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Today was the day.
Tripthi Bajwa-the living legend of the Russian mafia, the "Princess" of death and destruction (note the sarcasm)-was about to walk into an Indian courtroom with her entire bloodline behind her. I was convinced half the world might show up just to breathe the same air she did.
I got dressed in my classic black and white courtroom suit, sharp, minimalistic, and powerful. My hair was in a neat bun, heels clean and precise. No nonsense. Today required that energy.
Downstairs, Datta was already ready, dressed in a simple white kurta-pajama with a brown shawl tossed over his shoulder-looking like the Chief Minister on his way to charm an entire village into peace.
I walked over and adjusted his shawl. "Off to calm farmers and stop riots?"
He smirked. "Off to prove I'm still the most terrifying politician in the state."
I grinned. "I'll be arguing with blood-thirsty mafia elders today. Beat that."
He leaned down and whispered near my ear, "Come back safe, sunshine. If one Bajwa even breathes wrong near you-"
I cut him off with a playful push. "Relax, they're not gonna kill me. Just roast me alive emotionally."
He cupped my cheek and gave me a long, deep kiss. I sighed into him, fingers twisting into his kurta.
"Gross. Can we go now?" came a blank, deadpan voice behind me.
I pulled back and turned, only to see Tripthi standing with her arms crossed and her usual terrifying stillness. Her black, backless bodycon dress showed off the jagged mafia crest tattoo running across her spine.
I blinked. "Do you try to look like a death goddess every morning or does it just happen?"
She looked at me. "If you want to live, don't flatter me."
I rolled my eyes. "Let's go, Your Highness."
We both sat in my Range Rover. As expected, Datta's security team tailed behind us in two black SUVs.
Tripthi opened the glove compartment, took out a piece of candy and said casually, "Your husband's security is annoying. I feel like I'm in a parade."
"Just be grateful it's not the military," I muttered, adjusting the mirror. "Also, stop eating my mango candies."
"I fund three countries. I'll buy you a mango tree."
I snorted. "Show-off."
"Lawyer."
"Terrorist."
She didn't even flinch. "Not wrong."
We didn't speak much after that. Just shared the kind of silence that only long, dangerous friendships know. The car hummed, the city blurred past us, and her presence filled every inch of the space-cold, quiet, and full of shadows.
Finally, we reached the court.
There were already too many black cars. Too many men in suits with ear pieces. And at least a dozen heavily armed Bajwa guards standing like statues.
As we stepped out, I inhaled sharply. "Let the circus begin."
We both got down from the car, matching steps, wearing dark goggles like we were stepping out of a mafia fashion magazine. And just like that, the press launched at us like vultures with microphones.
"Katha ma'am! Is it true Tripthi Bajwa is here to claim a secret inheritance?"
"Tripthi Bajwa! Why return to India after five years?"
"Is there a conflict between you and your family?"
"Do you plan to run the Russian mafia from here now?"
But before they could spew another question, one glare from me-and a far colder, blanker glare from Tripthi-and the entire crowd went silent like the power went out. Cameras slowly dropped, recorders were turned off. The air stilled.
We walked in like nothing touched us.
But inside...
I shivered.
The entire Bajwa clan was already seated.
The powerhouses of hell, I swear.
-The legendary Suryadev Bajwa, her grandfather
-Her dangerous father Ravindra Bajwa
-The elegant but ice-cold stepmother Shanaya Bajwa
-The only person Tripthi actually cares about-her younger stepbrother Ayush
-And a dozen other dangerous family members who looked like they could declare war by blinking
Tripthi didn't glance at a single one of them.
Except-
"Diiiii!!" came a familiar tiny yell.
Tripthi paused.
Ayush ran to her, threw his tiny arms around her waist.
She didn't smile-but she did hug him back.
"How are you, champ?" she asked, voice flat as always.
"Perfect!" he beamed. She nodded once and walked off without another word, sitting beside me.
The courtroom doors closed.
A silence stretched.
The judge entered.
"Let's begin," he said, his voice clearly a little unsure.
The Bajwa lawyer stood up, holding the will. Everyone leaned forward.
"This is the legal will of Mrs. Adira Bajwa, mother of Miss Tripthi Bajwa. The content, as sealed, has been approved and signed by the late Adira Bajwa and witnessed by Mr. Suryadev Bajwa. The will reads-"
He cleared his throat and read:
"The entire Bajwa estate in Novgorod and the surrounding territories shall be transferred to my daughter Tripthi Bajwa on the condition that-within 14 days of this document being read-she must marry a man who is not associated with the mafia world in any form.
Should she fail, the entire property and assets shall be donated to a global orphanage fund in my name. "
BOOM.
Tripthi banged her hand on the table.
The courtroom shook.
"WHAT NONSENSE?!" she shouted, eyes blazing with fury.
"Tripthi," I whispered, grabbing her arm, "Not here-"
"No, Katha! What the hell is this?!"
She stood up, her glare burning holes into her grandfather's face.
"You! You knew! I swear, I don't call you a cunning old budda just for fun-you are mad!" she roared.
Everyone in the courtroom froze.
"You think I can't burn down that entire orphanage and take back my mother's legacy?! TRY ME, I WILL DO IT!" she yelled, voice sharp, raw, and shaking with emotion.
"That's my mother's last memory. The only thing I have of her. And you and your precious son want to take that away from me?!" she spat.
Suryadev stood, trying to talk. "Tripthi-"
"DON'T. Don't you dare."
Her body shook. The judge was visibly terrified. Even her father's jaw was tight.
Suddenly-
She started coughing.
It started small, but quickly intensified. She held her chest, gasping, but still glaring at her grandfather, even as her lungs failed her.
Her family jolted in panic.
"Shit-her asthma!" I yelled, diving into her bag, pulling out her inhaler and pressing it to her mouth.
She inhaled, trembling, as I held her steady.
A few long seconds passed.
Finally, her breathing calmed-but her rage didn't.
Her voice returned, hoarse but deadly.
"Let's go, Katha."
I nodded silently, supporting her.
Her family rushed toward her-but she didn't even look at them. Not a word. Not a glance.
And with a terrifying calm, Tripthi Bajwa walked out of the courtroom like she hadn't just threatened to burn down an orphanage and set the judiciary on fire.
I sat on the sofa, a huge sigh escaping my lips as I leaned back, my hand lazily caressing Sheraa's soft fur. He laid his giant snow-leopard head on my lap like a baby, purring like it was his bedtime, not a warzone in progress.
In front of us?
A full-blown hurricane named Tripthi Bajwa.
CRASH!
There went the third vase-an antique, mind you, imported from Rome.
THUD!
All the pillows from the couch were flung across the room like grenades. One even hit Sheraa, but he didn't care. We were emotionally numb.
And then-
BOOOOM.
There went our big-ass TV.
I blinked.
Sheraa blinked.
We both turned and looked at each other like, this is fine.
"She's in her villain arc again," I muttered, scratching behind Sheraa's ear.
Sheraa let out a small huff, like even he agreed.
"Honestly, I should be scared. But I've reached stage 5-acceptance."
Tripthi, meanwhile, had taken a cushion and ripped it apart like she was dissecting betrayal.
Finally, just when I thought things couldn't get worse, the front door opened.
Enter Dattatriya Agnivanshi.
The Chief Minister, the Italian Mafia Boss, the Ice King himself-looking like he'd fought three riots and solved a famine.
He stepped in, and his eyes immediately took in the destruction. His jaw tightened, and he slowly turned to me.
"Katha."
"Yes?"
"...Did we get robbed?"
"Nope."
He looked around again. "Did an earthquake hit just our house?"
"Nope."
He narrowed his eyes. "Sheraa?"
Sheraa huffed indignantly and looked away.
"It's Tripthi," I said casually, patting his chest with a little smile.
He blinked once. "Should I be concerned?"
"No, no. She'll fix it." I paused. "Probably."
His face was unreadable. "Remind me again why I married you."
"Because I'm hot, and Sheraa loves me," I said sweetly.
He just sighed and walked toward his room, muttering something about heart attacks and Bajwas.
I got up and quietly followed Tripthi to her room.
I knocked once, then entered.
"Tripthi," I called.
She sat on the bed, expressionless. Her eyes had that dangerous calm. Like fire right before it explodes.
"Where the fuck am I supposed to find an innocent man, Katha?!" she yelled suddenly, fists clenched. "WHERE?! You think I have saints on speed dial?!"
I rolled my eyes. "Will you stop yelling, please? Your voice is not helping the structural integrity of the house."
She glared.
I sat beside her and lowered my tone. "Adira aunty wouldn't write something like this without a reason. You know her better than anyone. She was sharp, not stupid."
Her expression didn't change.
"Or maybe," she muttered coldly, "that old cunning budda and his ever-loyal son manipulated her before she died."
I shook my head. "Tripthi, come on. Adira aunty wasn't the kind you could manipulate with a smile and a cup of tea. She practically ran your father's mafia better than he ever did."
Tripthi's lips pressed together tightly, her eyes dropping for a second.
I leaned in and hugged her.
"Think, my black dog," I whispered softly, "Not as the Bajwa mafia heiress. But as Adira Bajwa's daughter. Think with that heart."
She stayed still. Cold. But I felt the tiniest bit of tremble in her hands.
I kissed her head and stood up. "And for the love of god, fix my damn house. Poor Datta almost had a heart attack-bechara mere pati ko heart attack dediya!"
("You poor soul gave my husband a full-blown heart attack!")
Tripthi gave me a slow blink and finally nodded blankly.
I smiled.
And walked back to my room like the house wasn't a half-demolished warzone and my best friend wasn't in existential crisis number #12.
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