𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 48: 𝐉𝐚𝐢𝐥...

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚'𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬°°°°

Breanna remained motionless and focused for a few seconds before lowering her binoculars, jaw set.

“Patch it through,” she croaked. He did and she collected the mobile.

“Yes,”she answered, eyes now peeking through her binoculars.

“What?—That’s not possible… Hold on, I’ll get back to you.”

She drew her gun and screamed out of the Van into the crowd.

At that same time, Antonio skimmed through the people and successfully got an ice-cream.

“You sure you don't wish for some”, he asked Nevena as he made to pay.

“No— thanks" she replied, rummaging through her purse. It was already late noon, and she needed to go.

“Are you traveling?” He inquired, spotting her passport.

She looked up from her purse and damn, Junior's face already dropped. “Yes — I'm going back.”

“Oh” His throat croaked, but deep down he was unbothered.

“Before anything Mr Hunt — I need to talk to you”

He looked up from the cone he was licking and scrutinized her demeanor, “Won't you guys be late for your flights”

"No”

“Okay. Let’s get out of here first,” he muttered, anchoring them forward.

Grinch saw them approaching and started the engine.

Everyone got in, ready to go.

“My bag?”

Junior raised a brow. Nevena darted her eyes around the seat and behind him.

“Did you bring it with you?” she asked.

“Yes,” his little eyes crinkled with a mix of wonder and tears. "But I gave errm… I gave it to Mr Antonio when we were heading out of the hall”

“Holy sh*t” Antonio cussed, raking a hand through his hair.

Grinch understood the frustration in that tone. He turned slightly toward Junior in the back seat.

“Is it possible to buy a new one on the way? We’re kind of in a hurry”

“No!” the little boy sulked, tears already brimming. “Everything’s in there — my action figures, comics, notebook, crayons—”

“I’ll get it,” Antonio chimed in before he could list everything. “Just stop sulking. I’ll get it.”

“Let me come with” Nevena inferred but he turned her down.

“No. Just sit right there with him. I know the last place I left it”

He dashed out — back to the ice-cream truck, and it was still there, hanging loosely on a hook.

He grabbed it and pivoted, —but a steel nozzle pressed against his waist beneath his coat.

Then came the familiar sound in their world.

Click. Gun.

“Breanna Stewart,” he hummed with a smug grin.

“I know I don’t move the pieces, but permit me to say—you’re out of cards. Game over,” Breanna hummed back.

“Too slow, detective.” He exhaled once, slow and measured, before facing her fully. “I kept my own part of the deal. The job is done.”

“Don’t make this harder than it is,” she warned, jaw clenched, fury smoldering in her eyes. “I’m not alone.”

“I know,” Antonio murmured, eyes narrowing. “But we’re both professionals. Let’s keep this tidy before others come.”

Breanna shot him a murderous glare.

Instead of countering him further with replies, she raised her radio and barked in commands.

“Detective Stewart here. All units, close in. I have a suspect at gunpoint—north of the ice-cream truck.”

“Yes, ma’am,” came the crackling responses.

Antonio allowed a small, humorless smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Still the same Cabezona {stubborn girl}?”

The name scraped through old memories.

“Don’t you dare start that again,” she shot back. “You lost the right to call me that years ago.”

“I never intended to,” he said, voice low. “I was just... thrilled.” He tilted his head, clutching Junior’s bag tightly.

“But on a serious note — this arrest is baseless.”

“Hands behind your head—or I’ll be forced to shoot,” Breanna ordered, every syllable a threat and order she aims to enforce.

He raised a brow, amused—as if it were all still theater.

But then clicks came from every corner.

He obeyed, dropped the bag and raised his hands in a surrender he never intended.

“Confiscate his phone and drag him along,” the command came in. Blunt.

Attention was turning toward them now, the crowd parting.

“At least I deserve to know why I’m being arrested,” Antonio grunted, questioning the arrest.

Breanna stepped closer. “Blade Knuckles committed a murder here, and since you’re not on the guest list—you’re a suspect. Allegedly.”

“Oh, fuck” He cussed imperceptibly. “That means I still got my trump card”

“Take him away,” she barked.

“What’s happening?” Nevena’s misty voice came as she stepped into the chaos with Junior in tow.

“The twist in the story,” Antonio said faintly, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips.

“Mr. Hunt—why is the police—?”

He pulled her in suddenly and slammed his lips against hers.

Tsk..tsk.

Breanna tore her gaze away in disgust. “What new drama is this?”

“I’m a parent here,” Antonio murmured softly, arm still around Nevena. “So I have every right to be here. Meet my wife and son.”

Breanna trailed her gaze from Nevena to the child hiding behind her gown—

Junior!.

“Pinche mentiroso pathetic.{Fucking pathetic liar}.” An imperceptible hiss escaped her clenched jaw.

Sophia’s snicker came quickly. “How about a DNA test with your son?”

Antonio chuckled, the sound rich and mischievous. “You don’t believe me? Nina, please—tell them.”

With nervous breaths, Nevena faced them off.

“Yes. We’ve been married for seven years... and we have a son—Junior.”

Breanna tilted her head sideways, then beckoned to the boy with a hand motion.

“Junior, come here.”

He peeled away from Nevena’s gown and walked to Breanna, looping his hand around her thigh.

“Junior?” Nevena called softly, but he only looked back at her with glassy eyes. No answer or movement.

“Arrest her,” Breanna snapped. “File her case on the charges of Abduction, Impersonation—and don’t forget, she's also an accomplice.”

###

Grinch lifted his phone and placed it to his ear, eyes trailing the police van as it veered off with Antonio.

“Preparen su team. Blade está en ruta a la estación de policía — no deberían llegar ahí.”

{Get your team ready. Blade is en route to the police station — they shouldn’t reach there.}

He dropped the call and stepped on the pedal, following closely.

Meanwhile, inside the van, Nevena sat pressed against the metal wall, her hands cuffed together.

Across from her was Antonio — only one wrist cuffed to the vertical pole bolted beside the bench.

Her panic-laden eyes lifted to him, searching for reassurance, but his maddening calmness was a stark contrast.

He looked as though he were simply riding home from work — not under arrest.

As she tried to initiate a conversation, the words snagged in her throat.

Then she heard it — the rumble of engines overtaking them. Suddenly, their van’s engine growled, rolling into a stop.

She snapped her gaze to the window separating them from the driver’s seat. Fear. “God —I don’t want to go to jail.”

The officers up front got off and exchanged quick words with who or whatever stopped them — their voices sharp and tense in the native tongue.

The barrage went on for two long unsettling minutes, doors slammed — curses flew, then silence.

Her heartbeat hammered in her ears while she recited her psalm but He only leaned back. Waiting

Then, just when she thought it was over — the lock clicked.