Chapter 11
The cold, misty night air in the private courtyard of Palazzo Pisani felt frozen in time.
Victor Romano writhed on the cobblestones, clutching his shattered, bleeding wrist with a high-pitched groan of agony.
The silenced pistol lay uselessly in a puddle of rainwater nearby.
His three remaining thugs stood paralyzed in shock, their eyes wide behind their porcelain masks as they stared at the towering, lethal figure standing between them and Shruti.
Akhil didn't hesitate for a single microsecond.
Before the thugs could pull their weapons from beneath their velvet cloaks, Akhil moved like a hurricane.
He closed the distance in two long, terrifying strides, his heavy tactical pistol raised with deadly precision.
He drove a crushing elbow straight into the jaw of the nearest thug, sending the man flying backward into the stone wall.
The second thug lunged forward with a long steel blade. Akhil sidestepped the blade with military speed, grabbed the man’s forearm, twisted it until the bone cracked, and delivered a devastating knee strike straight into his ribs. The man collapsed onto the wet stone, gasping for breath.
The final thug turned on his heels to flee towards the canal jetty, but Akhil caught him by his velvet cloak, spun him around, and slammed him face-first into the heavy iron gate, knocking him instantly unconscious.
Within less than fifteen seconds, all four men were neutralized.
The heavy wooden doors of the courtyard burst open, and Leonardo Bianchi rushed out alongside six armed operatives from Akhil’s private security team and officers from the Italian Carabinieri.
"Akhil!" Leonardo shouted, taking in the scene of destruction. "The police perimeter is secure! We have the water gates blocked!"
"Arrest Victor Romano and his men," Akhil commanded, his voice cold enough to freeze the canal water. "Hand Romano directly over to the chief inspector. Charge him with attempted kidnapping, armed extortion, and organized crime."
"Si, Mr. Raheja," the Italian police chief bowed grimly, surrounding the groaning Victor Romano and slapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists.
Akhil lowered his tactical pistol, engaging the safety lock, and shoved it smoothly back into his shoulder holster beneath his tuxedo shirt. He turned around slowly.
The lethal, terrifying storm in his eyes instantly melted into raw, frantic concern the moment his gaze landed on Shruti.
Shruti was still standing pressed against the cold stone wall, her breath coming in fast, shallow gasps. Her emerald velvet ballgown was slightly torn at the sleeve, her dark hair had loosened from its high updos, and her porcelain mask hung loosely from her fingers.
"Shruti..." Akhil breathed, his voice trembling, a rare, vulnerable sound from a man who never showed weakness.
He closed the distance between them in two fast steps, grabbing her shoulders firmly in his broad, warm hands. His dark eyes searched her pale face, her throat, her hands, scanning every inch of her body for any sign of injury.
"Did they touch you? Did they hurt you?" Akhil demanded, his voice thick with raw emotion. "Tell me, Shruti!"
Shruti looked up at his handsome, fierce face illuminated by the moonlight. The adrenaline crash hit her all at once, making her slender body shake uncontrollably.
"I'm... I'm okay," Shruti sobbed softly, tears finally spilling over her eyelashes and rolling down her cheeks. "You came... Akhil, you saved me."
Without saying another word, Akhil pulled off his heavy cashmere coat and wrapped it tightly around her trembling shoulders, swallowing her small frame in his rich warmth and sandalwood scent.
He didn't care about the police officers watching.
He didn't care about the palace guests or the media reporters gathering outside the canal gates.
Akhil wrapped his broad, powerful arms around her waist, pulling her tightly against his solid chest, anchoring her against him as if he would never let her go again.
Shruti buried her face into the crook of his neck, her fingers digging tightly into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to his strength, taking comfort in the rapid, heavy thud of his heart hammering against her cheek.
"I've got you," Akhil whispered rawly against her hair, his chin resting on her head, his hands caressing her back with infinite tenderness. "I'm never letting you out of my sight again."
***
An hour later, the private mahogany water taxi glided smoothly away from the Santa Lucia docks of Venice.
A sudden late-night European storm had rolled over the Venetian lagoon. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, and a heavy, warm rain began to fall from the dark sky, dancing across the surface of the Grand Canal, making the golden streetlights sparkle like liquid amber in the water.
Inside the quiet, enclosed leather cabin of the boat, Shruti sat on the wide sofa bench, wrapped in Akhil’s coat.
Akhil sat right beside her, his suit jacket discarded, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He held a silver flask of warm brandy, handing it gently to her.
"Drink a little," Akhil murmured softly. "It will warm you up."
Shruti took a small sip of the stinging brandy, feeling the warmth spread through her chest. She set the flask on the table and turned her head to look at him.
The water taxi was heading back towards the private, secluded mainland villa in Mestre where Akhil’s private jet was stationed to fly them back to Lake Como.
The cabin was silent, save for the steady, rhythmic pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the glass roof of the boat.
Shruti stared at Akhil’s sharp, stern profile as he looked out at the rainy canal.
Her mind was swirling with everything that had happened over the last twenty-four hours, the eight-year-old photograph in his wallet, his raw confession on the wooden dock, and the terrifying fight in the Venetian courtyard.
"Akhil," Shruti spoke softly, her voice cutting cleanly through the quiet hum of the boat engine.
Akhil turned his head to look at her, his dark eyes resting on her face with gentle intensity. "Yes, Shruti?"
"In the conference room yesterday... when I showed you the photograph...
" Shruti swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as she gathered her courage to ask the question that had been burning inside her soul.
"You said you stayed away because you promised Raghav.
You said you thought you were too dark and dangerous for me. "
Akhil went completely still. His dark eyes flickered, a subtle tightness settling over his sharp jawline.
"Shruti... tonight is not the time to discuss this," Akhil said quietly, his tone turning guarded and protective. "You've been through a terrifying ordeal. You need rest."
"No!" Shruti declared firmly, throwing off his coat and sitting up straight on the leather sofa, her dark eyes flashing with her natural, fearless spirit.
"I am tired of waiting, Akhil! I am tired of you running away behind your walls!
We are thousands of miles away from Mumbai, Victor Romano is in handcuffs, and I am sitting right in front of you.
Stop protecting me from yourself and talk to me! "
Akhil stared at her fiery face. He looked at her dark, brilliant eyes, her flushed cheeks, and the stubborn tilt of her chin.
A slow, heavy sigh escaped his chest. He ran a hand through his dark, rain-dampened hair, leaning his elbows on his knees, looking down at the wooden floor of the boat cabin for three long seconds.
When he looked back up at her, the polished, controlled billionaire chief executive was gone. In his place was simply a man, a man whose heart was completely bare and bleeding before the woman he loved.
"You want the truth, Shruti?" Akhil spoke, his deep voice dropping to a low, raw gravel that vibrated with intense, agonizing emotion. "You want to know why I spent eight years acting like a cold, distant big brother?"
"Yes," Shruti whispered, her throat tight.
Akhil stood up from his seat, stepping across the small cabin to kneel right in front of her on the carpeted floor. He placed his broad, warm hands over her knees, looking directly into her eyes from below.
"When you turned nineteen," Akhil confessed softly, his voice trembling with a decade of hidden pain, "I realized that I was completely, hopelessly in love with you. It wasn't a passing thought. It was a consuming fire that took over my entire life."
Shruti felt a sharp gasp catch in her throat, her eyes welling up with tears.
"Every time you walked into a room, my heart stopped," Akhil continued, his dark eyes burning into hers with a raw, undeniable honesty. "Every time you laughed, every time you looked at me with those bright, innocent eyes, I wanted to pull you into my arms and never let you go. But I couldn't."
"Why?" Shruti sobbed softly. "Why couldn't you, Akhil?"
"Because of Raghav!" Akhil confessed rawly, his grip tightening gently on her knees.
"Raghav is my best friend, my brother. When we were twenty-five, long before I built my hotel empire, Raghav and I made a solemn pact that family always comes first. He trusted me with his life. He trusted me with his family."
Akhil took a heavy, ragged breath, a shadow of deep guilt crossing his handsome face.
"I was thirty-one years old, Shruti," Akhil explained, his voice thick with emotion.
"I was an eight-years-older billionaire operating in a cutthroat, dark corporate world filled with dangerous business rivals, death threats, and media scandals.
You were nineteen, a bright, pure, cheerful young girl with a heart full of dreams and a whole world to explore. "
He raised one hand, his long, warm fingers gently cupping her golden cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear.