𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 72: 𝐃𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐨 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐌𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐜𝐨?

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚’𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬°°°

“What is this?”Breanna's agitated voice cut through her office.

Sophia flinched, retreating a step away from her presence. “Ma’am — I'm —”

Breanna flung the folder and a rain of scattered A4 sheets fluttered to the floor

Sophia could only watch her two-weeks’ effort crumble at her feet.

“What came over you, Sophia? I leave for two weeks and everything goes haywire.”

“I did my best,” the aide breathed, voice taut. “I’m sorry if I didn’t meet your expectations.”

“Expectations?” Breanna tried to laugh, but it came out brittle. She bit down on her lip instead, eyes wide.

“Any information on John Minnelli?”

“Yes,” Sophia replied, voice strained but steady. “Tomorrow’s the eve of the Sombra Azul Sundance Ritual. He never misses it.”

“That’s more of a relief” Breanna exhaled and reclined elegantly. “Tell dispatch to prepare a welcoming convoy. Things are about to get interesting.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Without lingering, she turned and exited.

—--

When Nevena scrunched awake in the evening, all her fevers were gone, she looked around and the room felt starkly empty.

Antonio was gone.

No laptop — no suit, her chest rose inside her, and she rolled her legs to the floor.

“Mr Hunt!” she called, almost a whisper— no answer.

She picked stride and shoved the bathroom door open, only to meet a peculiar emptiness.

“Did he leave already?” Her thoughts sank. Unrelenting, she checked the living room and the kitchen— nothing.

Emptiness downplayed her thought, she turned and strode back to her room.

“Such a strange character” she flushed her lashes, blinking away the sting in her eyes.

Instead of going back to bed, she went to sit at the dresser.

On the mirror, something caught her eye — a note propped against the mirror:

Pick-up message from Antonio.

“Date’s by eight— I will pick you up on the dot”

For some seconds, her brain tried to digest the information before her, but it couldn't.

The doorbell buzzed sharply, and she jerked back to reality, darting her gaze toward the living room.

The jarring vibration came again and she reached for the nearest cover and cladded around, rushing to get the door.

“Good evening, ma’am — package for you,” the delivery man greeted, even before she fully opened the door.

“Evening” she murmured , trying to hide the downcast facial. Her expectations were just crumpled.

He slid his register forward with a pen. “Sign here, please.”

“Um— I didn't really order anything.” she aired her thoughts.

“Oh— let me recheck the address,” he said, scanning his sheet.

“No, ma’am. This address was used in making the purchase. We were instructed to deliver it here.”

“That's strange.” she squinted, still unable to make up her mind.

“Ma'am please if you wouldn't mind” the guy stretched the clipped register to her again. “Sign— I really need to go.”

Reluctantly she signed and a medium sized wrapped box was handed to her.

She shut the door and carried it back to her room, dropping it on her bed.

One thought anchored her to rip it open and see the content, but the other dissuaded her.

Not caring less, she abandoned it and hurried to the bathroom.

As she stepped out, her phone buzzed aloud, like it had been waiting.

Immediately she saw the name displayed on the screen, her mood lit up instantly. “You didn't tell me you —”

“I'm already at your curb” Antonio cut in impatiently, engine purring in the background.

“That must be a joke,” Nevena breathed, scrambling.

“Check your time.”

His horn blared outside; headlights flooded at her window directly.

She pulled the phone away and checked— her eyes widened, eight o’clock on the dot.

“Give me some minutes — I will pick something to wear” she rasped.

“Didn’t the gown fit?” he asked.

“Gown?”

“Yes — I arranged delivery. You didn’t get it?”

“I’ll meet you outside,” she blurted, hanging up and lunging at the box.

Within five minutes she was dressed.

She straightened and her reflection came into full view.

The gown was midnight silk — molding to her torso like poured shadow, cinching her waist before cascading over her hips in a liquid sweep.

The neckline framed her collarbones with quiet seduction, and the slit — high, unapologetic — gave the garment a dangerous edge.

She swallowed.

The woman in the mirror didn’t look like someone who had been weak or fevered hours ago.

She twisted her hair into a sleek bun, teasing a few loose strands to soften the edges of her face.

Not wanting the heels to delay her further, she grabbed the pair along with her purse, and made a run.

Antonio was on his phone waiting when he heard her door jam loudly on its frame.

He dropped his phone and started the engine.

Immediately she appeared on his beam lights, he froze — forgetting how to breathe.

She looked like royalty. Someone he had carved with mind guess.

Her shoulders appeared slimmer, posture elongated,

and the subtle shimmer of the fabric deepened the gold undertone of her skin.

Her hair — usually flowing, defiant — was swept into a bun at the back of her head.

But a few loose strands curled against her cheeks, softening the severity of the gown

“Holy fuck,” he muttered, stepping out — voice low, reverent and dangerous. “Mi gusto es impecable {My taste is impeccable}”

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” Nevena chortled, stopping in front of him.

“Not at all” His gaze flicked to his watch — deliberately.

“You walked out on time,” he smirked, meaning more than she understood.

He extended his palm. “Give me the shoes.”

She blinked “Mr Hunt… you don’t have to—”

He dropped to one knee. “I don’t kneel,” he cut her off, “unless it’s for something worth it.”

Without basking words with him, she surrendered the shoes.

He slid the heels onto her feet with precision, like he had done it before.

“I never told you my shoe or body size,” she began as he fastened the first buckle. “How did you guess it right?”

A smirk ghosted his lips for some seconds. His touch was proprietary — as he slid the second heel into place, securing the buckle.

“Talent,” he murmured, guiding her foot down gently —

like he was setting a priceless jewel onto velvet.

“If you’re ready,” his voice dipped, steel and promise entwined, “we leave.”

She nodded automatically, and he stood— guiding her to the car,

opening the door like she was something he owned.

When she was settled, he rounded the hood, slid into the driver’s seat and pulled away.

For thirty minutes, silence coated the car, until he cleared his throat— voice smooth and lethal.

“Do you still intend to leave New Mexico?”