The mafia little theif

Aria had never stolen anything in her life. Not an eraser in school. Not a chocolate from a shop. But the paper shaking in her hands said Rs. 4,00,000 in big red letters. Her mother Sunita was lying in GB Hospital, Agartala. Kidney failure. The doctor had said at 4 pm, "Bring 4 lakhs by tomorrow morning 8 am for the operation, or take your mother home. We can't save her without money." Aria was 22. A college student. She worked part-time in a cafe for 6,000 rupees a month. She had called everyone - her uncle switched off his phone, her friends could only give 500, 1000. At 9 pm, her best friend Pooja pulled her to The Black Door - the most expensive and dangerous bar in the city. Politicians, businessmen, and mafia drank there. "Just bump and take, Aria. Rich men carry 1 lakh cash in their wallet. One time. For aunty," Pooja whispered. Aria was wearing her only good dress, a faded white and blue kurta. She looked so poor among all those rich girls. Then the door opened and the whole bar went silent for 2 seconds. He entered. Reyansh Malhotra. 32 years old. 6'2. Black suit. Tattoos on his neck. Face cold, eyes empty. Everyone said he became an orphan at 10 and now owned half of Tripura. The other half paid him money to stay safe. Even police saluted him. He sat alone at Table No. 9. Two guards stood far away. No one dared to sit with him. A waiter was carrying two glasses of water. Aria stopped him, "I will give it." Her legs were shaking so badly she thought she would fall. She reached his table and purposely tripped. Water spilled all over his costly black suit, his shoes, his table. The guards stepped forward. Reyansh slowly looked up at her. "Are you blind?" His voice was not loud. It was low and calm. That calm was more scary than shouting. "I'm so sorry sir! So sorry!" Aria started wiping his jacket with her dupatta, her hands sweating. And with her other hand, she slipped it into his inner pocket. Leather. Hard. A wallet. She gripped it tight and pulled. And she ran. One. Two. Three steps. A big, strong hand grabbed her wrist from behind and slammed her against the cold brick wall. The air left her lungs. The whole bar was looking at them now. Reyansh was inches away from her face. One hand pinned both her wrists above her head. The other hand opened her tightly closed fist. The black Gucci wallet fell to the floor. "Little thief," he whispered in her ear, his body so close she could smell his expensive cologne. "Did you think you could steal from me?" Aria started crying. All her fake bravery broke. "Please... please sir... my mother... hospital... 4 lakhs... I never stole before... please don't call the police..." Reyansh stared at her. Big brown eyes full of tears, lips trembling, cheap dress, no makeup. So innocent. So scared. Not a professional thief. A desperate daughter. He should have broken her fingers. That was his rule. Last month a pickpocket in his club lost two fingers for stealing 10,000 rupees. But instead, he asked, "How much do you need?" "4 lakhs," she sobbed. He picked up his wallet, opened it, and took out a thick bundle of cash. At least 1 lakh. He put it in her shaking hand. Then he took out his phone and called someone. "GB Hospital? Patient named Sunita, kidney case? Pay her full bill right now. Under Reyansh Malhotra account. Do it now." Aria's eyes widened. "Why are you..." "Because you didn't steal for lipstick. You stole for your mother. I respect that," he said. Then he grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the bar, into his big black Mercedes. His guard asked, "Bhai, what to do with the girl?" "She is coming with me," Reyansh said, pushing Aria inside the car. Aria thought this was her last night. That he would kill her. She didn't know it was the first night of her new life.