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

Chapter 29

Her hand gripped the fabric tightly, her knuckles turning white as she held it for a second longer, her heart pounding in her chest. With a determined pull, she yanked the sheet down, letting it fall to the floor in a soft heap.

For a moment, Natasha could barely breathe.

The painting was unsettling—disturbing, even. Set inside a grand palace, the once-opulent space now carried a sinister weight. The marble floors that had once echoed with the sound of regal footsteps were now stained red, scattered with lifeless bodies. Each corpse lay as though frozen in time, their faces twisted with the last moments of their suffering.

At the center of the room, a mother stood in agonized grief, clutching her three children close. Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the bodies of her family—her husband, her parents, her loved ones—lying motionless at her feet. Her sorrow was palpable, her despair painted so vividly that it was as if her cries of anguish could leap off the canvas and echo through the palace halls. The children’s faces were frozen in terror, their eyes wide, as if they, too, could see the horror before them.

Beyond this horrific scene, a part of the grand palace was burning. Flames crawled slowly up the towering pillars, licking the ceiling as they consumed the luxurious surroundings. Yet the fire didn’t spread fast; instead, it inched forward, as though prolonging the agony, sparing nothing in its path. Smoke filled the painted air, casting a thick haze over the room, making the dead bodies appear even more haunting, like shadows fading into oblivion.

But what disturbed Natasha most—what made her heart stop for a split second—were the figures standing in the background. Subhash, Sita, Anand, Aishwarya, Ashwin, and Manoj. They were not part of the massacre, nor were they victims of the destruction. They stood together, distant yet unmistakable, with blood staining their hands. Their faces were expressionless, cold, and uncaring, their hands dripping crimson as though freshly bathed in the suffering they had caused.

What sent a shiver down Natasha’s spine was the mark on Subhash's and Sita’s faces. A harsh red cross marred their expressions, as though condemning them. The sight of it was shocking, almost accusatory, as if the painting was screaming the truth in silence. It made her heart pound in her chest, her pulse racing, an invisible grip tightening around her throat.

Natasha’s mind spun. Why were they in the painting? Why were they bloodstained? She took a step back, unable to tear her eyes away from the haunting scene, her body numb from shock. She didn’t want to believe what she saw, but there was no denying it.

Suddenly, her breath caught, and her lungs screamed for air. The room, once a quiet, suffocating space, felt like it was closing in on her. Natasha stumbled back, her heart racing like a wild animal trapped in a cage. She couldn’t take it anymore—the air was too thick, her mind too clouded. She needed to get out.

With trembling hands, she pushed the door open, fleeing the room as though it held a terrible curse. She stepped into the corridor, her legs weak beneath her, and inhaled deeply, trying to calm her frantic heart. The silence of the palace halls was deafening. No one was there. Everything felt too still, too empty, as though the entire world had disappeared around her.

Natasha’s eyes darted left and right, trying to make sense of the stillness. It was as if the very air in the palace had shifted. But as she tried to catch her breath, something unexpected happened—she heard it again.

A loud, terrifying roar.

“Shit, shut, shit! Why did I come out? Run, Natasha, run before it reaches you!” Natasha whispered frantically to herself, her breath catching in her throat as fear wrapped its icy fingers around her. She knew exactly who—or rather, what—the roar belonged to. It was unmistakable, bone-chilling. Ravenous.