Chapter 28 : 𝕯𝖆𝖑𝖊 𝖊𝖑 𝖕𝖍𝖔𝖓𝖊

𝕸𝖆𝖋𝖎𝖆'𝖘 𝕹𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖘

☆☆☆☆𝕹𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖆 𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖊 {1:32AM}, 𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖇𝖉𝖚𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓☆☆☆

✦✦𝕯𝖎𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖊✦✦

“Have you ever done something crazier than this?” Junior asked, sipping his soup.

Nevena glanced across the dining table. “Stolen a child from a hospital in the middle of the night—and served him dinner in my house?”

“Yeah.”

“…No.” She exhaled through her nose. “Not exactly a bucket list thing.”

Junior chuckled faintly. “You’re good at it—though.”

“Is that a compliment?—’cause I’ll probably land in jail for this,” she murmured, half to herself.

“Twenty-year term with payroll—that's the best you'd get,” Junior replied without hesitation. “But trust me—it’s worth it.”

She glanced at him. A six-year-old shouldn’t sound like that.

“Junior,” she called after a moment, “How old are you, really?”

“Six and three-quarters. But sometimes I feel like Mummy lied about my age.”

“Obviously—’cause you sound like seventy,” Nevena muttered.

He laughed—freer this time. She almost didn’t recognize the sound. Maybe Junior didn’t either.

Composing himself, he glanced down at his nearly empty plate, fiddling with his fork.

“Deep down—I knew you’d come back.”

Nevena didn’t respond right away. She poured herself a glass of water and drank it down. Then said quietly,

“I almost didn’t."

Junior nodded. He didn’t ask why—just appreciated that she had.

“But something about you,” she went on, eyes lowered to her pasta, “made it hard to stay in bed.”

He smiled, soft and small. “You mean the irresistible charm?”

“There he goes again,” Nevena bit back a grin.

“I meant the way you look, when you pretend not to care. Like someone taught you early—how to hide your hurt. And you got good at it.”

Junior went still. His shoulders rose and fell like he was trying not to cry.

“I got good at surviving—maybe, because I grew up knowing everyone's busy, and no one’s going to listen to my whine.”

The words bruised Nevena, and her grip tightened around her fork.

“I’m good at surviving too,” she said softly. “But it’s not the same. I whine when I get hurt.”

She poured him some fresh juice, and slid the glass toward him.

“Thanks,” the boy acknowledged, taking a sip. “Did your whining pay off?”

Nevena leaned back in her seat, letting the memory pull her under.

“In the course of my whining—I met someone. A man.”

Junior looked up, curiosity flickering behind the veil of sadness.

“Did he rescue you?”

Nevena blinked. Then smiled faintly.

“Yes—and I think he’s the only person who ever made me feel… safe. And confused. Both.”

Junior sipped his juice, watching her with quiet scrutiny.

“Safe and confused—that’s strange.”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“He only shows up at my lowest. Never stayed after saving me. Never let me thank him. He always vanished—like he appeared.

“Interesting,” Junior nodded, very serious.

“Only Mafia's possess that knack—keep people abay—emerges when they wish.”

Nevena sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Well then, if he comes back someday... I owe him a ‘thank you.’ A real one.”

“So—you're literally waiting for him?” Junior asked, done with his pasta.

“Yes,” she replied, offering a small smile. “He's really a nice fellow”.

“You like him?”

“Yes—wait, what ?” Instantly, she shot to her feet, feeling the bubbling echo of embarrassment, stirring beneath her ribs.

“I didn't mean that” she stammered, but Junior wasn't buying it.

“You have zero lying skills” he marked out. “Your body language makes it obvious”

“Time to go to bed.” Her voice rose an octave. “We have treasures to hunt tomorrow.”

“Yeah—goodnight, best friend,” the little boy yawned as he padded off to her room.

Nevena cleared the table and joined him. Outside, the night hummed with crickets and the occasional distant engine rumble.

They laid in their respective position, for about half an hour, until Junior finally broke the silence.

He first had the window cracked, face tilting toward the moonlight.

“I was thinking—maybe you should find him, and say thank you.”

“It did cross my mind,” Nevena murmured, weariness in her tone. “But I’m not sure he’d agree to meet me.”

“You know where he stays?”

“Of course—, Mr Hunt took me to his house one time”.

“Antonio Hunt—is that him?” Junior rolled to face her.

“Yeah… how do you know him?” she asked, brow raised.

“Everyone knows him.” He grabbed his phone and typed. “Mr. Hunt is the leading casino conglomerate in New Mexico—look.”

“Holy moly.” Nevena gasped, squinting at the screen. “Such an important figure—but he risks his life to save me. Each time?”

“Each time?” Junior repeated, groping Nevena's face with one small hand.

“Yes… I never mentioned it, but seeing me at the hospital—that was his third near-death rescue to me.”

“Then we should go find him—to say thank you.” Junior grinned.

“You think he’ll see us?” Her voice dropped to a whisper of wonder.

“There’s a possibility. Never say never.”

“Mm-hmm… I’ll sleep over it,” Nevena yawned, switching off the lamp. “Good night.”

☆☆☆☆𝕹𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌—— 𝕳𝖚𝖓𝖙'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓….☆☆☆☆

𝕬𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖔'𝖘 𝕽𝖔𝖔𝖒 7 :15Am,

“Revisa el emissions report {Revise the emissions report}”. Antonio's gruff tone dished out orders.

“¿Cuál de esos, exactly?{Which one, exactly?}” Grinch asked, thumbing through two black folders.

“La offset bill de Perú {The offset bill on Peru}” Antonio tapped his chest with the espresso cup Grinch had brought.

“Esta vez, neta accountability. Yo no miento dos veces sobre lo mismo{Real accountability this time. I don’t lie twice about the same thing}.” he completed, hoarsely.

Grinch hesitated, studying his countenance before replying.

“Simón... got it {Right}.”

Just then, Antonio’s burner buzzed again—second time.

He glanced at the screen, his eyes brewing wild—pure rage dancing across his facial.

“Bastard,” he snorted, setting his cup down on the nightstand.

Grinch narrowed his brows in pure wonder, as he knows who could be trying to reach Antonio on the burner.

Blade kicks off the sheets and vanishes into the closet, shutting the door behind him.

Now alone, Grinch laid the two folders on Antonio's bed and sighed—

Antonio had jerked mid-sleep, at early hours of the morning, and stormed off the Hunt's Mansion to an unknown location.

Grinch tried to go with him, but he brushed him off with a single order.

“Don't overstep your boundary—else”

Bound by the order, he had watched him jump into the car, and drove off in an exceeding speed limit.

The buzz of his phone jolted him back from his distant reverie—it was just as he expected, since Antonio didn't pick up.

“Dale el phone.{Give the phone to him}”. A dreadful voice crackled from the speaker.

“Está bañándose.{He's running a shower}”. Grinch breathed out, in a supplication of a humble tone.

“I'll inform him once he ste—”

“Ahora.{Now}” the voice gritted out like a distant thunder rumble.

Grinch's resolve cracked immediately— that one word was threatening as a cocked hammer—a promise of violence.

He bolted straight to the en-suite and shoved the door open.

Steam wrapped the space. Behind the Frosted glass was Antonio's taut silhouette, water pounding over sculpted muscle.

“¿Nunca oíste de privacy?{Ever heard of privacy?}” he growled, eyes hard beneath dripping hair.

Grinch didn't tender an apology—rather striding purposefully with the silent command over the phone.

He slightly pushed open the Privacy Film, extending his hand with the phone through the half-opaque glass.

“Call pa’ ti. {Call for you.}” he rasped, seeing nothing terrifying about the icy stare unclad Antonio pinned on him.

“Estoy busy {I'm busy}” Antonio replied curtly—not even looking.

Grinch glitched against the doorframe, one ankle crossed over the other, the phone back to his own ear.

“Altavoz, {Speaker}” the voice commanded. He obeyed, but Antonio didn't care less.

He cupped a palmful of water, and splashed it against his hard facial.

“Las whales de Arabia just landed en el heliopuerto.{Whales from Arabia just landed at the heliport},” the coarse voice rasped.

“Tú vas a recibirlos en persona. Nada de Consigliere.{Personal reception from you. No Consigliere}.”

Silence settled as the caller awaited Antonio's reply, but got none, only the drizzle of the shower answered.