intention of just following me without harming me. While I was trying to figure out who was following me when I was running.
Then, a car slowed down beside me.
A sleek black sports car. It looked beautiful, expensive, and luxurious.
The passenger window slid down.
And she appeared.
She was looking breathtaking—long dark hair, sharp cat-like eyes, and a face so striking. She stole my breath, her gaze settled on me with an intensity that felt unsettlingly familiar.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
Her voice soothed something inside me I didn't know was breaking.
"I—I'm fine," I lied weakly.
"You don't look fine."
She stepped out, wearing a black jumpsuit and confidence radiating from her every movement. She slipped her hand into her pocket and took out a packet of cigarettes. She stretched out her hand and offered me a cigarette.
"Oh no, I don't take that." I replied.
She smiled, took one and put it between her lips and lit it herself. She trailed me right down to my feet and back up straight to my eyes—exhaled smoke slowly, watching me like she was reading a book she already knew the ending.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Diego," I said, coughing as I waved away smoke from my face with my hand.
"Well, Diego…" Her eyes locked onto mine. "You look like someone who saw something they shouldn't have."
My heart skipped violently.
She laughed lightly. "I'm joking."
But she wasn't.
I became more scared and kept looking around and wondering if she could have been the one following me. I don't think she, coming to talk to me and making such a joke, is a coincidence. It is either she was present at the murder scene I witnessed or this is a coincidence.
"You should go home," she whispered, stepping closer. "Tonight isn't safe."
Something about her felt like danger and comfort tangled together.
"Goodnight, Diego."
She drove away, leaving me standing under the streetlight, shaken..
"If only he knew—she had saved his life this same evening."
I walked home with fear in my heart… and a growing need to know more about her.
Not just because she is beautiful, and I would like to be close to her but also because I need to make sure she knows nothing about what happened today.
As I opened my door, I kept staring behind to make sure I wasn't followed. I made a cup of tea to calm my nerves so I could sleep, but fright and images of what I saw didn't give me peace.
Immediately I entered my room, I locked my door with the keys, something I haven't done before.
I rushed to my room window to peep if there were any funny movements. I rushed to the restroom to release some stress.
The next thing I heard was the sound of the handle of my door—someone tried to open my door.
My heart skipped, I was looking at the door closely when I heard a knock at the door.
I squeaked