Chapter 13 – All the Pretty Monsters
Valentina Cruz
I used to think monsters were men like Rafael.
The ones with cold eyes and blood on their hands.
The ones who made threats sound like lullabies.
But I was wrong.
Sometimes, monsters look like your mother.
Or your favorite uncle.
Or the quiet family friend who always brought tamales to Sunday dinner and once taught you how to tie your shoes.
Sometimes, monsters smile.
⸻
The day after the ambush, Rafael handed me a file.
Thick. Heavy.
Old, worn pages tucked inside a black leather folder that smelled like secrets and cigarettes.
"What's this?" I asked.
"Your family," he said.
My stomach twisted. "I know my family."
He gave me a look. "Not like this, you don't."
I opened the folder.
And everything I thought I knew crumbled like paper in a storm.
⸻
My grandfather, Mateo Cruz — the sweet old man who used to call me mi estrella and sneak me candy when Mom wasn't looking?
He used to run guns for the Calderón cartel.
Not low-level stuff either — he was second in command before "retiring" to Florida.
My father?
He'd once helped launder money through a chain of "Christian bookstores."
And my uncle Emilio — who disappeared when I was twelve?
Rafael slid a photo across the table.
A surveillance shot.
Emilio. With Mauro.
My blood ran cold.
⸻
I looked up at Rafael, heart pounding. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because sooner or later, they'll come for you too. And I won't always be there to catch the knives."
I sank into the chair, reeling.
"You knew… all this time?"
"I suspected. But I don't make moves without proof."
"You think Mauro's going to use them?"
Rafael leaned forward.
"I think he already has."
⸻
That night, I called my mom.
She answered on the third ring, her voice sweet and tired.
"Valentina, mija! I was just about to—"
"Were you ever going to tell me about Grandpa Mateo?"
Silence.
Flat. Heavy.
"Valentina…"
"I know he was Calderón's man."
Another silence. Longer.
Then: "I wanted to keep you safe."
"You kept me stupid."
"Your father didn't want—"
"I'm not asking about Dad. I'm asking you."
Her voice cracked. "I didn't want this for you. I didn't want his world touching you."
"Well, too late," I said. "I'm already covered in blood."
⸻
After I hung up, I didn't cry.
I sat in the dark with Rafael, sipping wine like it could quiet the noise in my head.
"You okay?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Depends. You ever find out your whole life was built on mob money?"
He smirked. "Once or twice."
I gave him a half-smile. "Tell me a joke."
He blinked. "A joke?"
"I need to laugh or I'll scream."
He thought for a second. "Okay. Why don't mobsters play hide and seek?"
"Why?"
"Because good luck hiding when your shoes squeak from all the blood."
I groaned. "That's terrible."
"You smiled though."
And I had.
⸻
By midnight, I was curled against him. Not for safety.
For sanity.
And maybe, just maybe, something else I didn't want to name yet.
He traced a finger down my spine. "You're stronger than you know."
"Don't romanticize it," I said. "I'm not strong. I'm just running out of people to trust."
"Sometimes," he said, "that's when you finally become dangerous."