The drive back was silent.
One hand rested lazily on the steering wheel while the other tapped against the leather armrest. But despite his calm exterior, his thoughts kept drifting back to the same person.
Ishira.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
The way she had looked at him.
The way she'd melted against his chest before immediately trying to escape.
Cute.
Very cute.
His black Rolls-Royce pulled into the underground parking of a towering glass skyscraper that dominated the city's skyline.
The headquarters of Blackthorne Industries.
Officially, it was one of the most powerful business empires in the country.
Unofficially...
It was the perfect cover for the King of the Underworld.
The moment Ivaan stepped out of the elevator onto the top floor, every employee straightened.
Fear.
Respect.
Submission.
Exactly how he liked it.
His expensive Italian shoes clicked against the marble floor as he headed directly toward his office.
The massive double doors opened.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the entire city.
A throne disguised as an office.
His office.
His PA, Daniel, was already waiting.
"Sir."
Ivaan dropped into his chair.
"The meeting?"
"Confirmed. Eight o'clock tonight."
"The Italians?"
Daniel nodded.
"They'll be there."
"Good."
Ivaan signed a few documents before tossing the file onto the desk.
"Anything else?"
Daniel hesitated.
"No, sir."
"Then get out."
The PA immediately left.
The moment the door closed, silence engulfed the office.
For a few seconds, he stood there staring at the city below.
Then he picked up his phone and dialed a number.
The call connected on the first ring.
"Capo."
A faint smirk appeared on Ivaan's face.
"Is everything prepared?"
"Yes, Capo."
"No mistakes?"
"None."
"Good."
His expression darkened.
"I'll be there in twenty."
The call ended.
Ivaan slipped the phone back into his pocket and rose from his chair.
Taking his black blazer from the back of the seat, he shrugged it on before heading toward the elevator.
A few minutes later, his black Rolls-Royce emerged from the underground parking garage.
Outside, rain poured relentlessly over Manhattan.
The city glowed beneath neon lights and blurred reflections.
Thunder rumbled across the dark sky.
Ivaan drove through the rain-soaked streets in complete silence.
One destination.
One purpose.
Twenty-five minutes later, the car disappeared into an abandoned industrial district on the outskirts of the city.
The surroundings were dark.
Empty.
Forgotten.
Perfect.
After passing through multiple security checkpoints, he finally stopped outside an old warehouse.
Several armed men immediately straightened.
"Capo."
Ivaan gave a brief nod and continued forward.
The deeper he walked, the colder the air became.
Then he reached a heavy steel door.
One of his men opened it instantly.
What waited beyond was a dimly lit basement.
The smell of blood and rust hung heavily in the air.
At the center of the room sat a man chained to a metal chair.
His wrists and ankles were restrained with thick steel chains.
Blood stained his face and clothes.
Fresh bruises covered his body.
His head hung low.
Too weak to move.
Too broken to escape.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the basement.
Slow.
Measured.
Terrifying.
The prisoner's head lifted weakly.
And the moment his eyes landed on Ivaan Mehra...
The color drained from his face.
Because everyone in the underworld knew one thing.
If Ivaan Mehra came personally—
Mercy wasn't on the table.
A dangerous calm settled over the room as Ivaan lowered himself into the chair placed at the head of the basement.
The throne of a king.
He lit a cigarette, taking a slow drag as smoke curled through the dimly lit air.
Silence.
The chained man trembled.
Not because of the guards.
Not because of the chains.
But because of the man sitting before him.
Ivaan Mehra.
The King of the Mafia.
After a few moments, Ivaan rose from his seat.
The sound of his footsteps echoed through the basement as he walked toward the prisoner.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Terrifying.
Stopping in front of him, Ivaan grabbed a fistful of the man's hair and forced him to look up.
The prisoner's face had gone completely pale.
A cold smile appeared on Ivaan's lips.
"You've got more courage than I gave you credit for."
His voice was calm, but somehow that made it even more dangerous.
"Tell me..." he continued, tilting his head slightly. "What exactly made you think betraying me was a good idea?"
The man remained silent.
Wrong choice.
Ivaan's eyes darkened.
"You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with."
His grip tightened slightly.
"I am Ivaan Mehra."
The room fell deathly silent.
"The King of the Mafia."
Every word landed like a warning.
"And yet you thought you could leak my plans to my rival and walk away from it?"
The prisoner swallowed hard.
Fear was written all over his face.
A humorless chuckle escaped Ivaan.
"Interesting."
He released the man's hair and took a step back.
"I spent years building this empire."
Another drag from the cigarette.
"Years making sure people understood one simple rule."
His gaze locked onto the prisoner.
"Betrayal has consequences."
The man opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
Ivaan smiled.
Cold.
Merciless.
"You don't need to worry about dying."
The prisoner's eyes widened.
"Because death is the easy way out."
The smile never left Ivaan's face.
"No."
He turned away, adjusting the sleeve of his blazer.
"You'll spend every waking moment regretting the day you decided to stand against me."
He glanced over his shoulder one final time.
"And by the time I'm done with you..."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"...you'll be begging for a mercy that isn't coming."
With that, Ivaan flicked the ash from his cigarette and walked back toward his chair, leaving the prisoner drowning in his own fear.
The prisoner's desperate pleas faded into the background as Ivaan returned to his chair.
Taking one final drag from his cigarette, he crushed it into the ashtray beside him.
"Handle him."
His men immediately nodded.
"Yes, Capo."
Without another glance at the traitor, Ivaan stood up and walked out of the basement.
The heavy steel door slammed shut behind him.
A few minutes later, he was making his way through the warehouse when his phone vibrated.
A small smirk appeared on his face when he saw the caller ID.
Zayn.
His best friend.
And one of the most feared mafia bosses in New York.
Ivaan answered immediately.
"Speak."
"Straight to business as always," Zayn chuckled. "I heard you finally caught the rat."
"Caught him hours ago."
"Good."
Ivaan walked toward his car while listening.
"What about the shipment?"
"It's moving tomorrow night," Zayn replied. "The ports are clear, and my men have already secured the route."
Ivaan nodded.
"No mistakes."
"There won't be."
A brief silence followed.
Then Zayn spoke again.
"The Russians?"
"Still trying to interfere."
A dangerous smile appeared on Ivaan's lips.
"Let them."
The confidence in his voice was chilling.
"They'll learn."
Zayn laughed.
"That's exactly what I wanted to hear."
The two discussed routes, security, and upcoming deals for several more minutes before finally ending the call.
As the line disconnected, Ivaan slipped his phone back into his pocket.
Rain continued to pour from the dark Manhattan sky.
He adjusted his blazer and climbed into his black Rolls-Royce.
The engine roared to life.
Moments later, the car disappeared into the rain-soaked streets of New York, leaving the warehouse—and the screams buried beneath it—far behind.
Nearly an hour later, Ivaan's black Rolls-Royce disappeared through the gates of Venus Tower.
The most luxurious residential tower in Manhattan.
And his home.
The penthouse occupied the top three floors of the skyscraper, offering a breathtaking view of the city below.
Not that he cared.
The moment he entered, he loosened his tie and walked straight toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Outside, rain hammered against the glass.
Lightning occasionally illuminated the dark Manhattan skyline.
Ivaan settled into a black leather chair.
A cigarette rested between his fingers.
His laptop sat open on the table before him.
The dim light from the screen reflected in his crimson eyes as he reviewed a few documents.
The silence was almost peaceful.
Almost.
Then his phone rang.
Irritated, he glanced at the screen before answering.
"What?"
The man on the other side immediately cleared his throat nervously.
"Good evening, sir. I'm calling from Blackwood University."
Ivaan remained silent.
The man continued quickly.
"I just wanted to inform you that the takeover process has been completed successfully."
A pause.
"From tomorrow onwards, you will officially be one of the trustees of the university."
Another pause.
"And as per the board's decision, you will also be taking the position of Professor of Criminal Psychology."
The room fell silent.
Rain continued tapping against the windows.
Ivaan took a slow drag from his cigarette.
Completely uninterested.
The caller nervously waited for a response.
Finally—
"So you've informed me."
His voice was cold.
Emotionless.
"Y-Yes, sir."
"Good."
A dangerous calm settled in his tone.
"Then cut the call."
Before the man could respond, Ivaan disconnected.
The phone landed harshly on the glass table.
His jaw tightened.
Professor.
Trustee.
Titles meant nothing to him.
They were merely tools.
Pieces on a chessboard.
And tomorrow...
The game would begin.
A faint smirk appeared on his lips as one particular face crossed his mind.
Ishira.
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