FAMILY ??

MISHIKA'S POV

"You ??"

My breath caught in throat

I tried my best not to stammer but still I did

"Mish-mish-mishika rajvanshi"

"So... your name is Mee-shee-kah Rahj-vahn-shee?"
The way he rolled the syllables in his thick Russian accent made it sound like silk over steel.

"Hmmm.."

"What does it mean ?"

I hesitated.
Not because I didn't know.
But because no one had ever asked — not like that.
Not with that low, deliberate voice, like the meaning might change how he saw me.

My voice was small, almost lost inside me — but I spoke anyway.

"It means... 'the beloved one... from a royal bloodline.' or a gift of god"

For a second, the silence stretched between us.
His eyes didn't leave mine.

"A royal girl," he repeated softly, almost mockingly.
"But no crown on your head now, hmm?"

I looked away.
Not because I was ashamed of where I stood.

"Indian??"

The word rolled off his tongue like suspicion wrapped in curiosity.

"Yes," I answered.
Barely a whisper.
More breath than voice.

He tilted his head slightly, gaze never softening.

"So... Mee-shee-kah Rahj-vahn-shee," he repeated, dragging each syllable like he was tasting them.

And then—

"'Mishi' would be better," he said with a shrug,
"than butchering your name every time."

I froze.
Not because he meant harm — but because he had no idea what he'd just done.

"Any problem?"
His voice was firm. Direct. Cold.

"No," I replied quickly.

But my throat tightened.
Tears stung the edges of my eyes — not because of him,
but because of that name.
My name.

The only thing I had left from the world that once loved me.

I could still hear them —
Papa's playful voice calling me "Mishi beta",
Maa's warm laughter as she tugged my braid and said "Mishika raani banegi ek din",
Bhai's teasing grin yelling "Ae Mishi, save me some sweets!"

They were gone.

But their voices still lived in that name.
Every letter soaked in the memory of a home I couldn't return to.

And now even that—
was being shortened.
Reduced.

I blinked rapidly and looked away.

No. I wouldn't cry.

Not here.
Not in front of him.

Even if he didn't mean to hurt me,
even if his tone was just careless,

The ache it stirred in me was deafening.

"What are you doing here, Mishi?"
His voice was calmer now — not soft, but not as cold either.
Like he was trying to understand... or just trying not to snap.

I opened my mouth.

"Umm..."

My voice trailed off.
Because what could I even say?

Should I tell him the truth?
That I was sold to Mr. Romano like some object in a silent auction?
That the people who were supposed to protect me — my bua and fufa —
the same ones who raised me,
who made me scrub floors instead of going to college,
who let taunts and slaps become my lullabies —
sold me.

And now I was here.
Not because I wanted to be...
but because they decided I didn't deserve a choice.

My throat tightened.

How do you even say that out loud without breaking?

"I..."
I looked away, biting the inside of my cheek.
"I came with Fufa ji," I mumbled, barely audible.

Not a lie.
Not the truth either.

Zane's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't press — not yet.

He just watched me.

And somehow...
that was worse than shouting.

Because he wasn't just looking at me.
He was seeing me.
The shame, the fear, the walls I was desperately trying to hold up.

I clenched my fists by my side.

"Ohh... I understand."

His words were simple. But they didn't feel simple.
There was something beneath them — something unreadable.
Like he was putting pieces together in his head... and didn't like the shape they were forming.

Then came the question I wasn't ready for.

"Are you here... by your consent?"

My breath hitched.
It was such a basic question.
So normal.

But to me... it felt like someone had just ripped the floor out from beneath my feet.

I blinked.

Once.
Twice.
Trying to hold it all together.

How do you answer something like that...
when even your silence feels like a confession?

My lips parted, but no words came out at first.

I wanted to scream No.
I wanted to say I was dragged here.
That I was sold, like property.
Like a debt someone could just trade away.

But instead, all that came out was—

"I... I don't know."

Because what do you call it
when your voice was never part of the decision?

I wasn't tied in chains.
But I wasn't free either.

"They didn't ask," I added, softer.
"They just... said I'm going. That's it."

I didn't dare look at him.
Because if I did...
I'd see the truth of it reflected in his eyes.
The pity.
The disgust.
The judgment.

Or maybe... something else.

But I couldn't risk it.
So I just stood there, quiet, trying to hold back the storm that was rising in my chest.

AUTHOR'S POV

Zane's gaze slowly shifted from Mishika...
to Romano.

The air turned heavier — even the shadows in the room seemed to lean in.

"We didn't permit you for human trafficking,"
he said, his voice calm. Too calm.
The kind of calm that came right before chaos.

Romano visibly gulped, his fingers twitching by his side.

"Y-Yes, sir. She's just... just the niece of—"

Zane's brow arched.
A slow, deadly lift.
A silent warning: Don't lie.

Romano froze.

"So, you were strictly ordered not to... and still did it.
 right?"

His voice dropped an octave, laced with venom.

"Love to play with fire, huh?"

Romano tried to speak.
Failed.

Zane stepped forward — not fast, not loud.
But every inch of movement screamed power.

"I know everyone back there wants to be Zane Vitale..."

He gave a cold, amused chuckle.
Then tilted his head.

"Tch. But God made only one piece."

He paused.

"Stupid you."

The words hit like a slap dressed in silk.
Not shouted. Just said.
And that made them hurt more.

Romano looked down, shame and fear etched on his face.

Zane didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.

Because the room already knew —
you don't cross Zane Vitale and walk away untouched.

Mr. Romano trembled, his voice cracking like a brittle bone.

"S-Sir... it was a mistake..."

Zane tilted his head slightly.
A cruel smile tugged at the edge of his lips.

"Yeah? And mistakes..."
"They need punishment."

He took a slow, deliberate step forward — not loud, not rushed —
but enough to make Romano flinch.

"So tell me,"
Zane's voice was low, icy.
"What punishment should I give you, hmm?"

Romano's hands flew up in panic.

"No sir, please— I have a family!"

Zane's expression didn't change. Not even a flicker of sympathy.

His voice turned razor-sharp.

"And what about the girl's family?"
"The one you helped destroy?"

A beat of silence.
Zane's words echoed like thunder in a tomb.

Romano's lips parted, but no words came out.
Because there was nothing left to say.

Behind them, Mishika stood still — her breath caught, her fists clenched.
The man who had orchestrated her fate now stood begging for his own.

And in that moment, Zane wasn't just a mafia king.

He was judge, jury... and executioner.

ZANE'S POV

I didn't take my eyes off Romano.
The man was practically on his knees now, trembling like a child who knew he'd played too close to the fire.

But then...
I turned my head.

Slowly. Deliberately.

My gaze landed on her.

"So, Mishi..."
"What do you say?"

She stiffened.
Didn't expect me to drag her into this.
Not yet.
Not like this.

But I did.

Because the world had taken too many choices from her already.
This one — this one was hers.

"Should I let him go?"
"Or... should I remind him why people don't cross me?"
"You decide."

Her lips parted slightly. Eyes wide — not from fear, but from the weight of it.
Of having a voice.
Of being given power in a world that never even let her speak.

The silence stretched like a wire between us.

I watched her.

Not the way men stare at women.

No.

I watched the storm brewing inside her —

Mishika's POV

"So, Mishi... what do you say?"

I looked up at him — at Zane — like a deer caught in headlights.
Not because I had power.
But because suddenly the room expected me to do something with it.

My lips parted, but no sound came.
I wasn't used to being asked.
I was used to being told.

I glanced at Mr. Romano.
He looked terrified. Pale. Shaking.

And something in me almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.

But more than that — I was just tired.
Tired of decisions.
Tired of pain.

"I don't... I don't know," I mumbled.
"He... he did what he had to."

The words fell out. Quiet. Meant more for myself than for anyone else.

Because that's what I had always been told.
That people have to be cruel.
That survival means silence.
That pain is part of love.
That I don't get to fight.

So no — I didn't demand punishment.
I didn't cry for justice.

I just stood there. Still.
Letting the moment pass like all the others.

"He can go if you want," I whispered.
"It won't matter anyway."

Because in my head,
nothing ever really changed.

ZANE'S POV

"He can go if you want...
It won't matter anyway."

Her voice was barely there.
Soft. Fragile.
Like it had been broken too many times before and was now afraid of echoing.

She didn't ask for justice.
Didn't plead for revenge.

She just stood there — shoulders a little too still, eyes a little too distant.

And it hit me harder than if she'd screamed.

Most people?
They beg, fight, threaten, cry.
But she... she'd already given up.

Not because she was weak.
But because the world had never taught her what it meant to fight back.

There was a silence in her — the kind you only find in people who've stopped expecting to be saved.

And for some reason...
that silence made a sound in me I didn't expect to hear.

I looked away from her.
Not because I didn't care.

But because I did.
And I didn't know what the f*ck to do with that.

"Get him out of my sight," I said, low and cold.

AUTHOR'S POV

The room had emptied.

Romano was gone.
The silence remained — thick, tense, unspoken.

Mishika hadn't moved.
Not because she didn't want to...
but because she didn't know what to do next.

Then his voice cut through the air. Calm. Blunt.

"Marry me."

She flinched.

Her head snapped up, confusion flashing across her face.

"What...?" she whispered, eyes narrowing.

"I said,"
Zane repeated, voice as steady as a loaded gun,
"marry me."

No softness.
No romance.
Just a command dressed as a question.

"W-Why?"
Her voice cracked.
"You don't even know me."

Zane took a step closer.

"Because no one else deserves to own you."
"Because I don't like the idea of men touching what should never have been theirs."
"And because if you're under my name — no one dares."

She looked at him like he was speaking another language.

"I... I don't know how to be a wife."

He tilted his head. Something flickered in his eyes — unreadable.

"Good. I don't need a wife."

"I need you safe."

His voice softened just slightly — not in tone, but in weight.
As if he was trying to explain something he didn't fully understand himself.

Mishika didn't respond.

Her chest rose in a shaky breath. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dupatta, knuckles white.

Then, softly — almost like she wasn't sure she was allowed to speak:

"If my name means gift of love..."

Zane blinked. His expression didn't change, but his gaze sharpened.

"...then I always thought..."
Her voice caught, and she lowered her eyes.

"...I'd marry someone who loved me."

It wasn't a protest.
It wasn't defiance.
It was a dream being spoken out loud — and maybe for the last time.

"Someone who'd call me Mishika like it meant something."
"Someone who'd protect me... not lock me away."

A long pause.

"I know it sounds stupid."
"I just thought marriage meant something more than safety."
"I thought it meant... love."

Zane said nothing.

The silence between them wasn't empty — it was loud.
The kind of silence that says you don't get to ask for that.

And Mishika felt it.
In her bones.
In her throat.
In the quiet shrinking of her own heart.

She took a small step back. Her voice barely above a whisper.

"But maybe I'm wrong."

She turned her face away — not in rebellion, but in defeat.

And for the first time, Zane Vitale, the man people feared across borders...

didn't know what to say.

But Zane didn't walk away.

He stood there for a moment, as if weighing something.

Then he spoke — his voice low. Measured.

"You think love is soft."
"You think it's warm hands and kind words and smiles at dinner tables."

"I don't know that kind of love, Mishi."

He took a step closer. And then another.

"But if love means keeping you alive?"
"Keeping you from ever being sold again?"
"Keeping every man's filthy hands off you, even if it means painting the walls red?"

He stopped behind her.

"Then that's my love."

She felt his breath — not on her skin, but somewhere deeper.
Where fear and confusion blurred into something she couldn't name.

"It won't be the dream you want," he said quietly.
"But it will be real."

"So again... marry me."

And this time, his voice wasn't a command.

It was a choice.

A dangerous one.

Zane stood behind her — the air between them thick with words that meant too much and said too little.

"So again... marry me."

Mishika's fingers curled slightly. Her lips parted.

But instead of answering, she asked — softly, unexpectedly:

"Do you... have a family?"

The question hung there. Fragile, almost out of place.

Zane paused — not out of hesitation, but out of surprise.
No one had asked him that in years.

"Yes."

She waited.

"My mother is Indian," he said quietly.
"From Uttar Pradesh. Tough as hell. She still yells at me in Hindi when I don't answer her calls."

Mishika's eyes widened just a little — the smallest flicker of emotion on her otherwise still face.

"My father's Russian. Still alive. Still running half the empire from a chair he refuses to retire from."

There was a slight twitch at the corner of Zane's lips — not a smile, not really. Just a memory surfacing.

"My brother, Luka — he's younger. Studying architecture. Thinks he's smarter than all of us. He's probably right."

"And my sister, Alyona, she's into fashion design. Staying here in Russia. Can't sew a straight line, but somehow, everything she touches turns into runway gold."

His voice grew softer as he said that. Protective.

And then, almost reluctantly:

"I have a best friend. Mikhail."

He shook his head with a quiet exhale.

"He's been around since we were kids. Loyal. Deadly. Also once tried to break into a prison to get me out after I got arrested for punching a politician's son."

A beat.

"He didn't succeed. But he brought cake."

Mishika's eyebrows raised slightly. That was... unexpected.

Zane noticed — and for the briefest second, a flicker of something warm touched his otherwise cold expression.

"He says violence builds character. He also talks to my mother in Awadhi and brings her pickles from Banaras. I don't ask questions anymore."

There was a pause.

A long one.

And then she asked:

"Do they... love you?"

Zane met her gaze, expression unreadable.

"Yes," he said simply.

"Even though you're..."
She struggled to find the right word.

"...this?"

He didn't flinch.

"Especially because I'm this."

Mishika looked down. Her voice was almost a breath.

"I just wanted to know... if someone ever loved you the way I want to be loved."

And that?

That silenced even the monster.

The silence after her words wasn't heavy — it was thoughtful.

Zane stood still, his gaze fixed on Mishika, her question hanging in the air.

"I'll marry you," she had said.
"But I want to meet your family first."

Zane's jaw shifted slightly — a flicker of something crossing his eyes.

Then he turned, walking toward the window, hands tucked into his coat pockets.

"Funny timing."

Mishika looked up, unsure what he meant.

"My mother called last night," he said, voice low.
"Wanted me home for family dinner."

A beat.

"I didn't go."

Mishika's lips parted — something about that felt... oddly telling.

"Work?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

He nodded once.

"There's always work. And I don't always... show up."

There was something in his voice — not guilt exactly, but recognition.
Of what he missed.
Of who he's becoming.

Then, he turned to her.

"But if you're asking to meet them... maybe it's time I do show up."

Mishika didn't smile — but her eyes softened.

She wasn't asking for power.
Or status.
She was asking to know the boy inside the beast.

"They live here in Moscow?" she asked gently.

Zane gave a short nod.

"Not far. My mother will be shocked I'm bringing someone. Alyona will explode with questions. Luka will probably say something stupid."

He paused.

"We'll go. Tonight."

A beat.

"And if they scare you..."
"just look at Mikhail and ask him about the time he wore pink fur boots to a mafia meeting."

Mishika blinked.

"...He did what?"

Zane finally let out a breath that was almost a laugh.

"Long story."

And for the first time, the space between them didn't feel dangerous.
It felt... uncertain. New.

But not lonely.

THAT'S IT FOR THIS CHAPTER 

THANK YOU LOVE YOU !!!

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