꧁༒༻༺༒꧂꧁༒༻༺༒꧂
༺ Chapter 3: The Unraveling ༺
꧁༒༻༺༒꧂꧁༒༻༺༒꧂
Zayne stepped onto the grand balcony of his new estate just as the sun began to rise, as the tower above him loomed giant over the city, an indentation of somewhere untouched. This property was a declaration, not a visit to India. He planned on staying. He meant business.
The early air held a slight chill that Zayne barely registered. Below him, in the sea of space of the courtyard, were his men, expertly unloading crates with Russian codes on the sides. Guns, ammunition, stacks of untraceable cash, in crates dropped like lead on the marble floors, echoed against the immense walls.
He stood at the top of the entrance steps gazing down on this scene, something about him quietly dominating it all. A slow, cruel smirk kissed his lips. This was power.
He snapped his fingers and commanded in Russian, his deep voice echoing through the air.
"Быстрее." (Faster.)
"Yes, sir!" His men replied in unison, moving a little faster.
One of them, Viktor, his second-in-command, stepped forward. The man was built like a beast. He was broad and imposing. The scar running down his cheek was a permanent reminder of a previous mission that had gone sideways.
"Viktor," Zayne said in a low and deliberate tone. "Make sure the weapons are cleaned and secured. No mistakes."
Viktor gave a curt nod. "Aye, boss." He spun around with military precision and began to bark orders to the rest of the crew.
Zayne exhaled a long plume of smoke, rolling his gold lighter between his fingers while he surveyed his empire forming in a foreign land. Delhi was erratic, loud, uncertain. Nothing like Moscow. Yet, there was something about it that intrigued him.
His thoughts drifted—Priya.
She was not like any woman he had met. Smart. Brave. Stubborn. He thought about how she had held the gun, how her hands were steady and secure, how her brown eyes seemed to pierce into his skin, as though she could see through his mask.
That moment with the stray dog remained. How she had gone down on her knees and fed it and had been softly talking to it in a language he hadn't understood. There had been no strategy, no performance. Just kindness.
He felt an unfamiliar tug at the corner of his lips as a rare smile threatened to show itself before he crushed it.
What the hell am I thinking?
He turned and went back inside, headed toward the big balcony overlooking the city. He propped hissel up on a lounge chair and buttoned the top of his black shirt with the breeze on his tattooed skin. One leg draped over the armrest, he lit another cigarette and took another deep drag.
His phone buzzed. A familiar name flashed on the screen.
Masha.
He smirked. No surprise.
He answered,voice winding into the lazy, sultry drawl he'd perfected over time. "Kitten."
"Where are you, baby?"
"India," he murmured, holding the cigarette to his lips.
"India?" There was a pause, then a softly patronizing giggle. "Business or pleasure?"
A notification popped up - Snapchat.
He opened it.
Masha lay splayed over some silk sheets, her lace underwear barely doing justice until with the curvature of her body. The other, fingers dragged between her thighs over her lace underwear, teasing her-self.
A jolt of lust sparked in his gut. Under normal circumstances, this was more than enough.
Then - Priya.
Her smile, her fingers brushing through the dog's fur slowly. Her fearless eyes meeting his with daring confidence.
He stopped smirking.
"Baby, please send me your location," Masha purred.
He hesitated.
"I'm busy."
Silence. Then irritation. "What?"
"Tomorrow." His voice was serious.
"Zayne, tomorrow's our pleasure." she said teasingly.
He sighed, rubbing his temple. "Da. Tomorrow."
After hanging up, he leaned back, gazing out at the skyline.
Something felt off.
He shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. He grabbed his keys. He needed a distraction.
---
The Streets of Delhi
The city was alive; vibrant, noisy, suffocating. The air was thick with street food, a lilting symphony of spices and fried oil in the wind.
Zayne stepped steadily, forward to where he had last seen Pea.
But she was not there.
There were two uniformed officers beyond the post, however. One was a wiry man with a thick mustache. He caught sight of Zayne.
"Hello! You Russian?"
Zayne was tense, instincts sharpening. "Da."
The officer smiled widely. "Looking for Priya di?"
His jaw clenched. "Where is she?"
The officer gave him a crestfallen, knowing look. "She is resting today. Sick."
Something in Zayne's chest twisted; he frowned.
"Priya... is sick?" he repeated into the silence.
The feeling unsettled him. Why the fuck do I care?
Then—bark.
He turned, eyes on Kalu, the stray that Priya was feeding. The poor creature was getting thinner. He sat back, forcibly in meaningigless stillness.
Zayne crouched down. "Hey, pup."
The dog hesitated for a moment sniffing his hand. Then it licked his fingers.
He was motionless.
No one touches him. No one ever does.
But this dog—this scrappy, starving thing—was trusting him.
He let out a low laugh and scratched Kalu's fur. "Oh, you like Priya, huh?"
Kalu wagged his tail.
Zayne stood, not even thinking. "I'm taking you with me."
The officers exchanged bemused looks.
"Sir, you adopt dog?"
"She's gonna kill me when she finds out," he said quietly, scooping Kalu up and walking to his car.
---
The Mansion—Late Night
Kalu had acclimated to the mansion remarkably well. He was curled up in the kitchen, belly full from the meal Zayne had ordered his chef to prepare.
Zayne was in the immense library with a book that was open on his lap—a guide on Indian culture.
He felt he needed a better understanding of Priya.
His phone buzzed.
Masha.
"I'm in Delhi."
Zayne exhaled deeply and stared at the screen.
For a long moment, he did nothing.
Then—
"Not tonight. Occupied."
Zayne threw the phone on the couch.
Knock. Knock.
His head jerked up. Kalu lifted his head and growled lightly.
Zayne stood and crossed the marble floors, opening the door.
She stood before him in a fitted red dress, her sultry makeup and slightly parted lips.
"Zayne," she purred, stepping forward to press against him and envelop him in her overwhelming perfume. "You're not busy now, are you?"
Her fingers traced smoothly down his chest.
He gripped her wrist tighter.
Usually, he'd have pulled her inside by now-- ripped the dress off of her, fucked her into oblivion against the nearest surface.
But tonight?
Something had shifted in him.
For the first time in years-- he paused.
꧁༒༻༺༒꧂ ꧁༒༻༺༒꧂
༶•┈┈┈༓༓༓༓༓༓༓༓༓┈┈┈•༶
༺ To be continued… ༻
꧁༒༻༺༒꧂꧂༒༻༺༒꧂
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