Jury Convicts Five MS-13 Members In L.A. Amid FBI Crackdown
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A Los Angeles jury on Tuesday convicted five members of the transnational criminal organization Mara Salvatrucha 13 (MS-13) of carrying out six murders to elevate their status within the gang, according to a Justice Department press release.
The victims were killed in a variety of brutal ways — including being strangled, shot, stabbed with knives or a machete, and beaten with a baseball bat — before some of their bodies were dumped off a cliff or down a hillside in the Angeles National Forest, the release said.
After a nine-week trial, the jury also found Walter Chavez Larin, 26, Roberto Alejandro Corado Ortiz, 30, and Edwin Martinez, 28 were guilty of conspiracy in violation of the RICO Act.
Chavez and Corado were each convicted of two counts of violent crimes in aid of racketeering (VICAR) murder. Martinez was found guilty on three counts of VICAR murder. Bryan Alexander Rosales Arias, 28, of South Los Angeles, was convicted of one count of VICAR murder, as was his brother, Erick Eduardo Rosales Arias, 27, also of South Los Angeles, the DOJ said.
AdvertisementThe convictions come amid a crackdown on gang-related criminal activity under the Kash Patel and Dan Bongino-led FBI.
“We thank the jury for returning swift guilty verdicts against these MS-13 criminals who engaged in horrific acts of violence and murder,” said Assistant United States Attorney Bill Essayli. “I thank and commend our law enforcement partners for their work in removing members of this terrorist organization from our streets.
Advertisement“MS-13 is a violent brutal gang that must be eliminated from the United States, and we will not stop until we succeed in our mission,” he added.
“The horrific violence in this case underscores the urgency of destroying MS-13 and putting its depraved members behind bars,” noted United States Attorney General Pamela Bondi. “Under President Trump, MS-13 can no longer unleash terror on the American people with impunity: We will eradicate this foreign terrorist organization and secure justice for its victims.”
According to evidence presented at trial, the defendants killed victims who were either members of, or believed to be affiliated with, the rival 18th Street gang, as well as individuals who had violated MS-13’s internal rules, the DOJ said.
On my birthday, my sister smashed the cake straight into my face, laughing as she watched me fall backward, blood mixing with the frosting. Everyone said, “It’s just a joke.” But the next mo
On my birthday, my sister smashed the cake straight into my face, laughing as she watched me fall backward, blood mixing with the frosting. Everyone said, “It’s just a joke.”
But the next morning in the emergency room, the doctor studied my X-ray and immediately called 911—because what he saw… exposed a horrifying truth.
Part One: “It’s Just a Joke”
On my birthday, the room smelled like sugar and candles and cheap champagne. A pink cake sat in the center of the table, my name written across it in looping frosting. Everyone was laughing. Phones were out. Someone shouted for me to make a wish.
My sister stood closest to me.
She grinned, eyes bright with something that wasn’t kindness. Before I could even lean forward, her hands slammed the cake straight into my face.
The impact was harder than anyone expected.
I felt myself stumble backward, my heel catching on the rug. There was a sharp crack as my head hit the edge of the table, then the floor. For a split second, the room spun in white and pink. I tasted sugar—and then iron.
Blood mixed with frosting, dripping down my chin.
People screamed, then laughed nervously.
“Oh my God,” someone said, still chuckling. “It’s just a joke!”
My sister laughed the loudest. “Relax! You’re so dramatic.”
I tried to sit up. Pain exploded behind my eyes. My vision blurred, and the ceiling swayed like it was floating. Someone wiped my face with a napkin, smearing blood across my cheek.
“You’re fine,” my mother said quickly. “Don’t ruin the mood.”
I remember thinking how strange it was that my ears were ringing louder than the music.
I remember the taste of frosting as I swallowed blood.
I remember waking up hours later in my bed, alone, my head throbbing, my phone full of messages telling me not to be “too sensitive.”
By morning, I couldn’t lift my arm.
Part Two: The X-Ray That Changed Everything
The emergency room smelled like disinfectant and sleepless nights. The doctor asked how it happened. I hesitated, then said quietly, “I fell.”
He nodded, unconvinced, and ordered X-rays “just to be safe.”
I lay on the cold table staring at the ceiling, replaying the laughter over and over in my head. It’s just a joke. That sentence hurt almost as much as my skull.
When the doctor returned, he wasn’t smiling.
He stared at the image on the screen for a long time. Too long.
Then he left the room without a word.
Minutes later, he came back—with a nurse, a security officer, and his phone pressed to his ear.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I need emergency services. Immediately.”
My heart started pounding. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
He turned to me, his voice careful. “This isn’t a simple fall.”
He pointed to the X-ray. Even I could see it—fine fractures branching like cracks in glass, not just in my skull, but along my collarbone and ribs. Old fractures. Healed wrong. Layered.
“These injuries happened at different times,” he said gently. “Some weeks apart. Some months.”
I stared at the screen, my mouth dry.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
He met my eyes. “This pattern isn’t accidental. And the impact that brought you in today could have killed you.”
The word killed echoed in my ears.
“Who did this to you?” he asked softly.
I thought of my sister’s grin. My parents’ laughter. All the times I’d been shoved, tripped, “joked” into walls. All the times I’d been told I was clumsy. Sensitive. Overreacting.
My hands began to shake.
“I think…” My voice broke. “I think it was never a joke.”
Part Three: When Laughter Turns Into Sirens
The police arrived quietly. Calmly. Like this wasn’t the first time they’d seen something like me.
They didn’t accuse. They asked questions.
Who was there last night?
Who pushed you?
How often do you get hurt?
For the first time, I didn’t minimize. I didn’t protect anyone. I told the truth.
By evening, my phone was exploding.
My mother crying.
My father furious.
My sister screaming that I had “ruined everything.”
“You’re exaggerating!” she yelled over voicemail. “It was cake! Everyone saw it!”
Everyone had seen it.
That was the horrifying truth.
Everyone had seen it—and laughed.
The investigation didn’t take long. Videos surfaced. Old medical records were reviewed. Witnesses contradicted themselves. Patterns became impossible to ignore.
What started as a “birthday prank” became an assault case.
What they called humor was documented as violence.
I was moved to a different room that night, monitored closely, safe for the first time in years. As I lay there, ice wrapped around my head, I realized something terrifying and freeing all at once:
If that cake hadn’t been smashed into my face…
If I hadn’t fallen just right…
The truth might have stayed buried forever.
Sometimes it takes breaking something visible to expose what’s been shattered for years.
