Author Pov :

The clock ticked past 12:03 Am.

Six long, merciless hours since his flight had taken off.

And yet nothing.

The living room, once lively with chatter and laughter in the morning, now in silence.

Saanvi sat on the floor, her back resting against the side of the sofa, her knees pulled to her chest.

Her phone sat beside her .

Her bindi was slightly off-center. Her neatly draped saree now wrinkled from the way she'd collapsed earlier. Her fingers trembled around the edge of her pallu that she kept pressing to her lips, as if holding herself from breaking into a fresh wave of sobs.

Across the room, Kiara, who usually never sat still, had stopped pacing only to sit and fiddle with her phone in pure frustration.

"I swear," she muttered, "if that idiot prank caller ever shows up in front of me, I will turn him into paneer pakoda and serve him in the next family dinner."

That was her way of coping.

Anger first.

Emotions later.

Her mother in law sat near Saanvi, gently rubbing her back, trying her best to stay strong.

Chachi ji returned from the kitchen with a small silver plate holding a roti, some dal, and a few soft-cooked potatoes.

"Beta, at least one bite," Chachi ji whispered, kneeling beside her. "He'll scold me if he finds out you fainted out of hunger."

But Saanvi didn't budge.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the TV, where the visuals from the crash were now on repeat the same burning wreckage, the same loud news anchor speaking over blurry images.

Her throat burned. Her lips were parched. Her stomach had long forgotten hunger only the ache of fear remained.

Her mother in law sighed, pulling out her phone again. "Let me try Abhiman once more."

She dialed.

Nothing.

"No network. Or maybe he switched it off. He never does that unless," Her voice trailed off.

Kiara stood again, slapping her forehead dramatically. "Why do men behave like heroes? Why can't they carry an extra power bank or a second phone or maybe even learn to text Alive. Safe. Breathing. Just three words. That's it."

She wasn't wrong.

But no one laughed.

Not yet.

Saanvi's lips trembled. "He promised he'd call. He never breaks a promise. Never".

Her mother in law gently pulled her into her lap.

"Beta, I've seen your Rajveer since he was in school. That boy doesn't fall, he fights. And he always comes back. Always."

Saanvi sniffled, her voice breaking. "But this time he's not back."

Kiara, trying to lighten the mood, knelt beside her. "Okay, I know Bhai's dramatic. But he's also too obsessed with you to go anywhere far. Honestly, even Yamraj would send him back just to stop him from flirting with the apsaras."

A small, weak laugh bubbled from Saanvi's throat.

Just one.

But it was a start.

"You think he's flirting with some angel up there right now?" she asked, voice barely audible.

Kiara shrugged. "Knowing Bhai, probably told her 'Nice wings, baby, but you should see my wife in a saree'."

Even Chachi ji chuckled softly at that.

Her mother in law shook her head, eyes filled with tears and affection. "He might flirt with the world, but he lives for you, beta. And if I know my son he'll call you the second he can."

Saanvi slowly leaned back, closing her eyes. Her head throbbed, her body heavy with exhaustion.

But for now only silence answered.

The news was still playing in the background, muted now, but the visuals the smoke, the wreckage, the reporters swarming the crash site remained etched on everyone's mind.

She hadn't moved from the floor.

Her back was still pressed against the couch. Her eyes, slightly swollen from crying, stayed blank and fixed on the floor.

Across from her, Kiara had given up pretending to be fine.

She slumped beside her bhabhi with a pout on her face, her arms wrapped around her knees. "You know what? This silence is making me feel like I'm in a horror movie. Any minute now a ghost will pop out and say, No one gets the Wi-Fi password until you eat".

Saanvi didn't react.

Her silence had become thicker than the air around them.

Just then, Chachi ji returned from the kitchen again as she walked in with two thalis home food.

She paused in the doorway, assessing the mood like a seasoned mother does, then gently placed one thali in front of Kiara, and the other before Saanvi.

"Here. No one leaves this room without finishing this. Even ghosts need strength to cry," she added with a fake serious tone, placing her hands on her hips.

Kiara smiled weakly and took a small bite of the roti, chewing slowly.

But Saanvi simply looked away.

"No, Chachi, please I can't."

Chachi ji didn't reply immediately.

She simply knelt beside her and, with the patience only a mother figure could have, tore a small piece of the roti, dipped it in dal, and held it near her lips.

"You won't eat?" she asked sweetly. "Then let's call Rajveer and tell him his wife is trying to win the Best Drama Queen Award by fasting."

Kiara snorted. "And the award goes to Mrs. Rajawat, for crying, collapsing, and starving herself like a 90s movie heroine."

She blinked.

Just a flicker.

But the ghost of a smile tried to escape her lips.

"I'm not starving," she murmured softly.

"Then open your mouth," Chachi said, waving the bite near her lips like feeding a toddler.

"Noi"

"Open it or I'll tell everyone that Dr. Saanvi Rajawat, Udaipur's top heart surgeon, cried so much she clogged her tear ducts."

Kiara burst into laughter.

She covered her mouth, trying not to laugh, but a small giggle escaped.

Finally.

Chachi grinned . "Aha ,there's that smile. Now open up before I feed you like I used to feed Dhruv when he was five with airplane noises."

Kiara joined in. "Zoom zoom... here comes the roti-plane".

"Oh my God," Saanvi groaned, laughing despite herself. "You guys are horrible."

But she opened her mouth.

One bite.

Then another.

And with every small bite, the weight in the room lifted just a little.

Her mother in law watching from the couch, sighed in silent relief.

She knew this wasn't the end of her pain. But it was a beginning a moment where the light cracked through her darkness, just enough to remind her she wasn't alone.

As Kiara fed her another piece with exaggerated care, she whispered, "You'll see. That idiot Bhai is probably flirting with some airport staff and forgot to charge his phone. When he calls, I'm going to yell at him for ruining your makeup."

Saanvi chuckled, wiping her nose with her pallu. "Let him come back first. Then I'll break his head."

Chachi ji nodded. "Good. That's the spirit."

The plates now sat half-empty, but the silence had finally shifted.

Kiara, having finished her food, wiped her hands dramatically with a tissue and announced with a smirk, "Okay, Now that Bhabhi has stopped behaving like Devdas's long-lost sister, it's time for some premium-level distraction therapy."

Saanvi narrowed her eyes at her mischievous sister-in-law. "What now?"

Kiara dashed to the small bookshelf tucked in the living room corner and returned with a old leather-bound photo album.

Saanvi blinked. "What's that?"

"The greatest collection of Rajveer Singh Rajawat's embarrassing childhood photos," Kiara said proudly, flipping it open and plopping down beside her bhabhi.

Chachi ji laughed, settling on the other side. "Oh god, not this album again. Your Bhai would faint if he knew you showed this to Saanvi."

"Too late," Kiara sang sweetly, "Come on, Bhabhi. Let's destroy whatever cool image you have of your husband before he calls back."

The first page opened to a picture of little Rajveer, around five years old, his cheeks round and stuffed with laddoo, eyes wide with mischief, and his nose covered in what looked suspiciously like chocolate.

Saanvi let out a soft laugh genuine this time.

"Oh my God, he looked like a squirrel".

Kiara smirked, "A very greedy squirrel. Bhai once stole all the kaju katli at Diwali and hid them under the bed. Mumma found them after three days. He said he was 'saving them from ghosts'."

Chachi ji chuckled, adding, "And cried for two hours when we threw them away."

They flipped through more pages tiny Raj dressed as Krishna, Raj in a horribly oversized school uniform, Raj crying next to a birthday cake because Kiara had blown out his candles first.

Each picture brought more smiles.

Even Saanvi, who had just an hour ago wept until her breath hitched, now laughed so freely that her eyes gleamed.

But then

A page turned.

And a photo slipped slightly from the plastic sleeve.

Kiara paused.

It was a grainy but clear picture a boy who was definitely Raj maybe nine or ten but beside him was a little girl around seven.

Same sharp jawline. Same eyes. Same smile, only softer.

Saanvi tilted her head. "Who's that?"

Chachi ji and Kiara exchanged a glance just a flicker of something unreadable.

Kiara laughed it off too quickly. "Oh just one of his cousins. Some family trip photo from ages ago."

Saanvi frowned. "But she looks just like him".

Chachi quickly closed the album and stood up with a smile too forced. "That's enough photos for today. You needs rest."

Saanvi raised an eyebrow, but before she could press more, Kiara pulled her back into lightness.

"Let's do something fun," she said, pushing the album aside, "I'll do your hair like those glamorous saree influencers. You'll forget every tension".

But as the girls settled back into teasing and styling

A thought lingered quietly in Saanvi's mind.

That girl in the photo.

She didn't just look like Raj.

She felt like a mirror.

A shadow.

Someone who wasn't just a cousin someone no one wanted to talk about.

And the way they shut the album so quickly it wasn't natural.

She didn't ask again.

But her heart filed the photo away, silently curious.

As the laughter from the photo album slowly settled into warm murmurs.

Kiara had somehow managed to braid half of Saanvi's hair before giving up entirely and declaring it "Too pretty to mess with".

while Chachi ji went to put the album away, still chuckling about Rajveer's tantrums as a kid.

Just then, her mother in law walked into the living room holding a bowl of fruit, the kind she always offered when someone was emotionally drained.

She placed it in front of Saanvi and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Saanvi, beta," she said softly, "Just a little. You've hardly eaten."

Saanvi smiled weakly, touched by the motherly warmth. "Thoda sa, Mummy ji. Only for you."

As she reached forward to pick a grape, the edge of her saree's pallu slipped from her shoulder ever so slightly, just enough for a faint purplish mark on her collarbone.

Her mother in law paused.

And squinted.

Then she straightened up, her tone dry as desert sand, "Yeh kya hai? Koi macchar ne kaata ya tumhaare pati ne?"

Saanvi blinked. "Huh?"

Chachi ji, who was just returning from the hallway, let out a loud gasp. "HAWWW! Didi spotted the Rajawat signature".

Saanvi flushed instantly, yanking her pallu up so fast it nearly knocked the fruit bowl off the table. "It's nothing it's just maybe I scratched myself".

Kiara fell to the floor, laughing. "Bhabhi, Don't lie to Mumma That's a certified Rajveer Singh Rajawat Hickey Stamp".

Chachi ji fanned her face dramatically. "He left you for one month, but not before leaving a souvenir".

Even her mother in law couldn't help the amused smile tugging at her lips.

She crossed her arms, giving her daughter-in-law a playful glare. "All Rajawat men are the same. They go to work, they go on trips but before leaving, they make sure their wife remembers them properly."

Saanvi looked like she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole. "Mummy ji! Don't say that".

But her mother-in-law just rolled her eyes like the queen of sass. "Don't act innocent. I raised Rajveer. I know how dramatic he is. Your neck is proof he didn't go quietly."

Chachi ji snorted. "Iss ghar mein koi bhi narm dil romantic pati nahi hai. Sab possessive, dramatic aur certified shameless".

"Agreed," Kiara said with a grin. "Dhruv says he wants a wife like Bhabhi, but I guarantee he'll also become a part-time poet and full-time jealous husband."

Her mother in law sat down with a sigh, shaking her head. " Your generation makes so much noise about love. In our time, your father-in-law would just give a stare, and I'd start cooking his favourite sabzi".

Chachi ji laughed. "Aur yeh wale stare se pehle ek choti si pyaar ki nishani bhi mil jaati thi na, didi?".

Saanvi groaned and buried her face in her hands. "I should've worn a turtleneck today."

Kiara patted her back dramatically. "Too late. Now you must live with the consequences of dating bhai".

As the room burst into a fresh wave of teasing laughter, Saanvi couldn't help but giggle through her embarrassment.

The room slowly quieted again.

The laughter that had just filled the space minutes ago now echoed like a memory as the silence crept in, soft but heavy.

Saanvi sat curled up at the corner of the couch, her head resting on a cushion, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the edge of her saree pallu. Her smile had faded, lips now trembling slightly as her eyes flickered again toward her phone.

7 hours.

It had been seven hours since Raj boarded that flight.

And he still hadn't called.

No "I landed."

No "I'm safe."

Not even a cheeky, over-the-top text with a winking emoji and a shameless "Miss me yet, jaan?"

Nothing.

Just an aching silence.

Kiara, who had noticed the sudden drop in Saanvi's expression, gently placed the phone back down and moved closer. "Bhabhi "

But She didn't speak.

Her eyes were already shimmering, lashes damp as a lone tear escaped, trailing silently down her cheek.

She swiped it away quickly, trying to smile like it was nothing. "He must be busy. maybe his phone isn't charged."

His mother in law placed a soft hand on her shoulder. "He's a responsible man, beta. Wherever he is, he'll call. But if he hasn't yet maybe it's because something important came up. Don't think the worst."

Saanvi gave a tiny nod, but her heart was far from convinced.

She had never gone more than a couple hours without hearing his voice whether it was a possessive rant, a flirtatious murmur.

But today

There was only silence.

And silence felt more frightening than anything else.

"I told him not to go," she whispered brokenly, her voice barely audible. "I begged him to stay just a little longer and now".

Kiara hugged her tightly from the side. "Bhabhi, don't think like that. Bhai is strong. He's Rajveer freakin' Singh Rajawat. He probably made a dramatic entry somewhere, forgot his phone in the car, and is busy threatening someone over Wi-Fi issues."

Chachi ji walked in just then, overhearing the tail-end of the conversation.

She placed a plate down on the table and said cheerfully, trying to shift the mood, "Honestly, if Raj doesn't call soon, I swear I'll fly there myself and smack him with a belan."

Even that made Saanvi let out a watery chuckle.

But her eyes still remained on her phone screen, willing it to light up.

Instead, it stayed dark.

Still.

Silent.

Her mother in law exchanged a look with Chachi ji concern.

---🦋

Saanvi's POV

"Beta it's already past midnight," Mummy ji's gentle voice pulled me from my thoughts as she placed her hand over my shoulder. "Look at the clock it's 2 a.m. Please, go rest. And don't worry Raj will call. If not, I'll beat that son of mine for making my daughter cry like this."

She tried to smile, and I even managed a small chuckle but God, it felt hollow.

Because inside, I was breaking.

She cupped my cheek for a second longer, brushing away the tear I hadn't even realized had slipped down.

Then she kissed my forehead and walked away.

Before I could turn, Chachi ji chimed in from behind, "Kia  tonight you sleep with your Bhabhi."

I heard Kiara hum in agreement.

I was too busy holding back the sob that clawed its way up my throat.

We walked to my room together.

Our room.

And the moment I stepped inside, I swear my knees almost gave up.

Because everywhere his scent still lingered

His perfume faint on the pillows, his shirt hung carelessly on the chair.

He said he'd be gone for a month.

But right now?

It already felt like forever.

I changed into my night suit silently, like my body moved on its own, numb and weightless.

Kiara too changed, chatting softly about something maybe trying to distract me. I didn't catch her words. They faded like distant echoes.

And then

Then I looked up.

My gaze landed on the wall.

That photo.

Our wedding picture.

He was holding me close, his arms tight around me in a possessive grip like always, that same stupid smirk on his lips, the one that annoyed me and yet I secretly loved more than anything.

And me?

I was smiling.

A real, honest- o God smile.

Like the world was perfect because it had him in it.

I stared at it for too long.

Too long to hold it in.

Before I knew it, my fingers touched the edge of the frame. They trembled as I whispered, "You said you'd call you promised".

I bit down hard on my lower lip, trying to stop the sob that finally broke free.

And just like that

The dam shattered.

I sank to the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands as the silent cries turned into heart-wrenching sobs.

Tearing.

Like someone had reached into my chest and ripped something out.

I didn't even notice when Kiara rushed to sit beside me, wrapping her arms around me tightly.

"Bhabhi," her voice cracked too. "He's okay. He's going to call. Please don't cry like this I can't see you like this."

I shook my head, barely able to speak. "It's been hours, Kiara. Even Abhiman bhaiya isn't picking up. What if what if".

"No," she snapped, clutching me tighter. "Don't even think like that. Raj bhai is stronger than anything. He's probably stuck somewhere yelling at people for not having proper network. He's going to come back and tease you like always, okay?"

I wanted to believe her.

God, I did.

But my heart it wouldn't stop racing.

It wouldn't stop fearing the worst.

"Kiara," I whispered brokenly, " What if that was the last time I touched him? What if that was our last hug? What if—"

"Don't," she whispered fiercely, tears in her own eyes now. "You're going to have so many kisses and hugs. He's coming back, Bhabhi. I promise."

I leaned into her arms like a child.

____🦋

Rajveer Pov :

The piercing scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood that still clung to my torn shirt. The lights above buzzed faintly, casting an artificial halo over chaos that surrounded me  my hospital in London, once a pristine private facility I built for emergencies, now transformed into a warzone.

My left brow was split a deep cut above the bone. Blood had dried into a crust down my cheek, and my abs they were a mess of bruises, lacerations, and a gash that ran diagonally across my torso.

My breathing was shallow, ribs aching with every movement, but I was alive.

The door banged open.

Abhiman stormed in, his left arm in a sling, grimacing but very much breathing.

His face was tense, jaw locked.

"Boss," he said, voice low, "someone did this."

I tilted my head slowly, the pain sending a jolt through my body.

My eyes met his.

Cold.

"What do you mean?" I asked, voice sharper than steel.

Abhiman didn't blink. "The crash wasn't mechanical failure. It was planned. Someone messed with the plane systems midair. One of the backup oxygen circuits was tampered. This wasn't coincidence. This was a warning."

I clenched my fists, ignoring the blood oozing from my knuckles. My men were hurt. I was hurt. This wasn't an accident. It was a message. And I didn't take kindly to threats especially not when they involved her.

My phone buzzed violently on the tray beside me, lit up with a dozen missed calls from the one name that twisted my chest with dread.

" Wifey❤️‍🩹"

My weakness

My damn heart.

Abhiman looked at the screen and winced. "Boss Ma'am's calling non-stop."

I didn't move.

Because how the hell was I supposed to answer her?

How could I tell her that her husband the man who promised to always return unscathed was lying on a hospital bed soaked in his own blood?

How could I let her hear my hoarse voice and not break?

The image of her flashed before me her soft hands tracing my jaw every morning, her sleepy eyes filled with nothing but love, her voice always laced with concern, even if I so much as sneezed.

What would she do if she saw me like this?

What would this news do to her?

I'd seen her break once. That memory still haunted me. I couldn't allow her to fall apart again.

Not because of me.

But not answering her?

That was another hell. Because I knew her she'd imagine the worst.

Her anxiety would crush her.

I took a deep breath, the pain slicing through my ribs like a dagger. I reached for the phone with trembling fingers. Hovered over the green button.

Then stopped.

I wasn't scared of death.

I was scared of her tears.

Of the silence on the other side of the phone if she was sobbing too hard to speak.

Of the way she'd whisper, "Raj why didn't you tell me?"

"Boss," Abhiman said softly, reading the war in my eyes, "If you don't call mam she'll be more hurt".

As then the faint echo of footsteps down the corridor pulled me back to the moment.

Lucas Adams

He entered dressed not in the pristine white of hospital protocol, but in black as always. His reputation preceded him in the underworld a phantom in operating rooms, a ghost who fixed what bullets tried to end.

The mafia’s most trusted surgeon.

A younger nurse trailed behind him, her eyes scanning the wreckage of my body before darting away quickly.

She wouldn’t meet my eyes.

Smart girl.

Lucas didn’t ask how I was. He never wasted time on pleasantries.

He moved to the foot of the bed, pulled out a blood-smeared folder, and flipped it open.

"Two fractured ribs," he said coolly, "a deep lateral gash across the abdomen  thankfully missed vital organs. Left brow split, internal bruising. You should be dead, Rajveer."

I smirked, though it sent a ripple of agony through my side. "Yeah, well. Try harder next time."

He didn’t react.

Just nodded to the nurse. "Clean the wounds. Apply the sterile sealant. He’ll need the muscle binding after."

The nurse stepped forward hesitantly, reaching for the hem of my tattered, blood-soaked shirt.

And I growled.

Not like a warning like a fucking beast.

She froze mid-motion, eyes wide.

My voice came low, lethal. "Don’t. Touch. Me."

Her hands trembled.

"This body," I hissed, "is hers. No one else lays a finger on me."

The threat hung thick in the air. I saw the pulse at her throat spike. Her eyes darted to Lucas, silently pleading for direction.

He simply raised a brow and turned, already walking out. "Do as he says. He won’t let anyone touch him. Not since her wife walked into his life."

The nurse scurried out without a word, door clicking shut behind her.

I forced myself to move, pushing off the bed like my bones weren't protesting with every inch. Pain flared through my side, and the stitches threatened to pull apart, but I kept going. Staggered to the attached washroom.

The mirror flickered under the dying bright light as I leaned against the sink, sweat beading down my temple.

I gripped the edge, jaw clenched so hard it ached, and peeled the remains of my shirt away. The blood had dried to the fabric, making every pull a fresh agony.

"Aghhh fuck," I hissed, biting down another scream as I finally bared the mess of my torso.

Her name escaped me like a prayer.

Like a curse.

"Saanvi"

I wasn’t even aware of the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes not from pain, but from the echo of her voice in my memory.

I saw her soft hands pressing against my chest, worrying over the smallest bruise. Her brows furrowed in that way that always made me want to kiss her just to smooth them out.

Her tears they destroyed me more than any bullet ever could.

I grabbed the antiseptic from the counter and poured it directly on the wound.

The burn was immediate. Blinding.

"Aghhh , " I choked out, knees buckling slightly as the pain screamed through me.

But I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t stop.

This pain it grounded me. Reminded me I was still breathing. Still standing. That I still had a reason to fight.

I finished patching myself, chest heaving, vision blurred.

I stared at my reflection. Bloodied. Bruised. Broken.

"FUCK!"

The scream ripped from my throat as the medicine touched the deepest cut along my ribs. My hand slammed against the sink as the pain surged.

I doubled over slightly, breath ragged, sweat trickling down my neck in rivulets.

The door creaked open behind me.

"Boss? You alright?"

Abhiman.

His voice was cautious careful, like he knew I was two seconds away from breaking anything that moved.

I didn’t answer.

Just kept wiping the blood away with a shaking hand, jaw clenched so hard I could taste iron.

I heard his footsteps approach, slow but steady. I could feel his eyes on the wreckage of my back, the long gash slicing across my ribs, the bruises .

He stopped a foot away.

Knew better than to come closer.

"Abhiman," I muttered, voice like gravel as I straightened with effort, still facing the mirror, still seeing only her eyes in my mind, her panic, her tears.

I scrubbed at the wound again, ignoring the flash of pain.

"So? Any news?"

A pause.

Then his voice dropped lower, heavier.

"Yes. Intel came through. You were right."

I met his eyes in the mirror.

"They planned it. Confirmed. The flight logs were tampered with. Oxygen feeds rerouted, emergency backup disabled. And," he hesitated, jaw tightening, "someone at the airstrip helped them. Inside job."

My fingers went still.

An inside job.

That meant betrayal.

That meant someone I fed.

I turned around slowly, pain be damned.

Abhiman flinched when he saw the full extent of the wound on my ribs. The bruising around my abdomen. The dark, raw line of sutures across my torso.

"We have names?" I asked, voice razor-sharp.

"Not yet. But we’ve narrowed it down to three."

"Good," I said.

Then I smiled.

It was a death sentence.

"Leak false intel to all three. Something small. A meeting location. A shipment route. A bank account."

I stepped forward, grabbing a clean towel and wrapping it tight around my side, wincing as I moved. The burn was relentless.

"Whoever bites," I continued, "dies screaming."

Abhiman nodded, his expression grim. "Understood."

But I wasn’t done.

I walked past him, blood still trickling beneath the towel, footsteps steady despite the agony in every limb. The air in the corridor was thick with silence, the kind that comes before a storm.

"And Abhiman?"

"Yes, Boss?"

I turned slightly, meeting his gaze.

"Lock down every route. I want surveillance at every hospital, airstrip, safe house. We’re being hunted but they forgot".

My eyes darkened like nightfall.

"we bite harder."

He gave a tight nod, and I watched him walk away, already pulling out his phone, already sending orders.

I exhaled shakily. Looked down at the dried blood on my fingers. Her name almost slipped again from my lips, but I swallowed it this time.

And I had one rule you don’t start something you can’t finish.

And now?

I was going to end it.

Abhiman silently handed me a clean black shir I took it and winced as I slipped it over the bandaged wound on my ribs.

We made our way back to the private VIP suite my room custom-built into the upper level of the hospital. Bulletproof glass, encrypted surveillance, three security layers.

My emergency fortress.

I sank onto the bed slowly, stiff but controlled, muscles tight under the shirt.

Abhiman pulled up a sleek laptop, placed it on the bedside table, and flipped it open.

"Boss. You need to see this."

He turned the screen toward me. A photograph grainy, timestamped, but damning.

It showed a man near the runway, face half-shadowed. But I recognized him. One of the ground engineers at Heathrow. A man I’d paid double to ensure my flights were always untouchable.

Betrayal.

My jaw ticked. "Find him. I want his tongue."

Abhiman only nodded, expression calm like always.

My phone buzzed again beside me, lighting up with a familiar ding.

A message.

I turned it over lazily, but the second the screen flashed to life, everything else vanished.

My Jaan.

Her face my home. Her smile, my undoing.

The wallpaper showed her holding my hand at a our reception day. The way she looked at me fuck, it did something to my chest.

I tilted the phone, brought it close. My lips ghosted the screen, the softest kiss.

"Mine," I murmured.

Abhiman, still standing beside the bed, groaned. "Boss, please. Don’t. I’m a single man, have some mercy."

I shot him a glare, voice deadly calm. "You want to keep your jaw, Abhiman?"

He held up his hands, laughing. "Alright, alright! Just saying. The way you look at mam photo, it’s like some forbidden lover in a Bollywood movie."

I didn’t smile.

I never did only when it came to her.

She wasn’t a lover.

She was my oxygen.

My peace in a world of blood.

He chuckled under his breath, clearly entertained by my silence, then closed the laptop and slid it aside. "I’ll be outside. Need a smoke before someone tries to shoot me next."

He walked out, leaving me in the room.

I stared at the screen of my phone again. Her unread message still glowed.

My fingers hovered over it. One click away from hearing her voice, feeling her love crash through the pain.

But I couldn’t.

Not yet.

Not until every bastard responsible was buried.

Because if I answered her now, if she heard me like this broken, breathless she’d cry.

And her tears?

They destroy me.

So I locked the screen again. Pressed the phone to my chest.

The door open again.

I didn’t look up at first still seated on the bed, I heard the sharp clack of heels, the distinct sway in the steps.

A tray clattered softly against metal.

The nurse.

"Sir," she said, her voice dipped in syrup. "Doctor said to feed you."

That tone.

Thick with seduction.

Her eyes raked over me slowly like I was a slab of meat, not a man covered in blood and fury. She was dressed too neatly, too tight for a nurse on a night shift, lipstick too red, perfume too heavy.

She wasn’t here to help.

She was hunting.

Bad move.

I stood from the bed in one smooth, deadly motion, pain screaming in my ribs but I fed off it now. Let it fuel me.

I didn’t even flinch.

Before she could take another step, I lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back with a sharp, vicious pull.

She gasped tray clattering to the floor, cutlery scattering her eyes wide now.

Full of fear.

I leaned in, my voice a low growl, sharp enough to skin a man alive.

"Do I look like a man who needs to be fed?"

Her lips parted in shock, trembling now . She was shaking in my grip.

"N-no, sir," she stammered.

I tugged tighter, just enough to let her feel the line between warning and destruction.

My eyes were dead cold.

"You think this body is for your hands?" I snarled. "This body belongs to one woman. And she’d burn the world if you so much as breathed wrong near me."

"I-I didn’t mean—"

"You did,” I cut her off. "Now get out before I forget I’m in a hospital and not my basement."

She whimpered, terrified, and I released her hair with a shove.

She stumbled back, nearly tripping over the tray, her breath hitching as she scrambled for the door. One last glance over her shoulder  and she saw it.

My eyes.

Glinting with the kind of darkness only a man who’s lost too much can carry.

She ran.

The door slammed behind her.

And I stood there, chest heaving, blood still seeping through my bandages.

I turned, looked at the mirror again my reflection cracked, bruised.

The fucking door open again.

Abhiman.

He walked in, eyebrows raised, glancing at the half-eaten chaos on the floor the tray overturned, food spilled, cutlery scattered.

Then he looked at me.

My still-tensed posture, the blood-red fury still clinging to my jaw.

And he smirked.

"Why did the nurse sprint out of here Boss?"

I didn’t even blink. Just pulled the chair closer, sat down with a grunt of pain, and looked him dead in the eye.

"She walked in here with hungry eyes and a tone like she wanted to crawl into my bed."

I paused. "Said she was ordered to feed me."

Abhiman raised both brows. "Oh?"

"She made the mistake of thinking this body was hers to touch."

I leaned forward, voice like ice on steel.

"So I reminded her who it belonged to."

Abhiman blinked.

Then he laughed full-bodied, rough.

He wheezed, shaking his head. "Boss only you could almost bleed out from a plane crash, take down two traitors, survive with cracked ribs and still have time to break a seductress's soul in five seconds flat."

He dropped onto the couch with a low chuckle, hands behind his head. "I swear. That poor woman’s probably booking a transfer to Antarctica right now."

I didn’t laugh.

Just cracked my neck and muttered ,"She’s lucky I didn’t have a blade in hand."

He looked at me, smirk fading a bit, and nodded slowly because he knew I wasn’t joking.

"Let her be a warning," I said coldly.

Abhiman exhaled, serious now, but still grinning a little.

I leaned back, finally letting my body rest for a moment.

Abhiman stretched on the couch, still holding in laughter as if the nurse incident was a sitcom.

I let him have his amusement. It was probably the last breath of humor we’d share for a while.

"Alright," I said coldly, tone flattening . "Fun’s over. Show me everything."

Abhiman’s grin faded. He sat up immediately. Pulled the laptop back in front of us and tapped a few keys.

The screen came to life images, charts, time stamps, and red-circled coordinates.

"Three hours before the crash, there was unusual traffic logged into the plane’s maintenance system," he said. "Encrypted ID. Someone used an override code. My guess? An inside man."

I leaned in. "He knew we’d be flying low to avoid radar."

Abhiman nodded grimly. "And he used it. Tampered with the oxygen feed slow leak. Enough to make it look mechanical. Enough to keep it off air traffic control radars."

I clenched my jaw, eyes narrowing. "And the engineer?"

"Vanished," Abhiman muttered. "Burner phone. Fake ID. Records say he boarded a private cargo plane bound for Bucharest just two hours after we crashed."

I leaned back.

Bucharest.

Eastern Europe. Neutral ground for syndicates. Smuggling paradise.

"Only one group operates there without answering to me," I said.

Abhiman met my gaze. "The Volkova Bratva."

Those Russian bastards.

I’d done business with them once.

But I’d humiliated their heir in a gun deal ten months ago.

I crushed his pride in front of his men. Left him naked, bound, and breathing through broken teeth.

I should’ve killed him.

Now he’d tried to kill me.

"Raise every sleeper cell in Bucharest," I ordered. "Anyone loyal to me? I want eyes on the ground within twelve hours."

"Done."

"And get Mihir on the line," I added, eyes still locked on the screen. "He’s closest to the Romania border. Tell him to prep extraction squads."

Abhiman picked up the phone immediately, sending off messages .

I turned to Abhiman.

"When we hit Bucharest," I said darkly, "I don’t want prisoners."

He smirked. "We bringing the storm, Boss?"

I looked down at the faint smear of blood on my bandages.

"No," I growled.

"We are the storm."

As then we moved down the hallway the kind no one walked unless summoned. Past bulletproof doors and biometric locks.

Into my bar.

Hidden behind a false wall in the VIP wing a sleek, dimly lit room lined with top-shelf whiskey, leather seats.

I lit a cigarette, let the burn steady my heart. Every pull reminded me I was still alive and that someone else wouldn’t be soon.

Abhiman followed, cradling his fractured arm like it was just another scratch. He nodded to someone behind us.

Lucas

But he wasn’t alone.

She walked in behind him tall, blonde, lips red as spilled wine, heels clicking like a countdown to something sinful.

Girlfriend? Escort? Plaything?

Didn’t matter.

Her eyes locked on me the moment she stepped in.

Just me.

I turned my back to her without a word and stepped toward the corner booth shadows curling around me.

I heard John start speaking to Abhiman about the reports.

"Fracture’s clean. You’ll live, but don’t lift a damn thing for two weeks," John muttered, lighting his own cigarette. "As for Rajveer He glanced over at me. "The internal bruising is stabilizing, but the ribs—

"I said I’ll live," I cut in coldly, not even turning around.

John shrugged. "Just don’t open stitches mid-revenge. I’m not God, Boss."

Abhiman chuckled.

Then I felt it.

She came close.

She leaned on the bar near me, her perfume slicing through the smoke.

"You don’t look like someone who needs saving," she purred, voice smooth like a snake.

I didn’t answer.

"I could help take your mind off the pain," she added, brushing her fingers near my elbow, eyes dragging down my chest.

I turned, slowly.

My cigarette burned at the tip.

I took one last drag then leaned in close just enough that she could see the rage dancing in my stare.

"Touch me again," I said in a voice that could snap necks, "and they’ll need someone to stitch you back together."

She froze

I took a step forward, towering now.

"This body," I whispered, smoke curling from my lips like a warning, "is not yours to crave. Not yours to look at. Not yours to breathe near."

She swallowed.

"It belongs to one woman. And if she even saw you standing this close," I leaned in, low and deadly, "she’d burn you alive while smiling."

She stumbled back, muttered some excuse to John, and disappeared from the room.

I exhaled, letting the fury simmer.

Abhiman raised an eyebrow. "You’ve really ruined women forever, Boss."

Lucas shook his head, smirking. "Bet she’s in the parking lot crying."

I crushed the cigarette into the ashtray and stood tall.

"Get the jet ready," I said. "We hit Bucharest before sunset."

And then, to myself eyes cold, voice low," Time to make hell regret letting me alive".

I was already walking toward the exit, jacket half on when I heard the voice again.

Blonde.

She stormed back into the bar with mascara streaked down her cheeks and fury burning behind those glassy blue eyes. The tears didn’t soften her they sharpened her edges.

"You arrogant bastard," she screamed. "You think you can humiliate me?! You think you’re untouchable just because you’re—"

My head snapped toward her so fast, so sharp, even Lucas flinched.

I didn’t say a word.

My glare said it all.

She froze mid-sentence, the weight of silence hitting her  words caught in her throat.

"You don’t know who you’re speaking to," Abhiman muttered, standing straighter now, tone deadly calm. "Back off before you sign your own death certificate."

But she didn’t listen.

She turned to Lucas desperate, shaking, pointing at me.

"Who the hell is he?" she demanded. "You said he was just a businessman Some Indian tycoon He threatened me like I was like I was nothing"

He didn’t even blink.

Instead, he turned to her, exhaled slowly, and said in a voice colder than ice,"That man is Rajveer Singh Rajawat ".

She blinked still angry. "So?"

Lucas jaw clenched. He stepped closer to her, lowering his voice.

"He doesn’t run a business. He runs a goddamn empire.

Not the kind that trades stock the kind that trades silence for blood.The kind where wars start with a look and end with a name whispered into a phone line."

"The underworld doesn’t just fear him," He paused. "They obey him."

She went pale.

Lucas nodded at her slowly, like finally putting the last nail in her coffin. "You didn’t just disrespect a man. You disrespected a legend."

The blonde’s mouth fell open, but no sound came out.

She looked at me again.

And this time?

Not like a man.

Like a monster.

Because monsters don’t bleed.

They make others bleed for daring to reach too close.

I walked past her slow, deliberate stopping just as our shoulders aligned.

Without even looking at her, I spoke low.

"Walk out if you want a life or," I let that silence hang like a noose. "no one will ever find your body."

She stumbled back like the air itself turned poisonous around her, then ran.

The door slammed shut behind her the final nail in her arrogance.

Lucas rubbed his temples and muttered, "Christ, Boss, you really do leave an impression."

I cracked my knuckles.

"I don’t leave impressions," I said flatly. " I leave warnings."

Then I turned to Abhiman.

"Call Mihir. Tell him to prep the team. Guns, knives, fire whatever burns fastest. We’re done waiting."

He nodded instantly.

Abhiman leaned back into one of the leather chairs after calling Mihir finally letting his fractured arm rest on a cushion, while John poured two glasses of scotch like it was any other night.

"To the men who walk away from plane crashes," Lucas smirked, raising his glass.

Abhiman snorted, lifting his with his good hand. "And to the ones who don’t need a goddamn seatbelt to survive."

They both drank, smooth and reckless.

Lucas turned to me, pouring a third. "Come on, Boss. Just a sip. You’ve got more metal in your chest than nerves anyway."

I didn’t move.

He tried again. "Even the devil needs a drink before war."

I glanced at the glass.

I didn’t touch it.

"No," I said, voice like a blade unsheathed. "I don’t drink when I’m hunting."

Abhiman chuckled. "You never drink, Boss. You’re the only man I know who can shoot five men in the chest without blinking but won’t touch scotch."

Lucas leaned in, grin growing. "What is it, Rajveer? Can’t let go? Or is it because your wife would kill you?"

The second he said her name.

I turned my head slowly.

My eyes locked on his.

Abhiman saw it.

Lucas raised both hands, laughing nervously. "Alright, alright. Too far."

But I didn’t laugh.

I stepped closer, picked up the untouched glass of scotch and poured it onto the floor.

"You want to drink, drink," I said, eyes cold. "You want to joke, joke. But don’t say her name like it’s weightless."

Lucas looked up, quieter now. "Got it, Boss."

Abhiman cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly.

I lit another cigarette, inhaled, and stared straight ahead.

"I don’t drink," I repeated.

"Because I need my hands steady when I cut the man who tried to take her away from me."

Abhiman and John bent over in their chairs, practically wheezing.

Bsstards.

I stood back, away from the table, away from their drinks, their bruised egos, their jokes. Lit only by the faint orange hue of a flickering bar sign, I sat down in the far corner where the shadows knew me, and the silence didn’t ask questions.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, fingers locked.

My thoughts drifted.

Her.

Was she asleep?

Probably not.

Not after seeing the crash all over the goddamn television with the words .

I closed my eyes.

I could see her wrapped in her comforter, that worn-out hoodie of mine pulled over her knees, phone clutched to her chest like it was the last thread connecting her to me.

Eyes red. Voice gone.

She must’ve cried herself hoarse.

Again.

Damn it.

Every time I promised her to I call her. Every time I swore nothing could touch me every damn time the world found a new way to break that promise.

I clenched my fists, the pain from my ribs burning as a reminder of how close I came to leaving her alone.

Again.

She wouldn’t sleep tonight.

Not until she heard my voice.

But I couldn’t call her like this voice hoarse, body stitched, bloodied.

She’d shatter and I couldn’t afford her breaking.

So I sat there.

And then—

"Boss!"

Lucas voice tore through my thoughts.

I looked up, eyes cold.

He grinned, waving a glass in one hand, the other gesturing behind him. "You’re gonna want to see this."

I frowned. "What now?"

Abhiman chuckled, limping slightly as he pointed toward the lounge entrance.

And there They entered.

Mujra dancers.

Six of them. All draped in satin reds and golds, anklets jingling like war bells dressed in silk. The beat of traditional drums started echoing through the room as they took the floor graceful, poised, and clearly bought for the night by someone who had no sense of timing.

Lucas raised his glass."Hospital stress relief package. You like?"

Abhiman snorted. "Only the best for Boss’s".

The dancers began slow hips, swirling scarves, spinning to the rhythm. Seduction laced with tradition, hips moving .

I blinked.

Once.

Then glared.

"Is this a circus now?" I muttered.

Lucas nearly choked on his drink. "Lighten up, Boss. You got stitches, not a funeral".

Abhiman shouted over the music, laughing. "Don’t worry, we told them not to dance too close to you might bite".

I stood up, slow.

And then walked toward the bar, past the dancers, ignoring every glance, every swaying move, every flutter of veil and perfume.

Then I stopped, right in front of Lucas and Abhiman.

Leaned close.

And growled, "If even one of them touches my damn arm, I’ll staple your mouth shut, Lucas ."

He grinned. "I’m already imagining the headline ‘Mafia King stabs doctor over too much hip sway.’"

I stared at him.

Even the dancers started slowing down, sensing something heavy in the air.

I grabbed a bottle of water instead, took a swig, and muttered low enough only they could hear.

"The only woman I watch dance is my wife anyone else just wastes their ankles."

Lucas whistled. "Damn."

Abhiman smirked, whispering to Lucas , "He’s whipped, bro."

I spun around.

"I heard that."

Abhiman threw his hands up in surrender. "I meant that respectfully".

I sat back in my chair, letting the noise fill the room again.

The music spun louder now tabla beats clashing with flute strains, .

I ignored it.

Sat still in my chair, eyes locked on nothing, jaw tight.

My fingers still gripped the phone hidden in my lap her message echoing.

But then

She came.

The bold one.

Scarlet veil pulled just enough to reveal painted eyes that had seen too much. Anklets jingling like they had something to prove. She didn’t dance for the crowd she danced toward me.

Abhiman noticed. "Uh-oh."

Lucas smirked, whispering, "Dead girl walking."

She approached, hips swaying with the rhythm, hands raised above her head in practiced grace. A curve of a smile painted across her lips not playful.

She circled me .

I didn’t flinch.

She leaned closer her voice velvet poison. "Why so tense, Rajawat Sahab ?"

she purred, her hand ghosting over the back of my chair.

"Let me help you unwind. Just one night. I promise, I’ll make you forget every scar on that body."

She leaned in further, her lips nearing my ear. "You’ve conquered kingdoms, killed men with a whisper but you’ve never survived me."

She reached for my shoulder

Mistake.

My hand shot up.

I moved in a blur faster than any dancer could have prepared for.

My chair scraped against the marble as I stood, towering over her.

My hand went inside my jacket.

And I pulled out the gun.

The music didn’t stop.

But the world around us did.

Click.

I pressed the barrel under her chin.

Her breath caught.

"Take one more step," I growled, my voice lower than hell, "and I’ll make sure your family buries you in pieces."

Her eyes widened in horror.

The room?

Dead.

Lucas glass slipped and shattered on the floor.

Abhiman straightened in his seat.

The other mujra dancers backed away.

The bold dancer whimpered, her hands slightly raised, voice trembling now. "I… I didn’t mean disrespect…"

"Disrespect?" I hissed, leaning in.

"You walk toward a wounded lion and try to tame him with lust? This body", I grabbed the collar of my shirt, yanked it slightly open, exposing the bandages, the crusted blood, the raw healing skin.

"This body belongs to my wife."

I stepped closer gun never leaving her chin.

"She’s the only one who touches it. The only one who soothes it. The only one who owns it."

The dancer’s knees buckled slightly. "I’m… I’m sorry…"

"Get. Out."

Her heels scraped across the floor as she staggered back, barely holding herself together.

But before she crossed the threshold, I said without looking," if your pimp ever sends you toward me again I’ll make sure he needs a new pair of legs."

The door slammed shut behind her.

Silence.

Lucas his throat after a full ten seconds of disbelief. "Boss."

I turned the gun toward the floor. Slid it back into the holster under my jacket.

"What?" I muttered coldly.

Abhiman stared at me. "You didn’t even blink."

I looked down at my blood-crusted hands, the stitched gash across my ribs throbbing with rage.

"No one walks into my circle," I said flatly, "thinking I’ll forget my wife for a moment of pleasure. Not when she cried for me tonight."

Lucas exhaled. "Fair."

Abhiman nodded, slowly. "She’s not just your wife, huh?"

I looked at them, eyes dead calm.

"No," I said.

"She’s my soul."

Abhiman clapped low. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why we don’t poke the sleeping lion."

I didn’t look at them.

I sat back down.

Now the music had finally died down, and with it, the swaying bodies of the mujra dancers melted out of the lounge some with a side-eye, some practically jogging after the look I gave earlier.

Now?

Just me

And these two drunken excuses for men.

Lucas was slumped halfway over the bar counter, holding his glass like it was his third-born child. Abhiman had somehow managed to twist his sling into a headband and was singing what sounded like an off-key version of Tere Jaisa Yaar Kahan.

I was offended.

"Boss," Abhiman grinned, eyes bloodshot. "You sure you don’t want one drink? Might fix that permanent scowl you’ve got stitched to your soul."

Lucas raised his head with the grace of a dying walrus. "Honestly, Boss you terrify everyone. Even the whiskey’s scared of you."

"Let’s go," I said, standing up, straightening my jacket.

Lucas blinked. "Go? Go where?"

"Boss, it’s barely morning." Abhiman groaned. "My liver’s not even done crying yet."

I glared at both of them.

They both stared at me, glassy-eyed.

Then Abhiman, brave and so drunk, said," Boss are we going to kill someone right now or later? ‘Cause I need to pee first."

Lucas laughed so hard he choked on air. "He needs a pee break before murder Who says mafia life ain’t organized".

I dragged a hand down my face. "I run an empire. I own four arms-dealing routes, three offshore accounts, two fake passports, and a private hospital."

And I was babysitting two clowns.

I stepped forward, grabbed both of them by the collars Abhiman with one hand, Lucas with the other and yanked them up.

Lucas hiccupped. "Oof. Manhandled by the boss. This is either a nightmare or a very specific dream I once had."

Abhiman leaned on me with zero shame. "Tell me we’re going for food, boss. I swear I’ll kill a man for an omelette."

I rolled my eyes so hard it almost hurt. "You idiots have five seconds to walk straight, or I’ll inject saline into your necks just to watch you drown slowly."

Lucas sobered up just enough to start moving. "Okay okay, damn. No need to go full horror movie."

Abhiman muttered under his breath. "We need a union. Or at least a mafia HR department."

I had enough.

Dragging both of them down the corridor.

Lucas was humming some weird remix of Tip Tip Barsa Paani, off-beat and off-key.

Abhiman?

He was attempting to moonwalk with a fractured arm.

I stopped.

Turned slowly.

"Both of you," My voice dropped to that tone.

"Do you think this is funny?"

They froze.

Then, unfortunately, Lucas grinned. "Boss I think you’re funny."

Oh.

Abhiman joined in, slurring, "Yeah like scary-funny. Like Joker meets Terminator meets wait what was that serial killer in that Netflix show—?"

I stepped forward once.

Their laughter dipped by 20%.

"I built an empire from blood, betrayal, and broken bones. I’ve buried men deeper than your IQ, Lucas. And you—" I pointed to Abhiman, "—you were handpicked by me. Me. The man who once stabbed a man with a broken wine glass for talking back during a meeting."

Abhiman blinked. "…Wait, that was you? I thought that was a rumor."

I took another step forward.

"If both of you aren’t sober in the next ten minutes, I swear on every gun in my vault I’ll have you two scrubbing the blood stains in my underground garage for a month. Barehanded. No gloves. And I'll switch the lights off. Let’s see how long before the rats find you first."

Dead silence.

Then—

He hiccupped. "Boss You said rats? That’s unsanitary. I have sensitive skin—"

Abhiman burst into laughter. "Scrubbing blood? Damn, Boss, you’re so dramatic. You should’ve been in Bollywood—"

I growled.

They shut up for 0.3 seconds.

Then John leaned toward Abhiman. "You ever notice how Boss gets extra murderous when he’s missing Ma’am?"

Abhiman whispered, "Yup. That’s when his voice drops to that Darth Vader-but-sexy tone."

I snapped.

"Shut. Up. Before I ship both of you to Siberia in a coffin full of used syringes."

Their mouths zipped.

Finally.

I turned away, walking ahead, muttering under my breath, "When they wake up sober, I’ll remind them who the fuck they're mocking."

Lucas had finally staggered his drunk self back home.

Abhiman had passed out the second his head hit the pillow on the other side of the cabin. Sling still on, shoes still on. Snoring like a dying generator.

Me?

I tried.

I unbuttoned my shirt slowly, every movement tugging against the cuts that lined my ribs. My torso ached, my body screamed but none of that mattered.

I lay down.

Closed my eyes.

But her face burned behind my eyelids.

So I gave up, sat up, and reached for the one thing I told myself I wouldn’t touch tonight.

The laptop.

I plugged in my earpiece, connected to the private encrypted network only I had access to. My jaw clenched as I clicked open the feed.

A small hidden camera, placed behind the ornate frame on the wall.

Because watching her was the only way I stayed alive when I was oceans away.

The footage loaded slowly

and then there she was.

Lying on her side, facing the ceiling.

The lamp cast a soft glow over her, and beside her was Kiara  knocked out cold, clutching a stuffed panda.

But her?

Her eyes.

Red.

She kept glancing at her phone, holding it to her chest, then unlocking it checking locking it again.

She wasn’t crying.

But she didn’t need to.

I could see the pain painted across her face.

A wound I caused.

My hand clenched the edge of the bed. Hard enough to pop a vein. My chest heaved once, the bruised ribs flaring in protest.

I had fought wars. I had slit throats. I had faced betrayal, bombs, gunfire with a smirk.

But this?

Seeing her hurt because of me?

This was the kind of agony that even bullets couldn’t match.

Still no tears.

Not even when the one person who holds my damn soul looks like she’s one breath away from collapsing. Because of me.

She turned her face into the pillow.

My throat burned.

I whispered back, voice like gravel, lips barely moving,

"I’m sorry, Jaan."

Her image still lingered on the screen as I closed the laptop, my jaw tight, fists tighter. My chest felt like it was carved out with a blunt blade not because of the wounds but because of her.

Then—

"Mmph Boss loves his jaan like Romeo on steroids."

Abhiman.

I snapped my head toward his bed.

"Bet he’d kiss the ground she walks on if she ever ow".

THWACK.

The metal tissue box flew across the room and smacked him square on the forehead.

Abhiman shot up. "WHAT THE—?!"

His eyes blinked, "What did I do?Are we under attack? Are we—?"

"You talk in your sleep again and I’ll duct tape your face to the oxygen tank," I barked, voice thunderous, dead serious.

He blinked. "Boss? You threw a box at me—!"

"Be grateful it wasn’t my gun."

He scrambled off the bed, wobbling with a hungover moan. "Okay okay I’m up, I’m up don’t kill your second-in-command just yet".

I narrowed my eyes. "Wash your damn face before I baptize you in ice water."

"Yessir, Mafia Pope."

He shuffled to the washroom muttering under his breath,

"Throws a box like Thor with attitude Can’t even flirt in peace with a pillow ".

I rolled my eyes and leaned back again.

At least now the clown was vertical.

And awake.

Because today wasn’t just another recovery day.

Today, I was going to find out who tried to kill me.

The door creaked as Abhiman stumbled back in, wiping his wet face. His hair stuck up like a rooster after a cyclone, and his eyes were still glassy but at least less zombie, more human.

He paused at the door, rubbing the red spot on his forehead where the tissue box smacked him.

"Boss," he grumbled, limping toward his bed," What the hell did I even say in my sleep that earned me a flying metal missile?"

I shot him a deadly side-eye and folded my arms across my bare chest, bruises and bandages still fresh, ribs screaming but silent.

He waited.

Then narrowed his eyes. "Wait I said something about ‘Romeo on steroids’, didn’t I?"

I didn’t move.

His mouth fell open. "Are you serious? Boss, I was asleep You assaulted an unconscious man".

I growled. "You insulted me in your dreams."

He looked scandalized. "Boss, you’re king of bullets and bad moods and you’re mad about what I say in REM cycle?"

I stood slowly from the bed, body stiff but presence lethal.

He instantly backed up.

"Okay, okay relax, boss. I didn’t mean anything. In fact, I was probably praising you! Romeo’s got nothing on you, man! He drank poison. You’d have poisoned the world if someone touched madam. "

I raised an eyebrow.

He tried to laugh. "You know it’s true. Don’t look at me like that, Boss. I’ve seen you turn into a full Greek tragedy whenever you miss one of her calls."

I picked up the water jug on the nightstand and aimed.

His eyes widened.

"OkayOKAY I'm shutting up Going to make coffee! Mafia peace offering".

He scrambled out the door faster than he came in, still muttering," Flies planes, kills enemies, throws tissue boxes like grenades. What a man."

The door clicked open again. Abhiman entered, this time proudly balancing two steaming mugs of coffee.

"Peace offering, Boss," he grinned, handing me one. "Black. No sugar. Just how your enemies taste."

I took it without a word, eyes locked on his face like a sniper. He sipped his own with an exaggerated sigh, settling onto the chair across from me.

Then he said it.

"You know maybe it’s time I found someone too. Someone like Madam ," He looked up dramatically, dreamily. "A strong, loving woman who can slap sense into me and still make parathas."

I froze mid-sip.

My eyes narrowed.

I set the mug down.

Then said, low and cold," Call everyone. All the guards. Thirty seconds. Here."

He blinked. "Huh? Why? What happened?"

"Because if you don’t—"

I leaned forward, voice a quiet threat, "—your funeral will be catered tonight."

His face dropped. "BOSS! What did I do now?"

"You compared yourself to me." I stood up slowly, towering over him. "You think you can find someone like her? That takes a soul, Abhiman. You sold yours the day you ate a hot dog in front of a crime scene."

"Boss, that was one time  I was hungry".

I pointed to the door.

"Call. The. Guards. 30 seconds. Or I’ll rip out your sim card and personally stuff it into your spinal cord."

He fumbled for his phone instantly, nearly dropping it into his coffee. "Okay okay okay, dialing now, Jeez".

Mumbling under his breath,"

"Found someone like Madam More like find someone who’ll tolerate my existence Man can’t even manifest love without death threats around here".

I turned away, sipping my coffee again.

By the time the clock struck nine, the private cabin had transformed from a recovery suite into a command center.

The door opened, and like clockwork, my ten elite bodyguards filed in one by one silent, sharp, dressed in black, each armed and alert.

Abhiman stood at the front, fully awake now, sling in place, but his swagger intact.

He opened the laptop and tapped the screen. "Boss, the deal’s happening today 1 PM. Southbank dockyard. The Italian contact’s already landed. Our source confirmed the Russians might crash the exchange. I’ve laid out the map, three possible exit routes, drone surveillance, and snipers on standby."

I nodded once, slowly stepping forward, commanding the room.

"Here’s what’s gonna happen."

My voice was like steel being drawn calm, cold, and lethal.

"Two men in the first car. Weapons in the second. I’ll ride third tinted. Abhiman rides with me. No one speaks unless it’s code."

I pointed to the youngest one Edward "You mess up formation again, I’ll drive over your kneecaps. Understood?"

He nodded so fast his neck almost cracked.

I took a deep breath. "Today isn’t about the deal. It’s about the message. They tried to kill me. Now I want them to see me. Walking, breathing, and still dressed better than their entire bloodline."

They all gave that small, tight nod.

I waved them out with a single flick. "Get to the cars. Ten minutes."

As the door shut behind them, I moved to the bathroom. The mirror greeted me with a face stitched in scars, a chest still bandaged, but eyes that hadn’t dulled one bit.

I stepped into the shower, letting the cold water bite into my skin. The sting danced over the cuts, the bruises a reminder I was still alive.

Twenty minutes later

I was back in front of the mirror, shirtless, wiping steam from the glass.

I slipped on the crisp white dress shirt, buttoning it over the bandages, every move tight and painful. Then the black tuxedo jacket, tailored perfectly over a war-worn frame. The black slacks. The polished shoes.

"Fucking tie," I muttered, trying to loop it.

Still, I looked at myself

Black, sleek, deadly.

As I walked through the private hospital corridor, silence followed me like a loyal shadow. Doctors, nurses, even the patients who knew my name they all froze. Eyes widened. Conversations halted mid-sentence.

Some looked at me with fear.

Others, with awe.

I looked like a man carved from vengeance sharp tuxedo hugging a body still healing from the wreckage, scars barely hidden beneath the collar.

Outside, the armored convoy waited. Black Lamborghini lined up like a funeral procession except we weren’t burying a body today.

We were delivering a message.

The driver scrambled and opened the door as I approached. My gaze never shifted my presence said more than words ever could.

I slid into the backseat, Abhiman following suit. He winced as he adjusted his sling but didn’t complain.

"Everyone’s in position," he muttered, glancing back as the ten guards split across the remaining vehicles.

I looked out the tinted window, eyes scanning the crowd, the cameras, the whispers.

Let them talk.

Let them see.

Rajveer Singh Rajawat didn’t die.

I came back in a suit.

To kill kings.

To crush snakes.

To remind London’s underbelly who ruled the shadows.

The convoy started to move  tires rolling slow and smooth over the tarmac like sharks gliding through water. Black metal beasts.

Abhiman lit a cigarette and smirked, "Boss, they’ll piss themselves when they see you walk into that dock."

I adjusted the cuff of my sleeve."They should’ve made sure I stayed dead."

He exhaled smoke, chuckling.

"They’re about to wish you were."

And with that, we drove into the storm.

After 1 hour our convoy pulled into the abandoned dockyard empty warehouses, rusted cranes, stacks of forgotten shipping containers like metal tombstones. Birds circled above.

I stepped out of the Lamborghini buttoning my tux jacket. Abhiman flanked me, limping slightly but sharp-eyed. The rest of our men fanned out with trained precision, securing every corner.

At the far end of the dock, the Moretti crew waited.

Five men. All suited. All armed. And in the center stood Leonardo Moretti , second son of the old Italian Don, a viper in silk gloves. Hair slicked back, hands in his pockets.

He smiled when he saw me.

Big mistake.

"Mr. Rajawat," he greeted, stepping forward.

I didn’t extend a hand.

"You kept me waiting," I said coldly, the wind playing with the edge of my jacket.

"That’s disrespect number one."

He chuckled nervously. "Apologies. Traffic—"

I took a step forward. He shut up immediately.

"You think I’m here for apologies?"

He swallowed.

I glanced at Abhiman, who nodded and handed me a metal briefcase. I opened it just enough for Moretti’s men to see the stacks of marked currency and encrypted drive sitting inside.

"Half now," I said. "Half once your side delivers."

Moretti nodded to his man, who brought forward a similar case but when he opened it.

It was empty.

Then my eye twitched.

"Disrespect number two," I muttered, voice calm, deadly.

"You show up to my city with nothing?"

Moretti raised his hands. "It’s just a precaution. You understand, yes? The product is nearby, we—"

I was already moving.

In two seconds flat, I closed the case, handed it back to Abhiman, and pulled my Glock from under my jacket. Pressed it straight to Moretti’s temple. His men flinched. Mine aimed back twice as fast.

"You think I look like a man who waits?"

He started to sweat.

Abhiman leaned beside me, ever so casually, and whispered with a grin,

"Boss, disrespect number three usually ends up with a body in the Thames."

I didn’t blink.

"You’re lucky I came here to deal, not decorate the river."

I pulled back the gun slowly.

"But pull this stunt again, Leo"

I leaned in, whispering so close he could smell the death on my breath ," and I’ll ship your heart back to your Don in a wine bottle."

He nodded fast, stammering Italian curses under his breath as he gestured to one of his men, who called in the real cargo from a van nearby.

A crate of rare-grade tech weapons. Modified. Clean. Worth a million.

Deal completed.

But not forgotten.

As we walked back toward the car, Abhiman muttered,

"Boss, I think he aged five years during that handshake."

I lit a cigarette, eyes on the London skyline beyond the fog.

"Good."

The deal was done.

Moretti’s men loaded the crates back into their armored truck, sweating through their suits, not daring to meet my eyes again. I’d made my point and if they lived through this month, they’d never forget it.

I flicked the cigarette into the puddle by the Lamborghini and slid into the back seat. Abhiman followed, silent now, his usual sarcasm drowned in the tension that still crackled.

As the convoy rolled out.

just that small second of distraction cost me.

Because as we turned into the back route through Dock Lane, the Lamborghini in front of us exploded.

BOOM!

Flames shot up like a demon's roar, the shockwave rocking our vehicle. Metal twisted, bodies flew, glass shattered.

"Shit," Abhiman shouted, ducking. "We’re ambushed".

I was already grabbing my backup piece, barking into the comm, "Defensive spread Find the shooter".

Gunfire erupted from the rooftops. Muzzles flashed in the fog. Someone planned this.

This wasn’t random.

I kicked open my door, heart hammering but eyes ice-cold. A bullet grazed my shoulder, but I didn’t flinch. I was scanning the shadows looking for the eye in the storm.

And then I saw it.

A laser sight.

Not on me.

On Abhiman.

"DOWN," I yelled, but it was too late—

BANG.

He dropped.

The last thing I saw as I dove behind the Suv wasn’t the shooter.

It was my best man, bleeding on the ground.

And the sniper’s voice crackled in my earpiece.

"Tell your wife you won’t be the last."

_____