Dr Meera Saravana has been on the run for the last ten years due to a fatal misunderstanding. She ends up in New York, hoping that maybe this time everything will work out. But that's turning out to be impossible the more she gets involved with the...
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The days turned into weeks which bled into months. Winter had bled into spring, calling forth clear skies and blooming trees.
The city eventually came to peace and I was at the centre of all of it, holding all the puppet strings and cutting the ones that were useless to me.
I thought I was going to lose my mind during that time. Taking apart Zoya's operations was a hassle. We had his ports and some of his buildings, it should've been enough but it wasn't. Maybe I was greedy or I wanted to spill more blood, I don't know what it was but it wasn't to stop anytime soon. Anya and Nik had picked up on my mood, orbiting slowly around me as they waited for me to calm down. I don't think any of us slept properly for those months. It couldn't be described as less than pure adulterated hell.
The Council had congratulated me on winning, probably hoping that I would give them a cut of Zoya's vast network. I didn't need what was left of his tiny empire when I had my own to deal with. All I needed was the ports which would be more beneficial for my businesses. Anya and I had spent sleepless nights going over the cost analysis, now that Zoya's ports were mine, it would cost us less to export through them compared to when they belonged to Zoya.
I threw the scraps towards the Council who greedily devoured them. The thought of them doing the same to me if Zoya had succeeded left me sick to my stomach and disgusted with all of them. They were people with no honour when it came to money—but ironically, I am the same. Money assures that I can protect my family so they will never have to worry about anything ever again. I am willing to kill and wage a war, even against the Council whose greed knows no bounds. As long as the crime families of New York, including mine, feed the Council money until they're filthy with it—they will never challenge me.
As far as they're concerned, I am the king of my domain.
But what is the use of a king on the chessboard if there is no queen?
Regardless of how busy or tired or vengeful I became—Meera Saravana has become a fixture in my thoughts, like a root that had dug deep into the earth. No fire, no wind, and no rain could dislodge the hold that she had over me. Even in my dreams, she was there, looking at me with his lovely brown eyes. She never said anything, just gave me this sorrowful and disappointed look before turning around and walking away. No matter how many times I screamed or ran behind her, she was lost to me.
And I would wake up, gasping in my bed, wondering if I had made the right choice.
My last memory of Meera was when she was covered in bandages, bruised and broken. No matter how many times Nik or Anya tried to reassure me that it wasn't my fault, I could not bring myself to believe it because I was afraid of Meera hating me for putting her in that position. I would get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness if I could. The look in her eyes when I dream haunts me, even during the day.
