Episode 10 : "A shadow among us"
948 Words
(Veer’s POV)
Two days.
That’s how long it had been since the letter.
Two days since the shadow of Aarav Malhotra crept back into our lives.
And in those forty-eight hours, the mansion hadn’t known peace—not in the walls, not in the people, not in my own head.
The silence in the estate wasn’t comfort. It was the kind that comes before a storm—the kind that makes every floorboard creak like a warning.
Denver bhai’s voice from that night still burned in my mind, sharp as a blade:
“Veer, connect with every mafia syndicate under our network. I want every single one at that table. It’s time to remind them who we are—and what happens when anyone even thinks of crossing us.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a decree.
And no one—no one—handles the underworld like me.
---
I’ve been steering our mafia operations since I was sixteen. Back then, my hands were smaller, my frame leaner, but my eyes… they were already trained to read men before they spoke.
I was raised by the worst and trained by the most cunning. Every scar on my body was an education. Every lesson, paid in blood—sometimes mine, sometimes theirs.
Now, I know every crack in our empire’s armor, every rat that’s ever tried to gnaw its way in, and every snake that’s ever thought about slithering through our gates.
Before leaving for the first syndicate meeting two nights ago, I didn’t just do a routine check—I went to war with every possible breach.
---
(The Security Sweep)
The mansion was my first battlefield.
I started in the control room, sitting in front of thirty-two CCTV feeds, watching every angle of our home. Every corridor. Every shadow.
The night guards were re-briefed, rifles in hand, checked and rechecked. Every round counted, every magazine secured.
I walked the perimeter myself, not trusting the cameras alone. Footsteps soft, eyes scanning, my palm brushing the cool marble walls as I passed. I’ve learned that you feel a place differently when you touch it—you sense its weaknesses.
The kitchen staff? Questioned.
The drivers? Vetted.
Even the cleaning crew didn’t escape my eyes. In our world, betrayal often wears an apron before it wears a suit.
By the time I left for that first meeting, Knight’s mansion wasn’t just a home—it was a fortress. And I was the general guarding its walls.
---
(The First Meeting)
The meeting hall was an underground ballroom-turned-council chamber—a place where chandeliers glittered over men who traded in blood.
The moment I walked in, silence swept the room. Fifteen men, each the head of their own territory—Russian, Turkish, Spanish, Italian, and the shadowy Eastern Syndicates—sat in their carved leather chairs.
They wore their suits like armor, their watches like declarations of wealth and power. Their smiles were sharp, practiced, hiding the weight of the weapons tucked under their coats.
Not one of them spoke until I did.
“Anyone who stands against us… doesn’t stand for long.”
I didn’t need to shout. I didn’t need to threaten. My name was threat enough. My loyalty to Denver was my proof. The scars on my knuckles spoke louder than any promise I could make.
By the time I left, the air was thick with agreement—and a little fear. The first ripple had gone through the underground.
---
(The Second Meeting – Today)
The second gathering was different.
Held in our most secure council chamber—a vault within a vault. No signal could get in or out. The air smelled faintly of old leather, cigars, and the faint tang of metal.
The table was circular, by Denver’s design—a reminder that no man sat higher than another here. But everyone knew the truth: Knight blood ruled this table.
I began with updates, shifting alliances, sealing old debts, reminding old enemies that their place in our world depended on our tolerance.
No interruptions. No challenges.
They listened. They always did.
Then I leaned forward, my fingers spread on the polished wood.
“You all know who rules this table. If anyone so much as thinks of exploiting recent events—just remember… Knight blood is not spilled without consequences.”
My words settled in the room like a slow leak of gasoline. No one moved. Not a breath dared disturb the weight of it.
I let the silence stretch. Denver bhai once told me—never raise your voice unless the quiet becomes unbearable.
Today, it didn’t.
---
(Aftermath)
When the meeting ended, I stepped into the stone-lined hallway outside. My boots echoed against the marble floor, each step steady, controlled.
I reached for my phone, expecting the usual security updates from the estate.
One new message. Rohit
I opened it.
"Someone tried to attack Bhai He’s safe now. A girl saved him… took the hit for him."
For a fraction of a second, my breath caught—not from fear, but from the violence building behind my ribs.
Then the rage hit me—clean, cold, lethal.
Someone dared.
Someone dared to strike at him in the open.
And a girl…
A stranger…
She took the hit instead?
Coincidence doesn’t exist in our world. Not in mine.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and began walking—fast, but never running. Running is panic. Walking is intent.
The girl had just changed the rules of the game.
And I was going to find out whether she was an angel sent to save us…
Or a trap with a pretty face.
- Writer
