AUTHOR'S POV.
The music filled every corner of the lavish venue, but beneath its glamour lurked an unseen thread of danger. It was silent, chilling, and deadly.
Yashvardhan sat at the far end of the lounge. His bloodshot eyes betrayed the exact extent of his intoxication. With a sharp slam, he placed his crystal glass onto the table before uncorking a bottle of 1945 Chateau Mouton Rothschild, one of the rarest and most prestigious wines in the world.
The deep crimson liquid flowed into the glass as the veins along his neck tightened. Rage simmered beneath his skin, but hidden beneath that fury was something far more dangerous. Desperation. It was a desperation to reach the one thing he had kept his eyes on for years.
He emptied the glass in a single gulp, breathing heavily as the alcohol burned down his throat. Without wasting another second, he poured himself another.
A hand caught his wrist.
"Leave me." Yashvardhan jerked his arm free before swallowing another glass in one go.
"Calm your beast down, Yashvardhan. Kyun thak rahe ho?" Prashant said casually, spreading his arms lazily across the sofa.
"What the hell does he think of himself?" Yashvardhan growled. "Just because he controls twenty-five percent of the votes, he thinks he can do whatever he wants?".
His chest rose and fell heavily as his burning gaze landed on Adwait, who sat across the room on a bar stool, completely unbothered by the storm brewing around him.
"Jaa kar poochh kar aau kya?" Prashant asked nonchalantly.
("Should I go and ask him?")
"Shut up," Yashvardhan snapped, his eyes never leaving Adwait.
"Sochna bhi mat," Prashant warned, following his gaze. "Usse kharoch bhi aayi na, uska baap pehle tumhari kursi cheenega. Phir tumhari izzat. Aur uske baad tumhara rutba."
Yashvardhan let out a humorless scoff.
"He is just a Chief Minister, and I am a sitting Cabinet Minister in Parliament," he said, his voice dripping with pride and arrogance like venom.
Prashant smirked. "He chose that position. The position didn't choose him. Yaad hai na kya hua tha?"
Yashvardhan looked at him for a few seconds, confusion flashing across his face. "Tumhe kaise pata?"
("How do you know that?")
Prashant chuckled. "Meri umar dekh kar soch rahe ho na kaise pata? Main toh paida bhi nahi hua tha, right?" He casually ran a hand through his hair before leaning back. "Mere father woh aadmi the jo impulse mein react karte the. Main woh aadmi hoon jo pehle observe karta hoon, phir information collect karta hoon."
("You're wondering how I know, aren't you? Looking at my age, you're probably thinking I wasn't even born back then... right?"/"My father was the kind of man who reacted on impulse. I'm the kind of man who observes first... then gathers information.")
He raised an eyebrow. "You know information is the key to..."
"Success?" Yashvardhan replied.
"Ahh, haa." Prashant clicked his tongue. "Survival."
Yashvardhan poured himself another drink. "I asked him for the specific docks and the division of territories among the members, but he deliberately postponed the discussion."
Prashant slowly turned toward him. "Tumhe pata hai tumhari sabse badi kamzori kya hai, Yashvardhan?" He lightly tapped a finger against Yashvardhan's chest. "Tum cheenna chahte ho. Aur ye baat tumhare chehre par saaf-saaf likhi hui hai. Jo tumhara hai woh bhi, aur jo tumhara nahi hai woh bhi."
YOU ARE READING
Aanya:His Destined Bride.
Romance#MAFIA_SERIES 🔥 Aanya, stop," Adwait said, his voice slightly louder now, laced with warning. She could see it-he was about to snap. Yes, yes, now he'll lose it, she thought, a thrill sparking in her chest. But instead of reacting with anger, Adwai...
