Mafia's Revenge Or Love? ~ A Saga Of Love And Revenge

Chapter 7

Natasha crumpled the note in her trembling fist, the crackle of paper barely audible over the roar of blood in her ears. Her entire body shook with rage, muscles tensed as if ready to strike, but her voice remained low, cold, and deadly as she spoke.

"One day, I will find you, Satan." Each word was laced with venom. "And that day will be the last day of your life."

She screamed, raw and ferocious, her fury echoing off the walls, a primal roar that sent a shiver down her spine. The sound of her own rage unsettled her, but it wasn't enough to dispel the hate that coursed through her veins like poison. The note fell from her hand, landing on the floor as she stormed out of the room, her heart a battlefield between vengeance and the memories that haunted her.

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In a dimly lit gallery, Rudra stood before a wall filled with paintings, his hands resting on his hips as he studied them, lost in contemplation. The paintings varied from vibrant abstracts to detailed portraits, each one seemingly holding a piece of the family's history. The light cast long shadows on the floor, accentuating the mystery that clouded Rudra's thoughts.

"You know, everything is so confusing these days," he muttered, as though the paintings could somehow understand his frustrations.

He sighed, shaking his head as he continued to talk to them. "Seriously, what in the world is happening?"

His mind was spinning. Darshana marriage had been one thing-a shock, but something they could all adjust to. But now, Natasha engagement had thrown everything into disarray, and then the murder of Varun, a close friend, had left a dark cloud looming over the household.

"Yuvraj Singh Rathore," Rudra murmured, pacing in front of the canvases. "He's not bad, but he's not good either. How did Didi even agree to this?" His voice grew more agitated with each passing moment.

Rudra turned toward the door, about to leave the room when something stopped him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a painting hidden beneath a white blanket. His curiosity burned. Why had this one been covered?

He hesitated, battling with his instincts. His subconscious screamed at him to leave it alone, but the allure of the unknown gnawed at him. Rudra reached for the blanket, gripping it tightly. His fingers itched to uncover whatever secret lay hidden, but just as he began to pull it off, a harsh voice shattered the silence.

"Don't you dare!"

Startled, Rudra spun around to see Meera standing at the doorway, her arms folded across her chest, her expression a mixture of anger and warning. She wore black shorts and a white T-shirt, her hair tied up into a high bun. Her presence was commanding, her gaze sharp.

"Why can't I, hothead?" Rudra asked, trying to play it cool, but a flicker of guilt crept into his voice.

Meera's eyes flashed with irritation. "Don't ask questions about it. Just get out of the room."

"Why?" Rudra pushed, raising an eyebrow. "Is the painting as ugly as you?"

Meera let out a frustrated sigh, her patience running thin. She walked further into the room, her voice rising. "It's not ugly! But it's none of your business. You don't need to know what it is. This is a forgotten memory-our past. Now shut up and leave!"

Rudra saw the fire in her eyes, the intensity that made him rethink pushing further. Her voice had cracked ever so slightly, hinting at the pain she was trying to hide. Without another word, he left the room, closing the door behind him. The sound of his retreating footsteps echoed down the hallway, but the tension lingered.

Meera stood in front of the painting, her hands trembling slightly as she touched the white blanket that covered it. Her breath hitched, and a single tear slid down her cheek. She whispered to the hidden canvas, her voice breaking. "I don't know what to do, Papa... Mama."