Chapter 14
"Sir, we are very sorry but Your grandfather has found out that you're here" the right handed Man said .
Last night this bastrad has called me breaking the beautiful moments between me and Ruhi.
And Now this Fucker has the audacity to tell me that grandfather has found out that I'm here?
Fuck . Fuck. Fuck
My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack. Rage boiled in my veins, white-hot and merciless. How the fuck did he find me? I had erased every trace, buried every lead, and yet here I was-cornered.
The right-hand man shifted uneasily under my glare, but I didn't give him the satisfaction of speaking again.
My fists curled at my sides, nails digging into my palms as if the pain could keep me grounded.
All I could think of was Ruhi. Her smile, her soft laugh, the way she looked at me as if I wasn't the monster everyone believed me to be.
If my grandfather's men touched her... if she even came into his line of sight, she would be dragged into a world she didn't deserve. A world of blood, guns, and betrayals. I could endure it-I had endured it my whole life. But Ruhi? She was the only pure thing I had left.
"Get the fuck out of my sight," I growled, my voice low, venom lacing every word. "And if you even breathe my location to him, I will put a bullet between your eyes before he can even touch me."
The man swallowed hard, nodding quickly before backing away.
I dragged my hands down my face, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal. My chest heaved with uneven breaths. My grandfather-the man I loved, the man who raised me, the man I owed everything to-was also the one person who could take everything away from me.
I slammed my fist against the wall, the sound echoing in the silence. I didn't care about the pain shooting up my arm. What I cared about was the soft hum of Ruhi's voice from the kitchen, faintly reaching my ears.
She didn't know. She couldn't know. Not yet.
I closed my eyes, steadying my breath, forcing myself back into control. I couldn't let her see the storm inside me. To her, I had to remain her Lorenzo the man who made her laugh, who brought her a puppy, who pretended for a few stolen moments that we were normal.
But deep down, I knew the clock was ticking. My grandfather was close. Too close. And when he finally stood before me, I would have to make the most brutal choice of my life.
Her.
Or him.
And God help me... I already knew who I'd choose.
In Italy, the storm was already brewing
Lorenzo's grandfather, stood in the grand hall of his villa, surrounded by his most trusted men.
His presence alone commanded silence, his aura sharper than the blades strapped to his soldiers' belts.
At his age, his hair was streaked with silver, but his eyes those ruthless, calculating eyes still held the fire of a man who had built an empire from blood and bones.
"India," he said finally, his deep voice echoing in the marble hall. "Prepare the jet. We leave at dawn."
The men exchanged quick glances, none daring to question him. But one finally stepped forward, bowing his head. "Boss forgive my boldness, but... if the rumors are true, your grandson is there. Shouldn't we retrieve him first?"
The old man's jaw tightened. Lorenzo. His pride. His heir. The boy he had raised as his own son after fate had taken everything else away. For a flicker of a second, the mask cracked grief, anger, and longing flickering across his stern features.
But it was gone in an instant. His voice turned cold, lethal.
"First, we clean the rot. Mr. Mehta has dared to drug my grandson's drink and tried to kill him. "
He leaned forward, his cane striking the marble floor with a sharp crack.
"Once Mehta is eliminated, we will deal with Lorenzo. If my grandson has lost his way, I will remind him of who he is. Of where he belongs."
The silence was suffocating. No one dared to breathe too loudly.
Don Riccardo's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though there was no warmth in it. "India will remember the name De Romano. And Mr. Mehta..." his voice dropped to a deadly whisper, "will not live to see another sunrise."
Outside, the private jet was already being fueled, soldiers loading weapons into sleek black cases. The Don's shadow stretched long across the villa's steps, reaching outward toward India, toward blood, toward the grandson he would reclaim at any cost.
The game had begun.
India had no idea what was coming for it.
While the world outside their small home spun with chaos and shadows, Ruhi and Lorenzo were wrapped in a fragile illusion of peace.
She was in the living room, playing with Leo, her laughter ringing like a bell.
Lorenzo sat across from her, pretending to scroll through a newspaper, though his eyes never left her.
Every now and then, Ruhi would glance up, catching him staring, and roll her eyes before tossing Leo's toy across the floor. The puppy yipped, chasing after it, and Ruhi's smile grew wider. That smile it anchored him, even as the storm brewed closer.
But far away, in the skies, the storm was already moving.
The De Romano jet sliced through the clouds, its sleek black body almost predatory against the night sky. Inside, Don sat in the leather chair, his cane resting against his knee. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone, but his mind was a battlefield.
Beside him, his right-hand man broke the silence. "Boss, Mehta will be at the business gala tomorrow night. Security is heavy, but nothing we cannot handle. Do you wish for a clean kill... or a message?"
Don's fingers drummed against the cane slowly, deliberately. His gaze shifted out the window, toward the faint glow of the horizon. India.
"Not just a message," he replied, his tone carrying the weight of decades of bloodshed. "A warning. No one touches what is mine. Not my empire. Not my grandson."
The man bowed his head, understanding. This was no ordinary strike. This was war.
The Don closed his eyes for a moment, and though his face remained stone, his chest tightened with a truth he would never admit aloud. He wanted to see Lorenzo. His boy. His heir. He wanted to look him in the eyes, to make him remember his blood, his duty, his family.
But if Lorenzo resisted? If he chose love over legacy?
The Don's jaw hardened, his heart turning back into steel. Then he would drag him home, kicking and screaming if necessary. No woman no matter how soft her smile, no matter how much light she carried would take his heir from him.
Back in India, Lorenzo felt a shiver crawl down his spine. He glanced toward the window instinctively, as though he could feel the weight of his grandfather's shadow reaching across the world, stretching closer with every passing hour.
And in that moment, he knew.
Time was running out.
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