A ripple of quiet awe passed through the velvet-lit ballroom as Pravir Ranjan—Mumbai’s power broker—entered with silent precision. Marigold and saffron lifted in his wake, a scent that commanded the air without violence. His tailored suit was classic Mumbai royalty, but his relaxed half-smile was a challenge in itself. Yashvir Dutt, his consigliere, matched his stride with calm sandalwood and observation, a subtle protector amid hidden blades.
Yashvir, scanning the crowd, murmured in Hindi, “अब ये सब देखो, कितनी चालाकी से खेल खेलते हैं। (See how cleverly they all play their games.)”
Pravir quirked a smile, eyes never leaving the Russian section. “चालाकी तो बस शुरुआत है, यशवीर। असली मज़ा तब आता है जब लोग दिल से खेलें। (Cleverness is only the beginning, Yashvir. Real fun comes when hearts are on the line.)”
Across the gleaming floor, Zelovon Irix surveyed Pravir’s entrance, cedar and clove signaling cool strength. Viktor Ilyin, burnt pine and leather, stood sentinel, eyes flashing with predatory calculation. Rian D’Angelo circled discreetly with plum and basil, delivering quiet advice in Russian.
Zelovon murmured to Viktor, “Смотри внимательно. Индиец не простой. (Watch closely. The Indian is no fool.)”
Viktor nodded, responding quietly, “Он ведет себя как король, потому что таков по праву. (He acts like a king because he is one by right.)”
Pravir approached with regal nonchalance, his voice light but edged.
“Добрый вечер, господа. (Good evening, gentlemen.)” He greeted in Russian, accent flawless, earning Zelovon’s brief, surprised chuckle.
Zelovon replied, “Впечатляюще. Не ожидал такого от хозяина Мумбаи. (Impressive. Didn’t expect this from a Mumbai boss.)”
Pravir grinned at Yashvir in Hindi, “दुनिया छोटी है, बातें बड़ी। (The world is small, but words are big.)” Turning back to Zelovon, his tone switched to English, “Business brings diplomats to black-tie masques—and war to breakfast tables, yes?”
Yashvir, warming to Pravir’s mood, added softly in Hindi, “ये सब देखो, जैसे नचते हुए शेर। (Just look at them, dancing lions.)"
Pravir’s laughter was rich and sincere. “शेर है, मगर जंजीरें किसी के हाथ में नहीं। (Lions, but no chains in anyone’s hands.)”
Rian slipped beside Zelovon, murmuring in Russian, “Торгуй осторожно, шеф. (Negotiate carefully, boss.)”
Zelovon nodded, blue eyes never leaving Pravir’s. There was admiration there, begrudging.
Pravir proposed a toast: “Life is about survival—and style. In my city, we do both beautifully. Cheers!” His tone won quick allegiance; several bystanders raised glasses to him, drawn by his infectious humor. Even the Russian bodyguards cracked rare smiles.
Yashvir leaned in, dropping a playful Hindi aside: “आज तो पार्टी तेरे नाम से ही चल रही है। (Looks like the party’s running in your name tonight.)”
Pravir winked back, “इसी लिए आए हैं, सब को याद रहे कौन है असली खिलाड़ी। (That’s why I came—so everyone remembers who the real player is.)”
The banter flickered rapidly, switching between Hindi, Russian, and English, establishing alliances and boundaries with words as much as with pheromones. Pravir never lost control—he charmed, teased, and invited challenge, refusing to act cowed even as tension built.
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
Alpha Collision
FantasiaTags: • Mpreg • Switch couple • Heavy Smut • Omegaverse • Alpha x Alpha • Pheromones (depicted very deeply) ~***~ Zelovon Irix is a name that sends shivers down the spine of many, yet commands a level of...
