Chapter 14 : The Sketch Is Ready.

MAFIA'S NEMESIS****

Her brows drew together. She crouched beside it—lifting the lid without asking for permission.

Inside was a coat—folded and tucked beneath a worn linen cloth.

It was the same color as the one Antonio wore when he saved Nevena.

Surprisingly, It was riddled with bullet holes, and dried blood stained it thoroughly.

Breanna dug further, and beneath the suit lay a trench knife—custom-forged, handle engraved, scattered beside it were three warped bullets.

With a satisfied smirk, she slowly lifted the items one by one, laying them out on the floor like evidence at a crime scene.

Behind her, Sophia had been silent—watching.

But the moment she saw the bullets, she stepped forward and crouched beside Breanna.

Her gloved fingers reached out and picked up one of them.

She turned it over twice and then looked up.

“It’s the same bullets we gathered,” she said, voice low and grim. “From Vincenzo’s house.

“Blade knuckles’ was definitely here.” Breanna gritted. "And worse—he was injured" .

Tilting her neck, she looked over her shoulder at John, who was standing by the doorway.

“I’m sorry John, but—” she paused briefly, walking up to him. “I have to take you mother in”.

“Wait..What—?. You can't arrest her”, John deep vocal protested.

“Yes I can”, Breanna fired back.

“This isn't about helping a wounded man. She was harboring a wanted man....John! A fucking fugitive”.

“Even at that—” John was interrupted with a shove, he fell back to the wall, while Breanna made her way to the semi-filled square.

“Who's John's Mother?”

John pushed himself off the wall. “Come on Ma'am, she didn’t know who he was,” he growled, stepping forward again.

“She found him bleeding, delirious. What was she supposed to do—let him die?”

“You think the law cares about good intentions?” Sophia replied on behalf of Breanna. The situation getting more heated.

“John's Mother, indicate yourself”, Breanna roared yet again, at the gathered villagers.

“You’re making a mistake.” John lunged towards Breanna with clenched jaws, but her arm shot out, slamming him back with the butt of her elbow.

He staggered, catching himself just short of the floor.

Without hesitation Liza rushed to him, wrapping him around her bosom. “Are you okay, Son?”

Breanna raised an eyebrow, circling them slowly like a predator toying with cornered prey.

“Finally?” She scoffed, turning sharply toward the gathered agents. “Take her.”

Two strong arms shot out and grabbed Liza, yanking her away from John.

“Don’t take her. Please!” Maya pleaded, clinging tighter to Liza's shawl.

“No, sweetheart. What I am doing… is showing your Mother what happens when someone lets their choices burn them”.

“If helping a wounded man is a bad decision, then Ma'am—I think the law’s blind when it wants to be,” Maya cried.

Sophia shot Maya a warning glance, and just immediately, Breanna's command came in.

“Prepare the extraction. I want her in the convoy. If anyone interferes—”

“We make an example,” Sophia finished coolly.

The villagers didn’t move. No one was willing to interrupt the extraction.

As Liza was dragged away, her eyes locked on John’s—silent, but full of fear.

A stir rippled through the gathered villagers, “Finally the curse is over”

“It's a good thing she's going away”, they mumbled in almost unison.

“Let me take her place,” John's defiance tone came through.

“What?”, Breanna turned swiftly facing him.

“I was the one who found him. I brought him in.”

“Wait, you expect me to trade a woman who hid Blade Knuckles for the man who led us to him?”

“I'm the reason you're here, aren't I?” John said coldly. “I gave you the path. Arrest me. Leave her—Moreover she can't give you a clear description of what the man looks like.”

Sophia glanced sideways at Breanna. A silent question hung in the air between them.

Breanna’s jaw tightened. She looked at John, then Liza. Then at the girl clinging behind Liza.

“Fine,” she said finally. “But if I find out you know less than you claim—this deal’s off.”

John nodded once and Breanna turned to Sophia.

“Secure him.”

Liza got released while Sophia had John’s hands pulled behind his back. The click of the cuffs was sharp in the quiet night.

With a face stricken with fear, Liza clung John's waist. “No,” she whispered, “John—”

“It’s okay, Mother,” he assured, not meeting her eyes. “I will just give them his description and come back.”

Sophia and the squad led him away under the supervision of Breanna. Their heavy boots crunching gravel with every step to their Van.

‿‿‿‿‿

‿NEW MEXICO POLICE HQ SKETCH ROOM, –NEXT MORNING‿

John, slightly disheveled due to nervousness, sat on the edge of his seat, eyes fixed on the sketch artist, who was hunched over his drawing pad, pencil gliding swiftly across the paper.

Sophia stood by the side, arms folded, and her eyes bouncing between the half-finished sketch and John’s expression.

Two failed attempts lay crumpled in the trash, while the third sketch took form.

“Describe his nose please,” the sketch artist prompted without looking up.

“Straight bridge, slightly broken at the tip—like it’s been punched during a fight."

The artist adjusted, drawing with practiced precision.

Sofia leaned over the artist's shoulder for a peek, but didn’t comment.

“Shall we go over the eyes again ?,” the artist continued. “Almond-shaped, you said?”

John nodded. “Yes. Piercing and daring. And he had a scar—barely noticeable—just under his left brow.”

The pencil paused, it made a correction, and continued.

The artist angled the sketchpad toward John. “How about this one?”

John blinked.

“That’s him,” he said with a note of conviction. “That’s exactly what he looks like.”

Sophia stepped forward and took another look—recognition dawning in his eyes.

“John… are you absolutely sure?”

“I’d bet my life on it.” John affirmed slowly.

Without hesitation, she pulled out her new phone and walked to the corner of the room , hitting Breanna's name on the dialer list.

‿‿‿‿

‿MAVERICK HOSPITAL‿

Breanna Stewart, dressed in a deep blue smart blazer, sat beside her son’s hospital bed, her hand gently stroking his bandaged head.

Six-year-old Junior lay nestled under the sheets, his leg in a cast, a faint line of exhaustion and pain tracing his young face.

A small remote-controlled car sat untouched on the tray beside Breanna's phone.

“Can you please read the Wolfy story for me, Mummy?” Junior’s tender voice requested.

“Sure thing Baby”, She picked up a children’s storybook, flipping through the pages.

Suddenly her phone buzzed on the tray table beside a bottle of juice. Breanna Stewart, sharp-minded and always collected, paused mid-sentence.

“The big brother Wolf wa—”

She casted her gaze on the screen,

“Sophia?”

Without hesitation she pressed the receiver to her ear. “Yes, Sophia.”

“Ma’am,” Sophia said, her voice crisp and professional. “The sketch is secured. John confirmed it—it’s an exact match”

“Good.” Breanna stood, trying to shift into work mode, her voice composed. “I’ll be on my w—”

“Mummy…?”

A soft, pleading voice interrupted her.

Breanna glanced down at her six-year-old son, Junior, his leg in a cast and his glassy eyes blinking up to her.

“You promised you’d stay.”

Breanna closed her eyes for a brief second, the weight of her double life pressing on her shoulders—officer, Detective, and now, full-time mother-at-bedside.

With a deep exhalation, she lowered the phone slightly, and crouched by his side immediately, brushing her fingers through his hair.

“I’m right here, baby,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

"Pinky Promise!" Junior insisted, putting out his pinky.

Breanna's demeanor shifted instantly—she was lying and she wasn't expecting Junior to ask for a pinky promise.

Without a warning, She brought the phone back to her ear.

“Sophia, I’m at the hospital. Junior had an accident.”

“What?”, Sophia's voice tore into a frantic panic. “Is he conscious—Ma'am, what's the hospital—I will head there now”.

“Don't be ridiculous!”, Breanna snapped at her. “It's just a minor fracture and a few scratches.”

“Really?” Sophia said, her voice laced with disbelief—because Breanna hardly tagged things the way it was.

There was a brief pause on the line before Breanna replied,

“Yes" .

“Okay then—I’ll just send you a digital copy—.”

“No, don't." Breanna cut in sharply. “Just keep it in my office. I’ll review it as soon as I’m back.”

“Understood, ma’am. I’ll keep the sketch safe. It’ll be waiting on your desk when you’re ready.”

A soft smile broke through Junior's gloomy face, His Mom didn't go against what she said despite not promising.

“Thank you, mum…” He whispered, his voice grateful, then slowly he recoiled his pinky, but Breanna ended the call and crossed her pinky against his.

“Pinky promise”.

“Thank you!” , he whispered again.

Placing her phone aside, Breanna leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Anything for you, my love. Always”.

Junior blushed at her reassurance whilst clutching his stuffed lion.

Breanna's smile lingered on him for a moment longer—then instinctively glancing back at her phone again.

“I hope this work”.She murmured inwardly.

‿‿‿‿

THE GOLF OF NEW MEXICO....

“¡Knuckles! Estaba a una llamada de declarar la guerra.{Knuckles!, I was one call away from declaring a war}”

Antonio furrowed his brows, acting clueless,

“Why is that?” He asked in a curt manner.

Lucas let out a self-complacent smile as Antonio sank into the opposite armchair, after acknowledging him.

“You had me pacing the floors, because of your absence, Kiddo. That ain’t good for business—or my heart". He splintered.

Antonio {Blade Knuckles}hissed, his frustration evident.

“Ese maldito desgraciado de Vincenzo. {That damn wretched Vincenzo}”.

“¿Qué chingados con ese cabrón? {What the hell about that bastard}” Lucas asked vulgarly.

His half-smoked Tobacco rested between his fingers, forgotten for a while.

“Ese Desgraciado{That scoundrel} turned out to be a coward, hiding under the canopy of his henchmen,” Antonio{Blade Knuckles} purred.

“That shouldn't be a call for alarm” Lucas coaxed, handing Blade a wrap of tobacco.

“I sent word all over the underworld—no one would dare shelter him until we settle the scores.” He boasted.

Antonio didn't utter a word, rather he clicked the lighter over his tobacco, and the burning wrap pinched between his fingers.

With impatience running through his veins, Lucas flicked his fingers, and ash fell like snow from his tobacco.

“Start digging graves, Kiddo. Vincenzo is about to witness the brutality of messing with me”.

All the while Lucas talked, Antonio didn't make a comment, he just took long, satisfying drags from his tobacco, as though the conversation was beneath him.

“Hey, boob!{Stupid fellow}.” Lucas snapped suddenly.

The insult was directed at Grinch, who stood silently behind Blade.

“Yes, Don.” Grinch replied, immediately dropping to his knees.

“Pásame tu fusca {Pass me your gat}.”

Without wasting a second, Grinch reached for his hip holster, unbuckling his gun.