At night, on the outskirts of the city, in a deserted area, stood an old bungalow with a hidden dungeon beneath it.

Inside, five men sat comfortably on worn-out sofas, glasses of wine in their hands. The dim, flickering lights cast long shadows across the dusty room, giving it an eerie, suffocating atmosphere.

In front of them, a group of guards mercilessly beat a man. Each blow echoed through the silence, heavy and cruel. The man lay on the dirt-covered floor, barely conscious—his body bruised, his breath shallow, as if life was slipping away from him with every passing second.

None of the men on the sofas seemed disturbed. They watched with cold, detached expressions, sipping their wine as if it were nothing more than a form of entertainment.

Then, suddenly, one of them raised his hand.

It was a small gesture—but powerful.

The guards immediately stopped. Without a word, they stepped back and quietly left the room, their footsteps fading into the distance.

Silence returned.

Heavy. Tense. Unforgiving.

That man was none other than Anubhav Rajvansh, the head of the Indian mafia.

He slowly rose from the sofa, placing his glass aside with deliberate calm. His footsteps echoed in the silent room as he walked toward the man lying lifeless on the floor.

Without bending down, Anubhav nudged the man’s face with his foot, forcing him to turn—just enough to reveal his battered, bloodied features.

A faint, almost amused smirk touched his lips.

“Tsk… tsk…” he clicked his tongue softly.

“In just three hours, he’s already on the verge of death. I expected better… perhaps six hours at least.”

He paused, his gaze cold and calculating.

“After all, his boss is supposed to be an eagle… strong, unbreakable.”

His smirk deepened, turning darker.

“But look at him… he couldn’t even endure half of that.”

Before the silence could settle, another man stood up from the sofa.

His presence was sharp—commanding in a different way.

“That’s because his boss isn’t an eagle,” he said, his voice edged with contempt.

“He’s nothing but a filthy wild pig… one that only knows how to attack from behind.”

The man who spoke was Shaurya Raizaada—elder brother of Kartavya, and Anubhav’s closest ally… his most trusted friend.

The room fell silent once again, but this time, it carried something heavier—an unspoken understanding of power, loyalty, and the brutality that bound them together.

“What are you saying, bhai? I don’t agree with that,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

“It feels wrong to compare the Italian mafia to a wild pig—that’s an insult, even to the animal.”

He let out a faint scoff, a hint of dark humor in his voice.

“At the very least, you could’ve called him a wild rhinoceros… or a wild buffalo.”

His expression hardened as his tone turned colder.

“But then again… even a wild buffalo has dignity.”

A brief pause followed, heavy with meaning.

“He doesn’t deserve that kind of comparison, bhai.”

The man who spoke was Nishkarsh—Kartavya’s closest friend and one of the most important members of the Indian mafia.

“That’s because his boss isn’t what we thought,” Kartavya said, his voice low but firm.

Nishkarsh turned toward him, confusion flickering across his face.

“What are you talking about, Kartavya? His boss is the Italian mafia… right?”

Before Kartavya could respond, “No,” Pratik said as he stepped forward, his tone steady but heavy with certainty.

“His boss isn’t the Italian mafia… it’s the Canadian mafia.”

The room stiffened.

For a brief moment, silence swallowed everyone.

Then Anubhav spoke—his voice calm, but carrying a dangerous edge.

“The Italian mafia isn’t cowardly,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“They don’t strike from the shadows like this… and certainly not by sending an imperfect assassin.”

He took a slow step forward, his gaze cold and analytical.

“If they wanted to attack, they would’ve done it openly—face to face.”

A pause.

“And if they chose silence… then by the time we found the target—he would already be dead.”

His words settled like a verdict.

Unquestionable. Final.

“So… you’re saying the Canadian mafia attacked us?” Nishkarsh asked, his brows knitting together in concern.

“But why?”

“Because of the recent illegal deal we secured,” Kartavya replied, his tone steady, though his eyes revealed the gravity of the situation.

Nishkarsh exhaled sharply. “If that’s the case, then we should inform the Syndicate. They’ll step in and handle it.”

Syndicate — the global council of mafia heads, the authority that sets rules every organization must follow.

“No,” Kartavya said firmly, cutting through the suggestion.

“For something this small, we won’t involve the Syndicate.”

His voice hardened.

“They chose to attack from the shadows… but we won’t.”

A brief pause.

“We’ll face them head-on.”

Before anyone could respond, Shaurya stepped forward.

“I’ve received intel,” he said, his tone serious.

“They’re also trying to secure the Russian deal—the same one you’re working on.”

A dangerous silence filled the room.

Then Anubhav spoke.

“Good,” he said calmly, but there was a sharp edge beneath his voice.

“This will be their downfall.”

His gaze shifted to Kartavya, filled with command and expectation.

“Kartavya, I want you to secure that deal—by any means necessary.”

Kartavya gave a slight nod, determination settling in his expression.

“That makes it clear,” Nishkarsh added, a faint, confident smirk forming.

“Kartavya will handle the deal legally… while Anubhav and I ensure control over everything happening in the shadows.”

The plan was set.

And the war… had just begun.

Next Day

The next evening, I stood in the operations room watching Aditya explain the updated framework.

Slides moved across the screen. Clean diagrams. Fast workflows. Confident voice.

It looked impressive.

Too impressive.

I narrowed my eyes.

“Explain this section,” I said, pointing to the architecture diagram.

Aditya hesitated for the first time.

“We’ve consolidated the authentication gateways,” he said. “It reduces latency and makes the demonstration seamless.”

“Seamless,” I repeated.

“Yes, sir. The Russians value efficiency.”

I walked closer to the screen.

“And redundancy?” I asked quietly.

He paused.

“It’s… reduced for speed, sir. But still manageable.”

The word reduced echoed in my mind.

I turned toward him fully.

“You removed layered security?”

“It slows down real-time demos,” he replied quickly. “And honestly, the previous structure was… overly cautious.”

Something sharp stirred in my chest.

Overly cautious.

For a moment, I saw Dharini’s file again. Her detailed risk reports. The warnings she had written in margins no one else noticed.

I folded my arms.

“If they stress-test the system live,” I said slowly, “what happens?”

Aditya’s confidence flickered.

“It should hold.”

Should.

I hated that word.

The room felt suddenly smaller.

I looked at the screen again, noticing what I hadn’t before — elegant design hiding fragile bones.

My jaw tightened.

“Who approved these structural changes?” I asked.

Aditya straightened.

“I did, sir.”

Silence.

The team watched cautiously.

I finally spoke, voice colder than intended.

“This project cannot afford mistakes.”

“Yes, sir,” he said quickly.

I turned away, but my mind refused to settle.

A thought slipped in quietly, unwanted yet undeniable.

She wouldn’t have taken this risk.

I hated that the comparison came so naturally.

I hated even more that it felt true.

The room emptied slowly after the review session, but my mind stayed fixed on the screen long after everyone left.

Aditya’s model looked clean.

Too clean.

Systems built for perfection often failed first under pressure.

I returned to my cabin, closing the door behind me. The silence felt heavier than usual.

Without thinking for long, I pressed the intercom.

“Shesh.”

He entered almost immediately.

“Yes, sir?”

I didn’t look at him right away.

“I need something,” I said.

He waited.

“Retrieve Dharini Shekhawat’s original project files.”

For a second, he didn’t react — as if he wasn’t sure he had heard correctly.

“Sir… her files?” he repeated carefully.

I lifted my eyes to him.

“Did I stutter?”

“No, sir,” he said quickly. “I’ll arrange it.”

He turned to leave, but I stopped him.

“This stays between us.”

Shesh nodded once, understanding the unspoken weight behind the order.

When the door closed again, I leaned back in my chair.

I told myself this wasn’t personal.

This was risk assessment.

Nothing more.

Yet the truth lingered like a whisper.

I trusted a dismissed employee’s system more than the one currently in front of me.

And that realization irritated me deeply.