𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 98: 𝐈'𝐦 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐞

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚’𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬°°°

The chief security led them down a corridor that whispered wealth. Marble floors. Dim sconces.

He stopped before a door of grey wood. Pressed a code into a panel beside it. The lock clicked.

"Mr. Hunt's private waiting room," he announced, stepping aside. "He'll be informed of your presence immediately upon arrival."

Nevena walked in without thanking him.

Junior followed, briefcase in hand. The door closed behind them—soft, final.

The room was dressed in glamour. Deep leather chairs. A decanter on a side table. Heavy curtains drawn against the morning. One door and no telephone.

Nevena stood in the center, arms crossed, staring at him. The suit. The briefcase. The contact card. For a split second, he looked like a miniature of Antonio.

"How do you even have that card?"

Junior touched his breast pocket. "Buddy gave it to me after I met him about your court case. Told me if I ever needed him—really needed him—to call, not to run to his house at midnight."

Nevena's stomach turned. Junior really needed someone to watch his back.

The boy set his briefcase on the low table and sat. "Did we arrive too early? He seems to be running late."

Nevena didn't respond. She counted the seconds on the antique clock across the room. Anything to avoid thinking about where she was or who owned it.

Minutes later, footsteps echoed. Heavy. Measured. She didn't look up—she already knew who walked with so much authority.

Junior straightened. Anxiety. But the door didn't open immediately. A murmured voice whizzed on the other side. Then the lock turned.

The door swung inward, and the targeted individual filled the frame.

Nevena looked up and felt it like a hand around her throat. Dark suit. Knife-edge tie. Sleeves buttoned neatly. His frame seemed taller than she remembered.

Antonio's eyes appeared flat—until they landed on Junior.

"Junior." His voice was low, unhurried. "You should have called first."

"Bestie doesn't have a phone." Junior nodded toward Nevena. "And you wouldn't have picked up if you saw an unknown number."

Antonio's gaze moved to Nevena. Lingered for half a second. Dismissed. Trailed back to the boy. "You brought company."

"I needed an alibi for this business." Junior didn't smile.

Antonio stepped inside, and the door closed behind him. Grinch and the other men remained outside—shadows through the frosted glass.

"Last time I saw you, you were just a boy." A pause. "Now you're in my building. In a suit. Tell me what you brought, Buddy."

Junior met his eyes. "My mother's in trouble."

"I know." Antonio moved past them both, sat in the chief chair, and crossed his legs. "Sit down, sir."

Junior sat, waited for the silence to stretch, then continued. "She's stubborn and won't ask you for help."

"I know that too." Antonio smirked. "Typical Detective Breanna Stewart."

"So I'm asking for her."

Antonio exhaled deeply and leaned forward. "You're a young gentleman, so I'll say this plainly." He turned, picked up a portfolio, and slid it to Junior. "I'm a businessman. I don't have any involvement with the police. And I don't rescue people who are facing panel judgment. My network is limited—"

"I know." Junior cut in, impatient. "But judging by your immense reputation, you must have a clean slate with the higher authorities. And besides, I learned she got into trouble for arresting you."

The word hit Antonio's ear like a gunshot. His face went blank.

Junior didn't understand the impact of his words. "I know convincing you won't be cheap, so I brought something treasured deeply by me."

Antonio blinked, aghast at the little boy's display. "Show me."

Junior opened his briefcase and turned it toward Antonio.

Inside were rows of shells. Old. New. Unique. Worn at the edges.

"Shells?" Antonio's expression didn't change, but his hand moved mid-reach. "Shouldn't these be in your collection?"

"They should." Junior's voice was steady. "But no treasure is greater than my mom's freedom. You can keep them all as payment."

Antonio picked one up and stared at it. Intently.

Nevena watched the exchange—a full-grown adult and a six-year-old boy. She couldn't understand why Antonio was dragging out this negotiation. But she saw his thumb trace the edge. His throat moved, and it made her chest constrict.

Antonio's jaw tightened. He set the shell down. Looked at Junior. "You understand what you're asking me to do?"

"Save my mother."

"And you think these shells are enough for my service?" Antonio's voice was professional. "I'm a top businessman. Expensive."

"I know." Junior nodded, trying to hold back a sob—which he couldn't. "Save my mummy, and I promise to pay back the remaining f*e by working for you after my graduation."

Antonio sprang at his outpouring and turned to Nevena. "You know about this."

It wasn't a question.

Nevena met his eyes. Chaos. "I know nothing about this."

"Bestie knows nothing about this," Junior sniffled to her defense. "I only asked her to follow me."

Antonio's gaze held hers. Too long. Doubt. A call rang in his pocket, easing the tension. He picked up and turned back to the boy. "Your cabman is creating a scene outside my property."

The room shrank. Realization. Nevena looked down and prayed for shame to swallow her.

"We don't have money," Junior slithered.

Antonio disconnected the call and sighed heavily. Staring at the two, he dug for his wallet and handed Junior a card. "Go pay."

Junior closed his briefcase, slipped off the chair, and walked to the door. One of Antonio's men opened it from the other side and led him out.

Nevena made to follow, but the door clicked shut on her. Silence followed. She didn't turn around.

"You shouldn't be here." His voice was low.

"Junior needed—"

"I don't care what he needs." His voice rose. Rough. "I told you. Don't come looking for me."

Nevena turned. Forced herself to hold his gaze. "Junior is more important. You don't get to tell me what to do."

A muscle jumped in his jaw. Jealousy—or something bigger. He crossed the room in three strides. Stopped inches from her. "What did you say?"

She didn't back up, but her heart was a war drum. "I'm not here for me. I'm here for my boy."

"Is that right?" Antonio laughed. No humor. "Defying my warning too."

His hand came up—not to touch her. To brace against the wall beside her head. Caging her without contact.

"I'm sorry." Nevena's voice softened against her will. "But Breanna is the only family Junior has. And she's going down. Please. You're the only one who can stop it."

He shook his head. "Monsters aren't supposed to save people.”