𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 90 : 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚'𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬°°°

An hour later….

The visiting room smelled of stale coffee and old sweat. Antonio sat cuffed to the metal table, wrists raw, shirt still stiff with dried river water and Nevena’s blood.

His face was stone—eyes fixed on the scuffed linoleum as he awaited his visitor.

The door opened quietly and revealed Grinch, alone. He stood in the doorway a long moment before stepping inside the holding cell.

The door clicked shut behind him. Just two men who’d grown up bleeding together.

He didn’t speak at first, he just looked at Antonio— trying to recognize someone he used to know. Cuffed wrists, blood-stiff shirt, this man before him was different.

“You signed it,” he said at last. The words came out quiet, almost careful, like he was afraid saying them too loud would make them real. “No lawyer. No call. Nothing.”

Antonio didn’t lift his head.

“We had everything lined up,” Grinch continued, voice dropping lower. “He offered Malaysia for your extraction route. Clean affidavit. And you—” He slammed a palm on the table hard enough to rattle the cuffs. “—you call Breanna? You hand yourself over to her like some lovesick rookie?”

He leaned in, knuckles white on the table edge. “We made a big sacrifice, how could you throw it all away for a woman who doesn’t even know half of what you are.”

Antonio still didn't say a thing.

“Tsk! Tsk” Grinch spat, gesturing vaguely at him, at the invisible weight on him. “No lawyer. No consultation. You foolishly signed the statement.”

Antonio finally looked up. Slow. Tired. “Where’s Nevena?”

Grinch stopped breathing for half a second. Then he laughed—a short, bitter sound that died in his throat.

Straightening, he stepped back, rubbed a hand over his face like he was trying to wipe away the mare.

“I just knew it,” he said quietly. “I just knew the first thing you would say to me was going to be her. Sober up man, she's going to be the end of you.”

Antonio met his eye squarely. “I insist, where is she?”

Grinch stared at him—really stared—like he was looking at a stranger wearing his best friend’s face.

“University Medical,” he said at last, voice flat. “She’s out of surgery, last I heard. She lost blood, but they caught it in time. They’re keeping her sedated for the next twelve hours.”

Antonio’s shoulders dropped half an inch. The only sign he’d been holding his breath.

Grinch watched the small motion, and something in his expression cracked—anger giving way to something heavier. Disappointment so deep it looked like grief.

“You’re done, Antonio,” he said softly. “You know that, right?”

Antonio nodded once. “I know.”

Grinch kept his eyes glued for another long moment. Then he turned toward the door, shoulders tight.

Before he left, he paused, hand on the frame. “Your trial is scheduled tomorrow. Don’t ask me to watch you go to the gallows for her.”

For a second the room was perfectly still. Then Antonio exhaled—a long, ragged sound. “No. Just make sure she is alive.”

Grinch didn't answer, he just let the door close softly behind him.

--------

☆☆𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭☆☆

By 8:00 the next morning, the courtroom doors were already open. Sunlight sliced through the high windows, catching dust motes in the heavy air.

The gallery was packed—air thick with anticipation and the faint scent of old varnish. Reporters, detectives, a few silent men in dark suits who didn’t take notes. Everyone knew what was coming.

Antonio was led in last, around 8:15— black-crusted suit which Grinch sent, cuffs in front, he walked with the same unhurried stride he’d always had that always unnerved people. No slump. No fear. Just quiet, dangerous calm.

The Judge’s gavel fell once, sharp. “State v. Hunt. The prosecutor has entered a serial killer enhancement to the charges on Mr Hunt. We proceed to hearing.”

The prosecutor rose—young, sharp, riding the wave of a career-defining win.

“Your Honor, the state calls Detective Breanna Stewart, lead investigator on this case.”

Breanna took the stand without glancing at Antonio. She swore in and began, words measured and lethal. “Over the past three months I've meticulously built an airtight case against Antonio Hunt, starting with the murder of my late supervisor, Captain Morgan. His murder and fire outbreak which was indirectly linked to Antonio and his short arrest.”

She paused, letting the revelation land.

“Captain Morgan’s personal journals expressed serious doubts about Hunt’s authenticity, but his death ended that investigation. The circumstances landed on my desk—and I picked up where he left off. Your Honor— I must say, this investigation is fueled solely by his assumptions, no personal grudges.”

“Okay— continue.”

“During the course of my investigation, I personally documented financial records showing Mr Hunt laundered over $180 million through casino and hotel companies he controlled. I have intercepted communications linking him to arms trafficking, and multi-state narcotics distribution.”

As Breanna listed her account, the prosecutor passed exhibits to the clerk; the judge flipped through photos of Antonio with Victor Loa and Cesar— undeniable images of the two most notorious Arab arms dealers in the hemisphere.

“—you might think that is all, Your honour” She paused and took in a shallow breath. “Here's the popper, Resources and eye witness has attributed this same Mr. Hunt to being the infamous Blade Knuckles… the nightmare of Enchanted Hills."

“What an allegation” The judge furrowed a brow. “Are you sure about this?. Does the prosecutor have evidence to support this claim?”

“Yes, Your Honour” the prosecutor half-nodded, handing over a sealed file.

“Blade Knuckled brass recovered from his latest scene, Sombra Azul, bore his DNA, though no other linkages but the trench knife goes a long way in this case, moreover my Client has eye witness who saw Hunt slit John Willow's throat and push the body into the mountain fire pit”

He paused and curled a brow at Breanna, and she gave a curt nod. “That’s all, Your Honor.”

The judge nodded and turned to the defense table. “Counselor Mateo, do you have anything to say before the state calls its next witness?”

Mateo stood—tall, and immaculate, the best defense attorney in three states. He had defended politicians, billionaires and had never lost a death-penalty case. Until today, perhaps.

He buttoned his suit jacket once. “Your Honor,” he said quietly, “my client instructed me not to offer mitigation. He instructed me not to call character witnesses or argue for leniency until he says so.”

A low ripple ran through the courtroom. “Order,” the bailiff called and silence returned.

The prosecutor curled back on his chair with the air of a man who had already won.

“Interesting!” The judge leaned forward. “Does your client understand he has the right to drag every witness through cross-examination and also present a defense?”

“He is fully aware,” Mateo replied with a small, sad smile. “However, he has chosen silence. He gave me one instruction to place on the record, and I will honor it.”

The judge stared for a long moment, then sighed.

“As you wish.”

Breanna returned to her seat, victory heavy in her chest. Statistically she was winning. Yet Antonio’s silence was making it taste like ash.

The prosecutor took the floor again. “Your Honor, the state would like to present eyewitness testimony from Liza Minnelli, mother of victim John Minnelli.”

“Permission granted.”

.