HEARTBEAT GANGSTER

Chapter 01: The Bride, The Blood, and the Masked Devil “The bride went missing exactly two hours before her wedding. Her lipstick was still fresh. Her heels were still warm.” Every newspaper in the city carried that chilling headline. For the last six weeks, young women had been vanishing into thin air—only to be found the next day as cold, lifeless bodies, marked by no evidence, no fingerprints, and no clue as to who the killer was. The city was drowning in whispers: A mafia gang has invaded, hiding in plain sight. Wearing suits by day. Slitting throats by night. The case was a knot even the sharpest minds couldn’t untie. IPS Officer Binaan Li, a man of logic and law, was facing the impossible. Despite leading a full-force investigation, he found nothing but dead ends. Every trail disappeared like smoke. And tonight—of all nights—was his daughter’s wedding. Deepika Parli, his only child, was glowing like a moonlit dream. Draped in scarlet, eyes lined with kohl, smile softer than silk—she was texting her fiancé with excitement burning in her chest. "How far are you, mister?" She smiled as she typed, a playful spark in her eyes. "Almost there. I can’t wait to see you as my bride. Bet you look like a goddess." "Uh-uh! No sneak peeks. Wait till I walk down that aisle," she teased. Meanwhile, far from the golden-lit venue, Binaan’s phone rang. The voice on the other end was trembling. "Sir, you need to come immediately. I’m sending the location. We’ve found something. Possibly a breakthrough." Duty clawed into his heart like ice. Even on his daughter's wedding day, justice called louder. Without hesitation, he got into his car and drove into the shadows of the city, unaware that back at the venue, time was ticking—faster than a heartbeat. Inside the bridal suite, Deepika reached for her perfume. But before her fingers touched the bottle, a hand gripped her from behind. A white cloth. The scent of chloroform. Everything went dark. The light snapped on. She blinked fast as her eyes adjusted. A group of masked men entered like shadows. And then he walked in. He didn’t need a crown to prove he ruled the underworld. His presence was thunder. His eyes, a storm. He dragged a chair in front of her and sat. One leg rested over the other. Calm. Powerful. Untouchable. And then... he looked at her. And everything changed. His eyes didn’t narrow in threat— They widened in something else. Curiosity. Wonder. Obsession. He had seen countless women. But none like her. A fire in a red dress. Fear in her eyes. But pride in her spine. She was trembling. And he... was intrigued. A slow, dangerous smile curved on his lips. "Beautiful," he whispered. "Don’t worry sweetheart.