Chapter 5

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.