Chapter 11 : Did She Mention Arizona?

Mafia's Nemesis***

“If she's really important to him, he should come take her once he returns”. Breanna smirked.

“Sophia—bring her along”. She commanded.

“Really?”, Nevena eyed Sophia as she gestured at her to follow them. “You're doing this ?”.

“Please!” Sophia muffled only to Nevena's hearing, making her shoulders drop in defeat.

Grinch's mind was in utter disarray, but his face maintained a calm expression as they led Nevena away.

“Thanks for accommodating my request.” Sophia acknowledged in a whisper and Nevena gave her a little squeeze on the shoulder.

“It's nothing”.

༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶAT THE AMBIANCE OF THE HQ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

“Miss Nevena Bachvaro!” Breanna called, her eyes fixed on the woman sitting across the table.

“No, ma’am. It’s Bachvaro...v” Nevena corrected gently, her Bulgarian accent curling around the name like silk.

Breanna raised a brow, “Noted". She adjusted the file before her.

“Let’s begin. On the night of the 17th—you were abducted—barely twenty four hours you landed in New Mexico. Can you walk me through exactly what happened that night?”

Nevena shifted uncomfortably, her gaze dropping to her hands.

Though she didn't utter a word, Breanna read her body language and realized that nothing was going to come out.

She wetted her lips with her tongue—it was time for emotional manipulation.

Leaning in closer she touched Nevena's hand, and gave it a little squeeze.

“Miss, you don't need to be scared—I'm a woman like you, and also a detective. I will help you get justice.”

Nevena’s eyes lifted, locked on Breanna’s. “I don’t want justice, Ma’am,” she replied.

“I’m just a tourist. A visitor—I didn’t come here to be caught in anyone’s mess or make enemies. I just want to create memories here— then I go home.”

“Home?—Memory” Breanna echoed with a tone of disappointment.

“You were abducted the very day you arrived in our Country. You call that a safe return and memory—in your language?”

“I managed to escape, that's why I don't want to make a case”. Nevena mellowed.

“Alright”. Breanna huffed, resting back on her chair.

She didn’t speak again. She simply watched Nevena, studying the defiance softening in her shoulders.

Then, almost too calmly, she reached into her folder and pulled out a creased sheet of paper—laying it flat on the table.

“You know,” she began, “Every year in New Mexico, more than four hundred women between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five go missing.”

“Holly Molly!, That’s more than one girl a day.” Nevena gasped. Her eyes moved across the page.

“Yes—” Breanna affirmed, flipping the page slowly. “You want to guess how many are successfully rescued?”

Nevena didn’t answer, but Breanna continued anyway.

“Zero.” Breanna slapped the folder shut. A beat of silence passed, heavy and suffocating.

“None, Miss Bachvarov. Not a single soul. And do you know what makes this different?” She leaned in, her eyes narrowing.

“You. You got out. You escaped. You’re not just some blurry face in a missing person poster or a name etched into a case file doomed to gather dust—and you’re the only one I’ve ever sat across from who lived to tell the story.”

Breanna paused, her voice quiet but relentless.

“I don't know about you but—you're a miracle , and yet... you’re choosing silence. Choosing to walk out of this room—playing deaf to the screams of the other girls who weren’t as lucky.”

Nevena’s lips parted as if to defend herself, but no words came.

“Miss Nevena” Breanna lowered her voice, now soft, raw, and lethal. “Your silence means that you're choosing—the monsters—over every girl they’ll touch tomorrow.”

“I didn’t ask to be involved,” Nevena said, her voice barely audible, cracking like thin ice.

“I didn’t come to New Mexico for this. I just wanted to take pictures, buy gifts, live a little—”

Breanna exhaled slowly, then tapped the folder once.

“Do you think the other girls didn’t want that too? To just come here, take photos, try tacos, go back home with a suitcase full of memories?”

Nevena didn’t answer, rather her fingers trembled on her lap.

“They don’t get that chance. You do. And right now, you're using it to protect yourself… while they stay buried in the dark.”

Breanna stood up, pacing slowly. “Somewhere tonight, there’s a girl getting off the plane with dreams in her eyes—and the same people who took you are waiting. She won’t be as lucky as you.”

Breanna paused, turning back to Nevena, voice breaking into a whisper.

“I’m not asking you to be a hero, but can you really carry the weight of knowing you could’ve saved her, but didn’t?”

Nevena swallowed hard, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Miss Nevena, I’m only asking you not to let their stories die with them. You're not the mess, Nevena. You’re the map.”

Breanna didn’t have to push further because Nevena's resolve cracked at her last statement.

“I somehow escaped them—then I ran into my Спасителят.”

“Spasite—please spell it?” Breanna leaned in.

“S-P-A-S-I-T-E-L-Y-A-T,” Nevena recited.

“And what does it mean?” Breanna blinked, confused.

Nevena’s eyes lifted, locked on Breanna’s. “Savior.” The word sat heavy in the room.

“That's Antonio Hunt I suppose? He saved you... how exactly?”

Nevena looked past her, as if replaying it all. “The cold pavement... my heels scraping against it as I tumbled into him—he hesitated at first, but then when he realized that I was just a tourist, he placed me under his protection.”

“Really?”. Breanna asked with a glint of disbelief.

“Yes”. She met Breanna’s gaze again. “I think he wasn’t there to save a stranger. It felt like he’d been waiting for me just like he did in Arizona.”

Breanna’s tone sharpened. “Arizona? How—when?”

Nevena hesitated, then said, “I was shoved over the Airport's handrails during the deadly stampede triggered by the murder—he was the only one that stopped to pull me up.”

“Such coincidence”, Breanna throated, scribbling something quickly.

“Do you perhaps know Antonio from somewhere—An ex, highschool or social gathering”.

“None”, Nevena replied. “But strangely, whether it’s Arizona or New Mexico, he always shows up. I can’t see him as anything but my Спасителят—my savior.”

Breanna opened a folder, fanned out a series of photographs.

“Do any of these men look familiar?”

Nevena barely glanced before pointing to four. “Them. No doubt.” She paused, hovering her finger over one.

“This one... he was the loudest. The most eager to defy my Spasitelят.”

“How is it that you remembered their faces despite being drugged?”

“Because they still visit me,” Nevena whispered. “In my sleep.”

“Fine." Breanna’s hand stilled over her notepad. “Let’s go back. Before the abduction. Was there any significant event? Did anyone stalk you?.”

“Not really—except that when I was at Blueprint Restaurant. A man offered me a drink—I declined. Thought nothing of it, so I went home.”

Breanna sat back, her expression unreadable. “Any other thing you remember?”

Nevena nodded slowly, “Those men did mention that a man by the name Vince.. marked me”.

Breanna leaned forward, tension creeping into her voice. “Vince what? Vincenzo...am I correct?”

“Yes. Vincenzo.”

A hush fell between them for some minutes—It got broken by the sound of the telephone ringing.

Breanna picked up the receiver and sprang up from her seat.

“Don't let him go”. She commanded, dropping the receiver.

“Did something happen?”, Nevena asked soothingly.

“Not really—but I got to go”, she maintained a straight tone. Her eyes further narrowed as Nevena strengthened to follow her.

“Where are you going?”.

“Interrogations are over—” Nevena reminded.

“Who decided that ?”, Breanna snapped.

“I didn't decide—but I already said everything that is to say”. Nevena pressed on in her Bulgarian accent.

With a coarse tone, Breanna mumbled an order into her walkie talkie, before turning to Nevena.

“Miss Nevena Bachvarov—I'm sorry, but I have to detain you for withholding information regarding a murder”.

Nevena’s eyes widened, “What murder—I'm only but the victim here”. The pitch of her voice raised a little.

The door at the extreme of the room creaked open, and two female officers stepped in, seizing Nevena from both sides.

Nevena’s heart thumped against her ribs, her breath catching in her throat. This couldn’t be real.

“Ma'am this is wrong—you can't detain me when I've said everything, I will make sure to seek justice before the press”.

“Keep it low Miss—else I might be forced to charge you for being an accomplice”.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Nevena's whiny tone crackled with a chuckle.

“Does it look like I am ?”, Breanna glanced at her briefly, then turned to the Police women. “Lock her up and register her case with accomplice charges”.

Nevena shrank back in shock as the women affirmed , “Yes Ma'am”.

Without batting an eye, Breanna walked away, leaving her and the officers.

~~

Storming down the corridor, her heels clicked along with the energetic flow in the hallway.

Phones rang, agents murmured, papers shuffled—but Breanna steeled through with purpose.

Sophia darted out from one of the busy offices and stepped into rhythm beside her, not needing permission.

“You're really detaining her?” she asked, nodding subtly toward the direction where Nevena had been taken.

Breanna kept walking, unfazed. “Yes—I’m protecting the case”.

“So punishing the victim for surviving is the only way of protecting the case?” Sophia pressed on, still matching her stride.

Breanna snarled slightly, turning corners, “Don't you get it—That woman’s the only affinity we’ve got to solving the murder mystery. If Blade Knuckles happens to be Antonio—he’d want to manipulate her statement.”

“But Ma'am, her trauma isn't a strategy. And if Antonio’s watching, detaining her only isolates her further. He’ll be the first to notice.”

“Ma'am we just handed him the f*cking narrative”. Sophia added, hoping to crack Breanna's resolve.

Breanna halts mid-step, exhaling deeply. “Then, let him come for her. I’d love a reason to drag him in, and request for an investigation”.

“You are just making the wrong enemy”, Sophia warned.

“Whatever!, But I’m not going to let our lead asset be played like a puppet, while she spins poetic tales about Arizona rescue and Airport.”

“Wait Ma'am. Did she mention Arizona?”.

“Yeah—her Spasite{Saviour} was also there to save her”. Breanna quoted with a hiss.

“Which Airport?. Did she mention it?”

“Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport”, Breanna snapped, already pissed by Sophia's interrogation.

“Damn it!” Sophia mumbled.

“Enough of me—where is the man and where is he from?”.

“Sombra Azul”, Sophia's lethargic voice tore out. “I had him detained over the front desk”.

“Good”, Breanna muttered as they passed an agent holding open the security door.

She charges through it, but Sophia pauses.

“Go back—I will handle things from here”. Breanna whispered.

Sophia gives a curt nod and turns on her heel, sweeping past the badge scanner to her office, coat swaying behind her.

With a folder clutched to her chest, walkie crackling faintly on her hip. Breanna rounds the corner toward the front desk, where the man was sitting.

“Detective Breanna Stewart”. She introduced, stretching out her hand for a handshake.

“Willow Minnelli”, a young man in his early thirties replied, taking Breanna's hand.

“Apologies for the delay?”. Breanna apologized taking a seat. “So Mister Willow—where are you from?”.

“Sombra Azul—”.

“What was your report about?”.

“There's a criminal settling in my village”, Willow's crispy tone articulated.

Breanna sized him up—he looked too polished to be spouting nonsense.

“What makes you say he’s a criminal?”

“He has a scorpion tattoo,” Willow said plainly.

“It’s a hallmark for goons.”

Breanna tossed the folder onto the table between them before leaning back in the chair, her arms folded.

Then, with one brow arched, she gave a dry chuckle.

“A scorpion tattoo?” she repeated, trying to suppress her amusement.

“You know—about 70% of New Mexican men have a scorpion inked somewhere on their body, right?”

“Yes—but”

“Willow, if I were to detain every man in New Mexico with a scorpion on his skin, I’d need the whole prison in the country”.

“This one’s not decorative”. Willow snapped.

Breanna rolled her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching as if to call bullshit—but Willow's tone hadn't changed. Steady. Measured.

“It's inked in the valley of his neck—curved like a crescent, with fangs that bleed into a mark on his ear.”

“Still,” she objected, a lazy shrug in her voice, “A tattoo doesn’t make a man a criminal.”

Willow leaned forward slightly. “I wouldn’t be here if it was just the tattoo.”

Breanna stared at him, the amusement fading fast.

“Go on.”

“A knife was retrieved from him,” Willow continued, voice low. “Modified brass handle. Inscribed with three rings..”

Breanna's breath turned cold for a minute. Her fingers uncurling.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked.

Willow nodded, "Not just that—three bullets were extracted from him, the night he was rescued from the jaws of death".

That revelation pulled a pause out of Breanna. Not long—but enough.

“You sure?”

“101% exact, he's being treated by my mother, but I'm scared he might hurt her after he recovers.” Willow’s tone was desperate now. “Please come and take him with you.”

Breanna’s mouth thinned. Her fingers already sliding over her tablet, swiping quickly.

Her eyes darted over to the folder she hadn’t taken seriously—until now.

“You should’ve led with the trench knife and bullets, Willow.”

“I thought the scorpion would catch your attention first.”

Breanna huffed a dry laugh, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Our department doesn’t have time to chase shadows.”

“Sorry Ma'am—Either way, I want you to rescue my naive mother.”

She gave him a long look. Then, with a deep exhalation, she reached for the folder again.

“Alright, Mr Minnelli. Let’s start from the top—Tell me everything.”