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

Chapter 47

Yash clenched his jaw, his anger rising as the situation spiraled out of his control. "You're too late! I've already-"

"No, Yash," Vihaan interrupted, his voice calm but deadly. "You're the one who's too late."

In a fluid motion, Vihaan raised his gun and fired a warning shot at the floor near Yash's feet. The sound of the bullet ricocheting off the ground echoed through the room,

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2 months later

It had been two months. Two long, suffocating months since the incident at the Kapoor Mansion, and no one dared to speak of it. The air in the house felt thick, weighed down by the unsaid. The once lively home was now cold, filled with echoes of the past that everyone desperately avoided. Conversations around it were hushed; eyes shifted uncomfortably whenever the subject was even remotely approached. The tension was palpable, like a storm that never quite broke.

But perhaps the greatest change was in Natasha. Since that day, she had withdrawn completely. Her presence in the house was almost ghostly—silent, isolated, unreachable. She rarely left her room. Meals were taken in solitude, her door always closed, a barrier between her and the rest of the world. It was as if she had wrapped herself in an impenetrable cocoon, lost in thoughts only she could hear. And for two months, Yuvaan had let her.

But not anymore.

Yuvaan had had enough. Enough of the silence, enough of the distance. The coldness that had settled between them gnawed at him like a festering wound, growing more unbearable each day. Today, he was going to end it. He wasn’t sure what he would say, or how she would respond, but he was done standing on the sidelines, watching her slip further away.

When Yuvaan arrived home evening, he barely acknowledged the familiar surroundings. The house felt alien to him now, filled with memories that no longer brought comfort. He headed straight to his room, as he always did, and took a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the tension of the day. Afterward, he dressed in his usual style—black pants, a crisp white shirt tucked neatly in. The black panther tattoo on his arm, hidden beneath the fabric, seemed to burn a little more intensely today, a reminder of his identity, his power, and his vulnerability.

He took a deep breath as he descended the stairs, every step slow and measured. His heart raced in a way that surprised him. He was Yuvaan Singhania, a man who commanded empires and evoked fear in the most dangerous of circles, but today, he felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. As he approached Natasha’s room on the first floor, he paused at the door. It was slightly ajar, enough to let him glimpse inside.

There she was, standing on the balcony, bathed in the soft golden hues of the fading sunset. Her white Anarkali flowed gently with the evening breeze, her long hair dancing in the air. She looked serene, but there was an undeniable sadness in the way she stood—distant, lost, as if trapped in a world of her own thoughts.

Yuvaan felt a pang in his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time they had spoken—really spoken. The memory of their closeness seemed like a distant dream, one that had slipped through his fingers without him even realizing. Now, as he watched her, all the words he had prepared seemed to evaporate.

But he couldn’t back down now. He slowly pushed the door open and stepped into the room, his footsteps quiet, almost hesitant. He stopped beside her, close enough to feel her presence but not so close as to intrude. For a moment, he just stood there, unsure of how to begin.