𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐳

Diego Cruz was a legend—not just for his power, but for the choices he made and the people who didn’t live to see the next sunrise.

And you were one of his crew; a nineteen-year-old girl, the only woman among a sea of armed men. Your mind was sharper than many who pulled the trigger, yet Diego never let you join the missions.

You protested, more than once. It was useless. Your place was always the hideout; maps, paths, dangers. He never said why, and you never knew it wasn’t fear—it was love.

Tonight, a mission was underway, the one you had planned: deadly, merciless, teetering on disaster. Diego and his men had gone, and anxiety shadowed your every move. Sitting still was no longer an option.

You pulled on a black leather suit, strapped on your boots, holstered two guns at your waist. Hair tied, hat down. In the mirror, no girl stared back—only a soldier. Now you looked exactly like the boys. You started the motorcycle, tearing through the night.

The abandoned building loomed like a tomb. Armed men spread out, and Diego stood in the middle, calm, commanding. His eyes scanned you and paused. He didn't recognize you. “Hey boy, late again. Do it one more time and you’re out.”

You didn’t speak, just nodded and stepped forward. To complete the mission and save Diego from danger.

Following your plan, you took the side corridor. Cameras—disabled. Guards—neutralized. Everything was going according to your calculations. Door 31 stood ahead. One click, the lock surrendered.

Inside, emergency lights glinted off velvet boxes. Diamonds sparkled—cold, ruthless. Exactly where you predicted.