Bound to the Cartel

Tepito, Mexico

VALENTINA

I grew up walking these narrow streets, between cracked houses and graffiti-covered walls that tell stories no one bothers to erase. The air smells of fried food, dust, and smoke. Entire families survive packed into tiny rooms, waiting for life to offer something better—knowing deep down it probably won’t.

I live with my Aunt Carmen and my grandmother. I always have.

Ever since, violence took my parents from me.

A shootout.

They weren’t involved in anything. They didn’t sell, didn’t buy, didn’t owe favors.

What used to be simple poverty is now open danger. Drug trafficking no longer hides. People I grew up with walk the streets armed, seduced by fast money and a false sense of power. I want to leave.

For now, I work at a fast-food restaurant. My shift ends late. Too late.

After one in the morning, I finally leave. I smell like grease, exhaustion, and frustration. This job weighs on me, but someone has to keep the house going.

This won’t be forever, I tell myself.

Instead of going straight home, something pushes me to look for Paloma. My cousin. I’ve never visited her workplace—our schedules never match. But tonight… I need to see her.

She works in Roma Norte.

At Casa Ramba.

I take the bus and sit close to the driver. Two drunk men shout from the back. I keep my body tense. In this city, danger doesn’t announce itself.

When I get off in Roma Norte, a chill runs down my spine.

Everything here shines—restaurants, terraces, laughter. I check my watch.

Almost two in the morning. “Hey, miss!” a male voice shouts.

A group of men smoke and play cards at the bus stop. Lookouts. I don’t look at them. I walk faster.

I turn the corner and see it.

Casa Ramba.

A massive guard watches me.

“I’m looking for Paloma. She’s my cousin.”

He hesitates, then lets me in.

The moment I cross the door, I understand.

This isn’t a bar.

It’s a nightclub.

Red lights. Heavy bass. Sweaty bodies moving without shame. On a couch, a girl lines up white powder with a card. Laughter. Shouting.

Panic crawls up my throat.

Upstairs, in the private area, the air is thick—smoke and alcohol. Nearly naked women drift between men like decorations.

Then I see her.

Paloma.

She’s sitting on a man’s lap, moving sensually against him. His hands grip her hips.

When he lifts his head, his dark eyes lock onto mine.

Cold spreads through me.

“Paloma…” I whisper, touching her shoulder.

She turns, pleasure vanishing from her face in an instant.

“Valentina? What are you doing here?”

The man frowns.

“Who the hell is she?”

“Rubén, she’s—”

Rubén.

The scorpion tattoo on his neck confirms everything.

“Get out,” he says coldly. “I don’t want you here anymore.”

Paloma drags me out of the club with too much force, dodging tables, curious stares, and guards who pretend not to see anything. The music cuts off abruptly when we step outside, like someone closing a wound too fast.

“Are you crazy?” she snaps as soon as we’re out. “What are you doing here, Valentina? Did you get lost or what?”

I try to speak, but she doesn’t let me. She yanks the car door open and gets in. I follow. She drives off without looking back.

“Explain,” I say tensely. “Since when do you work there?”

She grips the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turn white.

“You had no right to come,” she spits. “No right to see me like that.”

“Like what?” I answer. “Sitting on a drug dealer’s lap?”

She slams the brakes at a traffic light.

“Don’t talk about what you don’t understand!” she yells. “You know nothing about my life.”

“I know enough to know that man is dangerous.”

She turns to me. Her eyes burn with anger… and something deeper, more fragile.

“I love him,” she says without breathing. “Happy? I love him.”

The word hits my chest like a punch.

“Paloma—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“He takes care of me,” she continues, her voice cracking. “He gives me things. He gets me out of this hell.”

She shoots me a look full of contempt.

“Not like you, who thinks studying will save you from everything.”

I don’t answer. Because if I do, I’ll say things that can’t be taken back.

We finish the drive in silence.

When we reach the building, she parks without turning off the engine. I look at her one last time.

“That man is going to destroy your life,” I say softly. “And when he does, he won’t care how much you loved him.”

She laughs without humor.

“What do you know?” she snaps. “You’ve never been in love. You live in your little bubble, outside reality.”

“The real world isn’t easy or perfect. And if being the mistress of a powerful man bothers you so much… then forget we’re cousins and get lost.”

Her jaw trembles, but she doesn’t look at me.

I get out of the car and slam the door shut. Paloma doesn’t react. The engine stays on for a few seconds, then the car pulls away without her looking back. I remain there, breathing with difficulty, my chest tight, my hands trembling.

The night feels different after the argument. Roma Norte is still alive around me, clean, indifferent. I start walking home with my head down, telling myself I didn’t do anything wrong, that I was only worried about her.

The sound of an engine makes me look up.

A black SUV moves slowly down the street. It isn’t an ordinary vehicle. It’s large, imposing, the kind that doesn’t go unnoticed. It slows as it passes beside me.

The rear window is down.

Inside, through the smoke, I see him.

Rubén.

He’s leaning back in the seat, smoking calmly, watching the street as if it belongs to him. The light inside the car illuminates his face and neck just enough for the scorpion tattoo to be clearly visible.

Our eyes meet.

He doesn’t smile. He only watches me.

The window rises slowly, and the SUV drives away.

I stand there, my heart pounding, understanding something far too late.

That man isn’t just a bad influence on my cousin.

He is danger.