Elena's eyes felt dry, her throat raw from screaming. She sat in the cold, sterile room, surrounded by the faint scent of disinfectant. The detective's words hung in the air, but Elena's mind refused to process them. I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Cruz", he said, his voice a gentle monotone.
Elena's gaze snapped to his. "Sorry? You're sorry?" Her voice rose, but she didn't care. "You don't know what its like to lose everything and everyone".
The detective leaned forward, his expression sympathetic. "I understand this is a difficult time" Elena laughed bitterly and looked at the detective scornfully I need answers and not condolences.
"Can u tell me more about the investigation?" Elena asked her voice firm. The detective hesitated. "We're still looking into the cause of the fire. We will need you to come down to the station to give a formal statement".
Elena's eyes narrowed. "I want to know now."
Six months later. Los Angeles
The woman who entered the underground club in downtown LA wasn't Elena. Not anymore.
She wore black always black from her long tailored coat to the matte stilettos that clicked like warnings on concrete. Her lips were wine dark, her eyes unreadable. Whispers followed like her shadows.
"Is that her?"
"They call her La Viuda the Widow".
She had no gang, no family, no mercy. Yet everyone in the room shifted when she walked past. The city's underworld had seen monsters. But none like her.
At the poker table, a man laughed too loudly, another tried to offer her a drink. She said nothing, just stared.
By midnight, he was gone dragged out by men who feared her more than law. Rumor said he once had a part in the fire.
Elena no, La Viuda had become a legend stitched from ashes and silence.
She didn't want revenge. She wanted control
And California was listening