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Mafia crave

Cubvailisa
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Synopsis
Her back slammed against the wall, the breath caught in her throat. Before she could say anything, Zayne's body held hers in place, one hand on her jaw, the other around her waist like a vice. His breath was hot against her lips, but his eyes—dark, hungry, and merciless—spoke of sin. "You keep running, Inspector," he growled, in a deep low sinful voice. "But I will always find you. And when I do..." His tongue brushed her earlobe, slow and deliberate, vibrating against her skin. "I don't just want to hear you plead for mercy. I want to ruin you." Priya's breath caught. He smirked against her skin, sensing the way she trembled below him. "I'll have you gasping for my name, your legs shaking, your nails digging into my back. Not once. Not twice. Until you forget you ever hated me." She tried to shove him off her, but her hands betrayed her, curling into his shirt instead. "I'll make you feel it," he whispered, even softer. "Every inch of me... inside you... claiming you. Till you forget the badge. Forget the pride. Forget the pain." "Zayne--" she breathed. “You’ll scream,” he whispered, biting her lower lip. “Not from fear. Not from pain. But because I’ll make you scream like I own you.” “And you’ll love every second of it.”
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Chapter 1 - First meet

꧁༒༻༺༒꧂꧁༒༻༺༒꧂

 Chapter 1: The Fugitive in delhi 

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The Delhi was alive; the street was full of vendors, honking cars, and a crowd moving around chaotically yet with some sort of flow under the neon lights of Connaught Place. A man quietly walked through the bustling market, the figure of a man who had made many humans shiver by just his voice.. —however, this man named Zayne, could not be farther from that feared figure as he walked as an outsider in another country.

In his shabby leather jacket, his dark eyes had a flicker of weariness, peering into the sea of strangers. He had only very recently escaped Moscow, carrying only what little this world allowed him, avoiding all blood and betrayal behind him. He came here to hunt his biggest rival Arabic mafia, and there would be no mercy if he was found.

Yet right now, he felt anxious about the worthy feelings of hunger. 

He halted at a juice stall, there was another man with a thick mustache observing him, and now he recognized him as a foreigner and asked, "Juice?" Zayne pointed at the juice and hoped that gestures alone would be enough. 

"Four-hundred rupees, sir," he said with a smirk, his voice dripped with greed. 

Zayne didn't need to know Hindi to know he was being ripped off. He ground his teeth. If this was Russia, the man would earn himself a broken nose.

Before he could answer, a shrill, authoritative voice broke through the din.

"What is this nonsense?!"

A woman in a clean khaki uniform stormed up, her dark eyes sparking fury. She was IAS officer Priya Thakur, and the vendor actually flinched at the sight of her.

"Just because he's a foreigner, you think you can rob him!" she yelled, hands on hips.

Zayne raised an eyebrow, taken aback by her courage. His lips twitched in amusement, and he muttered in Russian, voice smooth but guarded. "Spasibo." 

Then switching to the thickly accented English , he replied, "But I can handle myself. I do not need some pretty .... police officer."

He noted the flash of annoyance in her face. He had never had luck with women, and this was no different—except she was the only thing between him and being overcharged.

Priya turned her attention to him, arms folded. "Mr. do you know Hindi?"

"Нет." (No) Zayne shook his head watching her response. Zayne started pointing to himself "Russian" then after a pause pointed to her "Indian?"

She pressed her lips together and sighed, finally nodding. "Fine. Do you speak English?"

He nodded. "Yes i can..," he said. His Russian accent was getting thicker by the word. He scrutinized her to gauge if she was a threat to him, or just a nosy officer. "You Indian police?"

"Yes, I work for Indian police - I am an IAS officer, Priya Thakur. Where are you staying? I will drop you off."

He jolted upright. His body stiffened like a cornered animal. This guy did not trust anyone.

"No," he waved her off, trying to make his posture indifferent. "I sleep on a street. Do not waste your time on me."

He grabbed for his bag to vanish into the night. Although he needed to be alert, the way she looked at him - with intrigue, not suspicion - unnerved him.

Before he stopped himself he asked, "What is your name?"

"IAS Priya Thakur."

Zayne sounded it out slowly - he had never spoken the name before. "Pree-ya Tha-kir."

"Thakur, not Thakir" she corrected.

Zayne slightly smiled, then became serious. "Forget it, I don't need your kindness. I will sleep right here." He gestured to the pavement while pulling his jacket tighter around himself. "And stop being nice." 

Priya raised an eyebrow. "It's my responsibility. Did you not book a hotel?" 

He hesitated. Eventually Zayne stiffly said, "No money, spent it all on food, and this jacket." 

His stomach grumbled loudly. He was annoyed that it would betray his pride, and Priya tried not to smile. 

She reached for Zayne's hand, taking it firmly, but with warmth. "No problem. Come on, let's go for dinner." 

Zayne flinched against the touch of her hand. He hated contact but Instead of jerking his hand away, though, he let her pull him up. 

"Fine." he said grudgingly. "But I'm not one who asked for this."

꧁༒༻༺༒꧂ ꧁༒༻༺༒꧂

 ༶•┈┈┈༓༓༓༓༓༓༓༓༓┈┈┈•༶

 ༺ To be continued… ༻

꧁༒༻༺༒꧂꧂༒༻༺༒꧂

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