"The warmest of farewell is coldest of all"
Fog clung to the roads, the wind bit at his skin, and Vikram's heart felt colder than both. Each breath turned to vapour as he jogged through the quiet streets of Hyderabad. His broken bones and weary lungs refused to cooperate for long, and with an imminent mission looming, he dared not test his limits.
He stopped and sank onto the footpath. The road was icy, the concrete burning like frozen lava against his palms. Vikram panted heavily, wiped the sweat from his face, and smiled weakly at his own frailty. He lay back on the hard surface, the impact sending a dull ache through his skull.
Farooque had helped—but help, in this world, was never free. It came with a price.
Vikram reached into his pocket and pulled out a small flask, filled to the brim with whiskey. Toufique and Sonny were glad to see him; their waiting smiles, however, weighed heavily on his chest. He wanted to see them succeed, to see the job done—but the odds were not kind. Shiva and Ganesh would not allow the operation to end quietly.
Massino and Coppola were already displeased by the delay, and the blame had settled squarely on Vikram's shoulders. He was not fully healed, and expecting him to somehow fix everything—like magic—was nothing short of foolish.
Vikram glanced at his watch. 6:00 AM.
Still too early for Indians to wake up—on a winter morning, it was almost a sin.
He slowly pushed himself upright.
"Damn."
A bone clicked in his leg.
"I should have called Sonny or Toufique to come with me."
But he immediately remembered why he had come alone.
First, it was safer. A lone man drew the least suspicion.
Second, both Sonny and Toufique were fast asleep.
Third—both Sonny and Toufique were in the hospital. Ruksana had gone into labour last night.
Vikram limped toward the market. It was far too early for most shops to be open, but luck favoured him—a small tea stall was already running. He sat on the wooden bench outside.
"Ek chai, bhaijaan."
It was the first time Vikram had spoken Hindi in eleven years.
The tea stall owner walked closer, studying him, perhaps to confirm whether the man was real or not. A lone jogger on Hyderabad's roads at six in the morning was curiosity enough.
"I'll make it. Will you wait?" the owner asked politely.
Vikram pulled out his flask and drained the last of the whiskey down his throat.
"It's six in the morning on a winter day. Where would I go?"
The owner nodded and walked away.
"Would you like some breakfast?" a voice called out.
"Nah. Too soon for solids," Vikram replied wearily.
He pulled out his phone and wiped the moisture off the screen.
One ring. Two. Three and a half.
Answered.
"Yes—sorry. Where are you?" Toufique asked abruptly.
Vikram chuckled. "Relax. So—boy or girl?"
Toufique smiled. "Twins. A boy and a girl."
Vikram smiled. "I knew she was carrying more than one. Congratulations."
"Sorry it happened now. You're so—"
"You don't have to be," Vikram cut in gently. "It's fate. Celebrate. Enjoy. I'll handle the task alone."
"No. No. You're unwell. Let me come. It's not like I became a father for the first time."
Vikram smiled. "Tell that to Ruksana. You might have more children in your future."
"Don't tease me," Toufique replied shyly. "At least let Sonny come with you."
Vikram sighed. "His father is already breathing fire at me for keeping him longer than planned. Now imagine sending him on a life-threatening mission. Hell hath no fury like a Massino scorned."
Both men chuckled.
"Where's our beloved boy?" Vikram asked.
"He stayed with Ruksana during the delivery. She was in too much pain and… well, blamed me for the process." Toufique sighed. "Sonny held her hand. They're both sleeping peacefully now."
Vikram smiled softly.
"Did Shiva and Ganesh meet you?"
"No. We tried setting it up. They didn't even acknowledge us."
"And the man I told you to meet?"
"Not patient. With Ruksana in the later stages, I could only meet sporadically. Sonny seemed too naïve for them. It didn't matter—Shiva and Ganesh weren't going to meet us anyway. The man disappeared later."
Vikram exhaled. "Take care of your wife. And don't rush into the process again."
Toufique laughed softly. "Vikram… okay. Bye."
"Sleep," Vikram said.
The call disconnected.
The tea stall owner returned with a piping-hot cup of tea and a plate of rusky biscuits. Vikram sipped slowly, watching the early birds pull open their shutters, the city stretching awake around him.
Vikram finished his tea and slapped a five-hundred-rupee note onto the table. The tea stall owner froze, aghast at the sudden generosity.
"Can I take this matchbox?" Vikram asked abruptly, shattering the moment.
The owner nodded, still stunned.
"Thank you."
Vikram picked up the matchbox and walked away without looking back.
The tea stall owner lifted the note, staring at it for a long second before a wide smile crept across his face.
"Was he an angel?" he muttered under his breath.
An old, unfinished building loomed behind a small yet heavily guarded metal gate. Vikram knocked. A slit opened, and a man peered out.
"Go somewhere else to beg."
Vikram glanced down at his clothes. They weren't expensive—but a beggar? He smiled faintly.
"Open your eyes, idiot. Tell your boss that VPS is here."
The name unsettled the guard. Still, who would show up at dawn claiming to be the most influential man in the underworld? After a moment's hesitation, the guard disappeared inside.
He returned shortly.
"The boss will meet you."
Vikram's smile widened as he stepped in.
"Stairs?" Vikram sighed theatrically.
He dragged himself upward, one step at a time, bones protesting, until he finally reached the top floor of the building.
"Can't you install a lift?" Vikram growled as he stood before Shiva and Ganesh.
One of them was a tall man in his late thirties, with a large beard and a thick moustache beneath his thin nose. He scratched his beard and rubbed his eyes. The other man was a little shorter, but equally hairy. A small bruise lay under his right eye—a gift from VPS eleven years ago. He stared at VPS angrily.
Shiva smiled. "I would have, if I'd known VPS himself would be coming."
Ganesh chuckled sarcastically. "You're a fit man. These stairs shouldn't even make you sweat."
VPS sat on the nearby sofa, resting one leg over the other. Shiva and Ganesh smiled weakly.
"So, finally you've decided to acknowledge us," Shiva said, pouring whisky into his glass.
VPS pulled the glass toward himself and gulped it down. "Don't mind me. This cold has made my throat drier than the Sahara. And as for acknowledging you—unfortunately, that ain't happening."
Ganesh chuckled. "You're joking, right? You pretty much know you're in no position to ridicule us."
VPS looked at both of them with dead eyes. "I still remember that day. You two came into my college intending to threaten me for beating Iyer's spoiled sperm." He glanced at Ganesh. "Instead, this guy got a permanent scratch on his face."
Ganesh grunted in anger.
"But you didn't learn your lesson," VPS continued. "You kept harassing Shabana and even tried to molest her. I beat you both badly that day. You ran like rats."
He paused. "Then a local politician, who had a personal grudge against me, took you under his wing. You returned. I beat you again—humiliated you and your master so badly that all three of you had to stay underground for a long time."
His voice hardened. "When I left India, you two emerged and slowly started gaining power by becoming pimps for politicians. You're nothing but pimps."
"ENOUGH!" Shiva growled.
VPS rose and walked toward him, his eyes digging deep into Shiva's soul. "I'm still that old Vikram," he said. "And if you don't give me what I want, this time you won't be underground."
A pause.
"You'll be under the ground."
Ganesh stood and tried to punch Vikram, but Shiva stopped him.
"Let him be," Shiva said coldly. "If he's still the old Vikram, then we're still the same Shiva and Ganesh. Let him bask in his soon-to-be-gone glory. This time, he won't even know what hit him."
Vikram smiled. "Your local politician is still peeing on your heads."
Ganesh laughed. "At least we have someone standing behind us. Who will save you when you start falling?"
Vikram smiled as he walked out. "I've always walked alone."
He slammed the door hard behind him.
Ganesh exhaled. "Should we contact Dempsey?"
"No," Shiva replied. "He'll only get angry. Vikram is an easy nut to crack."
Ganesh sighed. "Yet we've always failed to crack him."
Shiva and Ganesh looked at each other—and sighed.
"Yes. Here." Vikram called out as the rickshaw jerked to a halt before the hospital gate.
He stepped inside and spotted Sonny leaning against the bathroom wall, a cigarette smouldering between his fingers.
"What happened?" Vikram asked, forcing a smile.
"Nothing," Sonny replied. "Just felt a little bored."
Vikram studied him closely. Sonny's eyes were red—too red. Lack of sleep, maybe. Or something worse. Staying in India had a way of grinding people down. Vikram placed a hand on Sonny's shoulder and pulled him into a brief hug.
"You homesick?" he asked.
"A little," Sonny admitted. "My father isn't happy I've been here this long. Annabelle's worried too. She says her father's condition is getting worse—wants the marriage done as soon as possible."
Vikram curled his lips in faint disdain. "She's not going anywhere. And her father isn't dying anytime soon. Bastard's a tough son of a bitch." He paused, then added, "I spoke to Shiva and Ganesh. They're determined to be a problem."
Sonny exhaled slowly. "So what do we do now?"
Vikram glanced down at the stained floor tiles. The sharp mix of phenyl and citronella made his stomach turn. "Let's talk somewhere else," he said. "You know where the canteen is? Breakfast would do us both some good."
Sonny smiled, flicked the cigarette out the window, and followed him.
"So you're saying we'll deport our guys in the dead of night to avoid any intervention?" Sonny asked, genuinely flabbergasted.
Vikram let out a soft laugh. "Relax. I'm kidding. If it were that easy, we wouldn't still be wasting our time here. Shiva and Ganesh know me too well—they won't leave room for mistakes."
Sonny sipped his tea from a partially clean glass. Vikram smiled at the posture, at the careful way Sonny drank it. Somewhere along the way, Sonny had started behaving like a proper Indian.
"Vikram?"
He turned to see Toufique standing behind him. Before Vikram could react, Toufique wrapped him in a bear hug from behind. In his other hand was a box of sweets. He shoved one straight into Vikram's mouth.
Sonny chuckled.
Vikram retaliated by stuffing a massive laddoo into Toufique's mouth. "So—father of five, eh? Still got something left in the tank?"
Toufique laughed through the sweet. "It's fun at first. Then it becomes exhausting. Ruksana's still angry with me for letting you stay. As if I have any say in this."
"If you want, I can move to a hotel," Vikram said calmly. "I don't want to annoy a new mother."
Toufique's face darkened instantly. "Shiva and Ganesh?"
Vikram sighed. "They won't agree. Too arrogant to listen to reason. I'm almost certain they're backed by Dempsey. That man is so obsessed with me he sometimes shows up in my nightmares."
There was a brief pause.
"If you don't mind," Sonny said hesitantly, "can I go to Italy for a while?"
Both Vikram and Toufique turned to him sharply.
Vikram smiled. "I was about to suggest that myself. Sonny should return to Italy. Toufique should focus on his new fatherly duties. No point dragging you both through this mess any longer."
He paused, his tone turning firm. "I'll stay here for now. If the others come with me, fine. If not, I'll head back home eventually."
Toufique and Sonny searched for something to say—but said nothing. They were tired. Bone-tired.
Vikram stood up. "I have to meet someone important. For now, both of you—cut all connections with me. I'll reach out when the time comes."
He walked toward the door and stepped outside without looking back.
Inside the canteen, Toufique and Sonny exchanged a glance—and shrugged....