CHAPTER 34
MARCELLO
I stood at the tarmac, the wind slicing through my coat.
Antonio and Santino stood beside me, grim-faced, silent. The kind of silence that comes before war.
Lorenzo had sent men to Palma to scope out the Leopardi estate. Lucky for us, only Antonio and a few of his men were there. We intercepted Lorenzo’s pathetic attempt before it could unfold.
I knew he’d come for my family—the one I had, and the one I hadn’t built yet. The one I hadn’t even earned.
My mother, Alessia, and the kids were already on an ‘impromptu’ holiday—sent to our allies in Scotland under the guise of school break.
I told Santino to stay back and help the Leopardi’s. Protect what mattered. Santino made sure they were far from the fire. Safe and settled. Then he came back to help me finish what Lorenzo started.
The stupid carogna made it easy. He was sloppy and predictable, like all of Lorenzo’s men—bought, not built. They were caught, interrogated and now at the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea.
“Don’t forget your pills,” Antonio muttered. “You’re no good when you look like you’re about to lose your shit.”
I grunted, nearly smacking him in the head. He deserved it—for mocking my panic attack.
“And yeah, breathe 1, 2, 3, 4. Hold…” Santino’s voice was calm. Too calm.
“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. Don’t mother me,” I snapped.
Martin was flying with me—only till Mumbai. He’d received intel that Lorenzo was hiding somewhere in Southeast Asia—Thailand or maybe Cambodia. The Triads had helped him before. Maybe they were helping him again.
Martin had reached out to his old mercenary contacts—men who owed him favours, men who didn’t ask questions. They were already triangulating Lorenzo’s movements through encrypted channels and black-market chatter.
He’d surface soon. And when he did, I’d be waiting. I wasn’t going to play his game. I’d face him head-on, not lurk in shadows like the figghiu di puttana he is.
Lorenzo was a coward. Always sending others to do his dirty work. Men who could be bought. Men who didn’t matter. Bloody finocchio.
He never bled for his empire. I’d make sure he did now. And I’d watch him drown in it.
I landed in Mumbai on a Friday, early evening.
The city was loud. Alive. Too alive for the dead weight I carried. My body ached in places I didn’t know had feelings.
And sleep? It was a stranger I couldn’t trust.
Every time I tried, I was pulled back into the same cold, stone room, staring down at Roxanne’s lifeless body. It haunted me. Even when I knew it wasn’t real. I knew she was okay. I’d seen the surveillance Santino arranged—discreet, efficient. I tracked her movements like a man possessed.
I carried her letter with me, the one she wrote just before she left. Thanks to Santino’s extensive research, I knew everything I had to know about Roxanne and her life. Her work. Her family. Every thread she’d woven into the world.
And the more I found, the deeper I got sucked into her.
The deeper I felt for her. All I wanted to do was see her. Hold her.
Tell her how scared I was. How much she meant to me. And how sorry I was to speak those words in anger.
It was too early to show up at her house. The latest update said she was still at Studio Rasa. I waited in the car until most of the staff left. The sun had dipped low by the time I stepped out.
Studio Rasa was tucked into a quiet residential lane—one of those old Bombay bungalows that had been converted into something new. The kind of place that still remembered who it used to be.
There was no guard. Just a small driveway, enough for a car and a few bikes. A mango tree stood in the corner of the compound, its branches heavy, casting long shadows over a covered bench and a patch of garden.
The lights inside were off, but music pulsed through the air—something upbeat, something loud. It spilled into the empty reception area, like it belonged there. I followed the sound.
The office was mostly open-plan. A large reception desk with a small meeting room to the side.
Beyond the entry reception, to the left, a sample room.
To the right were workstations. Beyond that, a glass-walled conference room.
At the far end, the main cabin—hers and Sahil’s.
It overlooked everything. Of course it did.
The flooring was a cool grey stone. The ceilings were high.
Arched windows lined the walls, blinds drawn now.
Sketches and photographs hung along the corridor—projects, renderings, moments frozen in time.
The columns were painted in bright colours.
The space felt alive. It felt like her. Like memory with a heartbeat.
I reached the cabin. The door was open and my body went still. Roxanne was dancing with Sahil like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t almost died. Like I hadn’t spent the last two days clawing my way out of hell.
She wore a skirt—fitted, fluid. A white shirt, two buttons undone. A hint of cleavage. Her K pendant caught the light.
And then—the emerald. The necklace I left for her in China. She was wearing it. My heart stuttered.
Sahil twirled her. She laughed.
“We’re definitely not doing this number in your sangeet,” she said. “Too scandalous for your in-laws. And what about Priya?”
“Priya knows I’m a serial flirt. I’ve even flirted with her mom.”
“Ew. You’re sick. Leave the mom alone.”
“You and I both know moms are the best,” he said, winking.
I clenched my jaw. His hands were on her waist now, holding her from behind. Too close. Too familiar. My thoughts turned rabid.
She’s mine. Get your hands off her.
He spun her and dipped her low.
“You need to stop panic dancing,” she said. “You’ll be a great husband.”
“Thanks, Rox,” he said, and kissed her cheek.
She smiled. Turned her head.
The moment our eyes met, her smile vanished.
“Marcello?” she whispered.
I just stood there watching her like I was relearning her all over again. Sahil straightened, still holding her waist. He looked like a startled bird—eyes darting between us. Like he was standing between two storms.
He stuttered, “Is… this him?”
“Yes,” she said, voice flat.
She stepped away from him, arms crossing over her chest. Her body language changed instantly—closed, guarded. Like a door I once had the key to, shut.
Sahil grinned, walking towards me with an outstretched hand.
“The man. The myth. The legend. What brings you to Mumbai?”
“Work,” I said, shaking his hand.
My eyes never left her. She moved to her desk. Started packing her bag without even glancing back at me.
“How long are you in town?” Sahil asked.
“A while. Maybe a few weeks.”
“Oh, that’s great! You should come to my wedding. Experience the full Indian wedding madness.”
She spoke without turning.
“I’m sure he’s busy. Might not have time for mere mortals like us.”
I almost smiled.
“Nonsense,” Sahil said. “He can make it for the wedding at least, if not the other functions. He can definitely spare one day.”
Before she could speak, I cut in. “I’ll be there. For all of it.”
I stepped forward and hugged him.
“Congratulations,” I said.
Roxanne turned. Her eyes were sharp and stern. Right on cue, Sahil’s phone rang and he excused himself. Once we were alone, she turned towards me and crossed her arms tighter.
“Why are you here? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with someone who lies and cheats.”
I shut my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose. This again. The words I spat in the heat of the moment will always come back to bite me in my perky, egotistical ass.
I opened my eyes slowly.
“Yet you wear the gift I gave you,” I said. “My apology. My last thread to you.”
She clutched the necklace, trying to hide it.
I stepped forward. “I thought you were dead.”
Her eyes softened. “It was a minor accident. My mind was elsewhere.”
I bowed my head, taking her hand in mine.
“I know. But I needed to see for myself. That you were okay.”
She pulled her hand back. “You saw I’m okay. Now go back. Pretend I don’t exist.”
Her voice was ice. But her eyes weren’t. I turned my head, jaw clenched. My hands lifted slightly like I wanted to touch her, shake her, hold her.
I hissed, “Non riesco a stare lontano da te. Come lo spiego?”
(I can’t stay away from you. How do I explain that?)
Sahil returned, oblivious.
“So, Marcello, where are you staying?”
Roxanne answered for me, “There are some good hotels that match your standard that I can recommend.”
Sahil blinked.
“Didn’t you stay at his place in Italy? Wouldn’t it be courteous to return the favour?”
She shot him a look.
“Fine.” She said through gritted teeth. “At least that debt won’t loom over my head. But he’ll have to stay at a hotel tonight. I need to get things straight at home.”
Sahil shrugged. “Nah. He can crash at my place tonight. With Priya already in Alibaug, I—”
“Fine then,” she cut in. “I’ve called a cab. Lock up. You can drop him off tomorrow. Any time after eleven.”
She didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t look back.
She stormed off, and I just stood there watching her leave.