Ishaan eased the Verna into the Mahim society basement, handed the keys to the watchman with a nod, and hugged Niti one last time.
Niti: "Bhai, today was the best day ever."
Madhura stood a step behind, eyes still red-rimmed but softer than he had ever seen them. She reached out, touched his forearm lightly ; awkward, new, but real.
Madhura: "Drive safe, beta."
Ishaan: "Always. I'll call tomorrow."
He unchained the Bullet, helmet on, and roared toward Legacy Construction. The afternoon traffic was thick, but he carved through it with the same calm precision he now applied to everything.
Halfway there, his phone buzzed against his chest. Unknown number.
He pulled over under a banyan tree, thumbed accept.
Voice on the line was oily, angry, trying to sound calm: "Ishaan Ahuja?"
Ishaan: "Speaking."
"This is Corporator Ramesh Patel. Did you break my son's hands today?"
Ishaan: "Your son spoke filth about my mother and sister in public. He got exactly what he asked for."
A sharp inhale.
Ramesh: "You have no idea who you're talking to, boy. The way you speak ,no respect, no fear. It will cost you dearly."
Ishaan's voice stayed level, almost polite.
Ishaan: "You should choose your words too, Corporator. There are two hundred corporators in this city. You're just one of them. There are men far bigger than you. I'm not boasting. I'm informing."
Silence for three full seconds.
Ramesh his voice rising: "We'll meet soon. Face to face. Then show me this bravery."
The line went dead.
Ishaan slipped the phone away, kick-started the Bullet, and continued to Ari's office without another thought.
6:18 PM.
Ari climbed on behind him, arms light around his waist.
Ari: "Good day?"
Ishaan: "The best." She smiled into his back, unaware of the call, unaware of anything except the warmth of his shirt and the steady thrum of the engine.
They reached the old 2BHK flat by 7:10 PM. The small apartment was steeped in a fragile, temporary peace. Dinner was quiet: Lajja still wore a soft, stunned glow over the twenty thousand rupees Ishaan had won, and Misahay was already dozing gently in front of the television. Ishaan and Ari ate together, cleared the few dishes, and the lights were out by 10:30 PM. He unrolled the floor mattress, removed the precision-built Seiko watch from his wrist, and settled down for the night, falling into a deep, untroubled sleep.-----1:47 AM.
The deep silence of the pre-dawn hour was brutally shattered by the arrival of two black Scorpio SUVs. They rolled into the narrow lane like predatory shadows, headlights deliberately cut, engines silenced almost immediately. The doors opened with a barely audible thump and click, a testament to practiced, chilling efficiency.
Fifteen men spilled out of the vehicles. They were local muscle, identified by the cheap, heavy gold chains they wore and the hard, empty look in their eyes. Their weapons were crude but effective: worn hockey sticks, thick iron rods, and a couple of gleaming choppers that caught and fragmented the faint light from the distant streetlamp. The final man to step down from the second Scorpio paused to adjust a distinct bulge under his ill-fitting shirt—the clear outline of a country-made pistol tucked into his waistband.
They moved as a single, coordinated pack, their footsteps muffled on the cracked pavement, a wave of silent, focused menace. They were shadows climbing the chipped, cracked walls of the old building, intent on only one destination.
Towards the Fourth floor. Door number 402.