𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 47: 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐀 𝐂𝐚𝐫 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚’𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬°°° 

 

“Why did you lock us out when we came to see you?”

“Um—I—”

“I even took out time and brought a present!” He cut him off smoothly. “All you did was just drive past us.”

Antonio sank into a crouch until his eyes were level with Junior’s.

“Sorry—I was in a hurry that day.”

“Oh, really?” Junior yawned dramatically, milking his advantage.

“But sorry isn’t going to make up for the wasted fare, nor the energy squandered walking up your hilly driveway—”

“I’ll send a car next time you wish to visit,” Antonio interjected.

“Mr. Hunt, you don’t have to—” Nevena started, but Antonio raised a hand.

“I’ll handle it.”

He folded his hand into his breast pocket, pulled out his wallet, and offered a few bills.

“For the fare. And if you do well in the semester’s finals—we’ll go shell hunting.”

 Junior went utterance blank,

looking at the money but not taking it.

“No?” Antonio tilted his head. “If you feel so uncomfortable about the money, how about ice cream, then?”

   “Vanilla?” the little boy asked.

“Yeah,” Antonio replied, a faint smile curving his lips. “And any other flavor you want.”

 

Junior spun toward Nevena. “Thanks for cleaning my shirt. We’re going outside for ice cream.”

Nevena didn’t look at him—rather, at Antonio. “Um... I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why?” he asked, straightening.

“The seminar’s ongoing, and it’s morally packed. I don’t want him to miss a single detail.”

Antonio checked his watch. “It’s just a few minutes. We’ll be back before you know it.”

She hesitated, then nodded. He bent and swooped Junior off his feet.

“Let’s go, son.”

They’d almost made it to the door before he looked back.

Nevena was still by the sink.

“Should I carry you too?” he murmured.

She flushed, then laughed softly — and followed them out.

###

  With Junior in his arm — his small frame conveniently covering his left side profile — and Nevena walking by his right, he managed to reach the exit.

No one vested special attention to a family that looked so effortlessly perfect.

“Look—we’re almost there!” Junior giggled, pointing at the ice-cream van parked beyond the steps.

Antonio returned the smile with a subtle grin, but his eyes never stopped scanning.

He wasn’t looking for ice cream. He was searching for the trash trunk.

“There,” he muttered upon spotting the Bentley parked a few meters north of the perimeter.

“Let’s crush those ice creams.”

They had just begun descending the stairs when he saw Breanna approaching with a squad from the queue near the van.

He spun sharply, a constriction seizing his chest.

Even if no one else noticed him, she would.

Breanna could sniff him out in seconds.

 

“Why the sudden turn?” Junior asked, confused and a little disappointed as they drifted away from the van, back toward the hallway.

“It’s all queued up,” Antonio rumbled in response, steering them gently to where they came from.

“But it’s not even up to ten kids,” He whined shrilly.

Seeing his pout, Nevena turned and looked.

The line wasn’t really made of customers—rather, clusters of local security networks and police.

As she opened her mouth to clear the illusion, a hand—one already too familiar—grabbed her arm, guiding her firmly toward the side corridor.

She pivoted in response, facing him.“What happened?”

  

Completely startled by the urgency in his touch.

“Nothing,” Antonio replied evenly, though his pulse thudded in his throat.

Ahead, Sophia’s team were advancing through the main corridor.

Behind, Breanna and her agents were closing in fast.

“Let’s get the ice cream after the seminar,” he grunted, maintaining his graceful stride.

Nevena nodded, though her mind jagged within, his grip in the past has always been protective— not just this type.

Curiosity got her turning to check. She saw Sophia and Breanna in a tense standoff near the corridor's interjection, speaking in a serious tone.

   “Oh …he's just avoiding the detective's trouble” she realized, picking up her pace to match his stride.

 They slipped into the seminar hall just as applause rippled across the rows—

a carpet of small frames in folding chairs squeaking noisily with excitement.

Antonio looked up at the stage, then the exits.

Their harmless chatter and squeals curdled into panic inside his chest.

   “F*ck,” he muttered under his breath. “This is total disaster.”

Junior, still perched in his arm, heard him.

“Never been to an elementary school’s seminar before?” he asked.

He looked up at the child, and raked a hand through his curls. “No.”

“Mr. Hunt?” A badged usher moved through the cluster, voice low and polite.

The trio turned, and Antonio motioned subtly for silence.

She understood—he didn’t want recognition.

  With a small smile she uttered, “It’s an honor to have you, Sir. Please—this way.”

The two adults followed while she led.

At the row she indicated, Antonio effortlessly unfolded a seat for Nevena first.

“You don’t have to,” she whispered, hesitant—not wanting him to compromise his standard.

 

   “I already did,” he murmured back in a measured tone, not wanting to attract attention.

 She sat, though her eyes lingered on him a beat longer than necessary.

Something about the way he threw glances her way made her feel... safe.

Unknown to her, he wasn’t watching her—he was watching for escape.

The seminar finally ended with Ortiz announcing that their guest speaker couldn’t make it.

  Parents present in the event thumbed attendance, and began to troop out.

“Name?” the teacher asked as Junior stepped up with Nevena and Antonio.

“Junior Ste—”

“Hunt,” Antonio cut him off sharply. “Junior Hunt.”

The teacher looked up from the register, sizing up the trio.

“Kiddo—I never knew you were mixed.”

  “Some things are better kept hidden,” Antonio exhaled, resting a hand on Junior’s shoulder.

The teacher blinked and turned to Nevena. “Ma’am. Yours?”

“Nevena,” she whispered, voice steady as a metronome.

After signing, they joined the exiting crowd.

Meanwhile outside, Breanna nestled in the observatory van with her binoculars, surfing through the departing guests.

   “Ma’am, a call for you,” an intern announced behind her shoulder. “It’s urgent.”