𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 89 : 𝐒𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐀 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐲.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚’𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬°°°

Antonio’s world narrowed to the wet heat spreading across his chest. He looked down at Nevena’s face, hand pressing to her arm, but blood seeped between his fingers.

He shoved her behind the nearest bridge support—rusted I-beam. Then he spun, drawing his concealed Glock in the same motion.

“Hold fire! Hold—!” Breanna shouted, but it was too late. Fresh rounds chambered with a click.

He shifted his weight, eyes meeting the three people who had just made the worst mistake of their lives. “You want Knuckles?” he said quietly. “Come and get me.”

He fired three quick, precise shots. Vincenzo’s lead man dropped. Another staggered while Cesar hissed at his grazed shoulder.

The shooting exploded in earnest, both the police and goons. When Antonio saw that the two forces were closing in sporadically, he scooped Nevena’s limp weight and vaulted the railing, hitting the river like a fist.

On the bridge, the gunfire stuttered to confusion.

Everyone rushed to the railing but they were gone. Just churning current and drifting mix of crimson.

Up there went still for a while, except for the wind and the distant groan of settling metal.

Then Vincenzo’s eyes slid to Breanna. “Just like I presumed, that woman is his leverage,” he said softly. “The one thing that makes Blade Knuckles bleed.”

“Find a boat” Cesar snarled, “That bastard’s getting away” His men slid in perfect unison to look for one. Breanna and her team also matched the motion.

--------

Miles downstream, where the current finally relented against the rocky shore of Sangre de Cristo, Antonio dragged them both onto the bank.

He laid Nevena across a flat boulder, water streaming from her clothes, blood mixing with river silt.

“Nina.” He cupped her face, thumb smearing wet hair from her forehead. “Look at me.” Her eyelids twitched once, then cracked open— glassy and unfocused.

“There you are,” he breathed, voice rough as gravel.

She tried to speak but only a wet cough came out, pink foam at the corner of her mouth.

He pressed his palm to the bullet hole in her arm— but blood kept coming— steady, despite the pressure. The river had washed most of it away, but now, on dry stone, it pooled dark beneath her.

“Tourist,” he called, sharper this time.“Stay with me,”

Though she nodded, her eyes drifted shut. Panic clawed up his throat —cold and familiar, the same he’d felt the night his mother died before his eyes.

“Nina.” he called again, and her head lolled sideways. Andrenaline coursed him to slap her cheek. But he got no response.

“Open your eyes”, he slapped harder than the first, and her eyes cracked open. “Keep looking at me” he ordered, low and fierce. “You don’t get to leave me. Not now.”

She heard his command, but she couldn't reply to him. She fought hard to keep her two eyes open, but each rise of her chest was weaker than the last.

He ripped open her shirt and inspected the wound, if it were him, he’d dig the slug out with a knife, cauterize the edges with a lighter, wrap it tight, and keep moving. He’d done it a dozen times before and survived.

But this wasn’t him. This was a woman —soft skin, fragile veins, no tolerance for shock or blood loss. One wrong move she'd get infected and worse still, she’d bleed out on this rock before help arrived.

“Fuck! I can't risk it” his voice cracked. He couldn’t bring himself to gamble her life, experimenting.

His free hand fumbled into his sodden coat pocket, and he fished his phone. He dialed Grinch who answered instantly.

“Bastard.” His voice was flat, laced with something dangerously close to vow. “You’re still alive. How disappointing.”

“Cut the shit,” Antonio snapped, low and rough. “She’s hit. Shoulder. Bleeding bad.”

There was a beat of silence, then Grinch asked, although knowing the answer. “Is she with you?”

“Yes” Antonio choked more. “Almost slipping into unconsciousness. Help me.”

“Calms. Can she hold on for up to one hour?.”

“No.” Antonio shook his head. “For fuck sake, she's a dame{woman}, not one of us ”

“Stay put” Grinch exhaled. “Twenty minutes, and I will get back to you.”

With that the call ended.

He looked down at Nevena— her lips faintly blue. Instinctively, he shifted closer, pressed his forehead to hers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words tasting like salt, his tears. “I should’ve let you go long ago. Should’ve never fallen for you in the first place.”

He pulled her against his chest, kept pressure on the wound and used his body heat to fight her creeping cold.

He needn't check the time, because Grinch called again, “Man! Clifford said no back-alley clinic’s around. You gotta keep to the extraction, Breanna's closing—.”

Antonio cut the call, his safety wasn’t worth her pulse. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this.

His chest rose once and he scrolled to the only number he never thought he’d dial voluntarily. He hit the dialer and placed it on his ear.

It rang twice and she picked up on the third. “What do you want?”

“Bring your cuffs”

There was a short, stunned silence. Then Breanna exhaled through her nose—almost a laugh. “You’re surrendering?”

“I’m trading her for me,” he corrected. “She needs a hospital. Now. Not in six hours.”

He could almost see her weighing it— victory, leverage, the clean collar she’d wanted for months.

“You think I’ll—”

“Bring only police,” he cut in, voice dropping colder. “No cartel. No Vincenzo. No Cesar. If I see one wrong face, I finish it myself. Then come for you next.”

“You’re in no position to make demands.” Breanna’s tone hardened.

“I started it, so I’m in the right position to end everything,” he said. “Your choice Shamus. One ambulance, your team, cuffs for me. Or a war you can’t win.”

“Location?”

Antonio glanced at the jagged shoreline, the bend of the river, the distant silhouette of the old railroad trestle half a mile upstream. “Sangre de Cristo east bank. Mile marker 17 off the old 502 spur. Big flat boulder shaped like a table. Hurry.”

“I will be there. We’re three minutes out. If you move or disappear, I’ll make sure every hospital in three states knows she’s cartel property. She won’t get a bed, rather a morgue drawer.”

Antonio’s jaw flexed. “You don't have to remind me.”