Chapter 7
The pale morning light of dawn was just beginning to break over the Mumbai harbor when Shruti woke up to the muffled sound of urgent voices coming from the floor below.
She threw off her duvet, pulled a soft cotton robe over her silk pajamas, and padded quietly out of her suite. Tiptoeing down the second-floor gallery, she looked down into the grand marble foyer.
Gathered near the entrance of Akhil’s private study were Akhil, Raghav, and Mark, the chief of security.
Akhil was still wearing his crisp dress shirt from the previous night, though his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms and his collar was unbuttoned.
His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his jaw was set in a tight, formidable line.
Raghav looked equally grave, his arms folded tightly across his chest as he stared at a tablet held by Mark.
Sensing a sudden spike of anxiety, Shruti hurried down the floating glass staircase.
"What's going on?" Shruti asked, her voice echoing in the quiet foyer.
All three men turned instantly to look at her.
Akhil’s dark eyes softened slightly as he took in her sleepy appearance, but the hard, protective edge in his posture remained unchanged. He stepped forward, putting a reassuring hand on Raghav’s shoulder before turning to face Shruti.
"Shruti," Raghav spoke first, his tone heavy with concern. "Reyansh Khanna is escalating his tactics. Mark’s team intercepted two suspicious vehicles parked near the outer estate perimeter at three o'clock this morning."
Shruti felt her heart do a cold, uncomfortable flutter. "Reyansh’s men were outside the gates again?"
"Not just outside the gates," Mark chimed in, adjusting his glasses. "We tracked the license plates. The vehicles belonged to a private enforcement group hired by Khanna Enterprises. Furthermore, our intelligence operatives intercepted an encrypted phone call between Reyansh and Victor Romano."
"Victor Romano?" Shruti repeated, her dark eyes wide with confusion. "Who is that?"
"Victor Romano," Akhil answered, his deep voice dropping to a cold, razor-sharp register, "is a corrupt, mafia-linked Italian businessman operating in northern Italy. Reyansh has been trying to partner with Romano to sabotage my luxury hotel project in Lake Como. But now, Reyansh is using Romano’s underground network to put pressure on us here in Mumbai. "
Akhil took two slow steps towards Shruti, his dark eyes locked onto hers with absolute seriousness.
"Reyansh knows you are staying here, Shruti," Akhil explained calmly. "He knows that as long as you are inside this estate, he cannot reach you. So he is planning to force a confrontation by targeting your father’s shipping offices or tracking Raghav’s movements across the city."
Shruti gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock. "My father?! Raghav?!" Panic surged through her like a tidal wave. "No... no, this is all my fault! If I hadn't been standing outside that study at the gala, "
"Stop right there," Akhil commanded firmly, stepping into her personal space and grabbing both of her hands in his broad, warm palm.
His grip was steady and grounding, instantly cutting through her rising panic.
"This is not your fault, Shruti. Reyansh Khanna is a criminal who was already destroying innocent lives long before you overheard him.
Do not take responsibility for his sickness. "
"Then what are we going to do?" Shruti asked, her voice trembling slightly as she looked between Akhil and her brother. "I can't stay here if it puts my family in danger!"
"You're not staying here," Raghav said, stepping up beside them. He looked at his sister with deep affection and total trust in his eyes. "You are leaving Mumbai today, Shruti."
Shruti blinked in confusion. "Leaving Mumbai? Where am I going? To Mom and Dad’s house in Pune?"
"No," Akhil murmured, his thumb lightly brushing over the back of her knuckles before he let go of her hands. "You are coming with me to Italy."
Shruti’s breath caught in her throat. She stared at him in utter disbelief. "Italy?!"
"I have an emergency board meeting and property inspection scheduled at Lake Como for the new resort project," Akhil explained smoothly, as if flying across continents was the most logical decision in the world.
"My private estate on Lake Como, Villa Raheja, is an isolated, centuries-old fortress built right onto the rocky cliffs of the lake. It is completely off the grid, guarded by elite European security, and entirely unreachable by Reyansh’s Mumbai henchmen. "
"Akhil is right, Shruti," Raghav added persuasively. "If you are in Italy under Akhil’s direct protection, Reyansh loses his leverage here in Mumbai. It gives my legal team and Dad time to coordinate with the police to freeze Reyansh’s assets and arrest him without worrying about your safety."
Shruti looked at Akhil. He stood before her like an unyielding mountain, calm, powerful, and completely prepared to fly her halfway across the world just to keep her safe.
"When... when are we leaving?" Shruti asked softly.
Akhil checked his gold wristwatch. "My private jet is fueled and ready on the tarmac at Chhatrapati Shivaji Airport. We wheels-up in two hours."
***
Two hours later, the roaring engines of Akhil’s private Gulfstream jet cut through the morning air as the luxury aircraft soared into the blue Mumbai sky, leaving the bustling skyline far behind.
Inside the private jet cabin, Shruti sat in a wide, cream leather armchair beside a large oval window.
The interior of the plane was a masterclass in understated billionaire luxury. Polished mahogany tables, plush velvet carpets, a private sleeping suite at the back, and a full galley kitchen managed by a private flight attendant.
Shruti leaned her head against the window, watching the coastline of India fade into the vast expanse of the ocean.
Her mind was spinning. Just three days ago, she had landed in Mumbai expecting a quiet month of writing travel articles and visiting her parents.
Now, she was on a private jet flying to Lake Como, Italy, accompanied by the man she had secretly loved for eight long years.
"Anxious?" a deep voice asked softly.
Shruti looked up. Akhil was stepping out of the forward cabin office area.
He had changed out of his formal suit and was now wearing a far more relaxed, incredibly handsome outfit, a tailored charcoal-grey cashmere sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, dark denim jeans, and comfortable leather shoes.
He held two porcelain cups of coffee, the aroma of fresh espresso filling the quiet cabin.
He handed one cup to Shruti, his warm fingers briefly brushing against hers, sending a small spark of heat through her skin.
"Thanks," Shruti smiled softly, taking a sip of the rich, hot coffee. "I'm not anxious... just overwhelmed. Everything is moving so fast."
Akhil pulled up a leather armchair directly opposite hers, sitting down and crossing his long legs comfortably. He set his cup on the polished mahogany table between them, his dark eyes watching her face with gentle intensity.
"It will slow down once we land in Como," Akhil assured her, his voice carrying a quiet, comforting warmth. "My villa in Italy is very quiet. No private security guards breathing down your neck, no high-society galas, and no corporate drama. Just the lake, the mountains, and peace."
Shruti looked at him, a mischievous smirk slowly returning to her lips as her natural spirit revived. "No private security guards? Does that mean Rule Number One is officially dead, Mr. Dictator?"
Akhil chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that made Shruti’s heart do a happy flip. He leaned back in his leather chair, resting his chin on his thumb as he looked at her with an amused glint in his eyes.
"Rule Number One is simply changing locations, Miss Malhotra," Akhil countered smoothly. "In Italy, you won't need four security guards. You’ll have me."
Shruti felt a sudden rush of heat flush her cheeks. 'You'll have me.' The words hung between them, loaded with an unspoken intimacy that made her pulse race. She quickly took another sip of her espresso to cover her reaction.
"So," Shruti said, changing the subject to distract herself. "Tell me about this villa. Is it another giant glass palace like your mansion in Worli?"
"Not at all," Akhil smiled, his eyes lighting up with genuine affection as he spoke about his Italian home.
"Villa Raheja was built in the eighteenth century by an Italian noble family.
It's built on a steep cliffside directly over Lake Como, near the village of Bellagio.
It has terracotta roofs, stone archways, historic gardens, and a private dock. "
"It sounds breathtaking," Shruti breathed softly, her travel journalist instincts instantly piqued. "I’ve written articles about Lake Como before, but I’ve never actually visited Lombardy."
"Then I take it upon myself to be your personal tour guide," Akhil murmured, his dark gaze lingering on her smiling face. "Though I doubt my commentary will match the high standards of an award-winning travel journalist."
"Oh, don't worry," Shruti smirked teasingly, pointing her coffee spoon at him. "If your tour guide skills are terrible, I will give your villa a two-star review in my next magazine article."
Akhil burst into a genuine, warm laugh, shaking his head. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Shorty."
For the next eight hours, as the Gulfstream jet glided smoothly across international airspace, passing over the Arabian Peninsula, the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean Sea, and the snow-capped peaks of the European Alps, the miles melted away in a blur of comfortable conversation.
They talked about everything, Shruti’s funny travel disasters in Southeast Asia, Akhil’s early struggles when he built his boutique hotel empire in Europe, their favorite childhood memories with Raghav, and their shared love for quiet evening walks.