THE MAFIA'S GAME

CHAPTER 1 Roshan sat in his dimly lit office, surrounded by the trappings of power. As the third-in-command of the Veneluza mafia, he had grown accustomed to the luxuries and dangers that came with his position. His eyes narrowed as he studied the documents in front of him, his mind focused on the task at hand. But his concentration was broken when his daughter, Cornelia, burst into the room. "Hey, Papa," she said, dropping a quick kiss on his cheek before heading to the kitchen. Roshan's gaze followed her, his eyes lingering on her slender figure. For a moment, he was transported back to a different time, a different life. Memories he had long suppressed began to resurface, and he felt a pang of guilt and regret. Cornelia's resemblance to her mother, Mira, was uncanny. The same piercing blue eyes, the same raven-black hair. Roshan's heart swelled with emotion as he watched his daughter move with a quiet confidence that belied her youth. He knew that he had made sacrifices for her, sacrifices that had led him down a path from which he could never return. The mafia had become his life, and he had risen through the ranks with ruthless efficiency. But it was all worth it, he told himself. He had done it all for Cornelia, to give her the life she deserved. And yet, as he looked at her, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had lost himself in the process. The memories he had kept locked away for so long were now threatening to consume him. Roshan knew that he had to confront his past, to face the demons that had driven him to where he was today. And so, with a sense of trepidation, he began his journey into the past, a journey that would take him back twenty years, to the events that had changed his life forever. --- {TWENTY YEARS AGO} The sweet melody of a lullaby echoed through the hospital corridors, the gentle voice of a woman singing: "Cradle, cradle, little one, Mama's singing, the day is done. You'll grow up to be a pretty girl, With a smile that lights up the world." The voice trailed off, and a man's deep tone took over. "You've sung enough, I think. Time to take our little one to the nursery. You're both tired." Roshan smiled warmly as he lifted the sleeping baby from her mother's arms. He walked out of the ward, the soft beeping of machines and muted conversations of hospital staff fading into the background. As he strolled down the corridor, the scent of disinfectant and fresh flowers filled his nostrils. He passed by a nurse's station, where a group of nurses chatted quietly, their eyes flicking towards him with warm smiles. On his way back from the nursery, Roshan spotted an ice cream truck parked outside the hospital. He couldn't resist buying a scoop of banana ice cream, Mira's favorite flavor. The cold, sweet aroma wafted up, and his excitement grew. He envisioned Mira's bright smile as he handed her the ice cream. As Roshan approached the ward, his joy was short-lived. A faint, desperate voice drifted out: "Please...don't kill me...save my life..." The voice was muffled, but the fear and panic were unmistakable. Roshan's heart sank as he watched through the slightly ajar door. Two men, dressed in black, stood over Mira, one holding a gun to her head. Roshan's eyes widened in horror as he watched, frozen, as the killer pulled the trigger. Two shots rang out – one to the forehead, one to the stomach. Mira's body slumped, her life slipping away. Roshan held his breath, his hand covering his mouth to stifle a scream. He watched, helpless, as the killers ensured Mira's fate was sealed. A wave of rage and grief washed over him, his mind reeling with the brutality of the act. "Mira," Roshan whispered, his voice trembling. As the killers turned to leave, one of them brushed against the doorframe, and Roshan's gaze fell upon a small, crimson stain on the shoulder of the killer's black dress. A tiny, crimson tag was pinned to the stain, with the words "The Bloody" emblazoned on it Roshan's eyes narrowed, his mind burning with the image. As the killer adjusted his gun, Roshan caught a glimpse of an emblem etched into the handle – a serpent coiled around a dagger. The symbol seared itself into Roshan's memory, fueling his desire for vengeance. He felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart pounding in his chest. As he stood there, frozen in horror, the shadows in the hospital corridor seemed to grow longer, twisting into menacing shapes. The air thickened with an eerie silence, punctuated only by the soft beeping of machines and the distant hum of the city. Roshan's eyes remained fixed on the symbol etched into the gun handle – a serpent coiled around a dagger. The image seared i tself into his memory, fueling his desire for vengeance.