Page 111

“The police are here…”

Akhil instantly became alert. Without wasting a second, he quietly slipped away, knowing exactly what needed to be done next. Vikrant must have identified someone suspicious on the ship, perhaps someone working with law enforcement, which is why he had given the alert without delay.

The ship neared the dock. Anchors were dropped, and the massive vessel began to slow down. Vikrant moved forward with a composed smile on his face. He was confident that by now, Akhil had assessed the situation and taken the necessary steps. With the trap already set, none of the present police officers could escape from here.

This consignment was not just important it was, in many ways, his lifeline. If he failed to deliver it as promised to gangs, there would be far-reaching consequences. His family’s safety could be at risk. Vikrant was willing to take any measure, including engaging in a full-scale conflict with the police, to safeguard his loved ones. He couldn’t afford a single mistake.

As soon as Vikrant stepped forward and made his presence known, a few police officers lunged toward him and tried to detain him. At the same time, officers stationed on the ship rushed down to surround him. But before any of them could act or even speak, a calculated move unfolded, Vikrant’s men, already strategically positioned, formed a wide circle around the officers. They swiftly aimed their guns at the officers' backs, completely surprising them. Vikrant, wearing a calm and satisfied smile, walked right through the stunned group. And just as he cleared the scene, gunfire erupted. In a brutal and precise operation, every one of the officers was shot dead. One by one, bodies collapse like card castles.

Akhil, having already relayed detailed instructions to his team, was executing the plan flawlessly. His men were moving swiftly,hunting down every remaining law enforcer at the port. It was critical to eliminate all threats before proceeding with the next phase of the mission. As Vikrant had anticipated, Akhil brought five additional police officers who had infiltrated the area. They too were eliminated with ruthless efficiency. Vikrant knew very well that one wrong step today could cost him everything.

Suddenly, Vikrant’s phone buzzed. He didn’t need to look at the screen to know it was Jhankar calling. But just as he reached for it, a powerful kick landed on his back. The force sent the phone flying from his hand, and it hit the ground several feet away. Vikrant turned around sharply. A large group of unknown men was charging toward them. His men quickly moved to intercept, engaging in close combat, trying to contain the unexpected assault. But Vikrant could see clearly this wasn’t a random ambush. More and more enemies were appearing from the shadows, their numbers growing rapidly. It became obvious that another mafia group had orchestrated a plan to hijack the consignment.

Vikrant’s mind raced, but his resolve didn’t waver. He couldn't let them succeed. In one smooth motion, he drew his gun and opened fire. The gunfight escalated into a bloodbath. Bullets flew in every direction, blood stained the concrete, and the port transformed into a battlefield. Vikrant's hands worked tirelessly, emptying magazine after magazine, his focus unshaken. Bodies dropped one after another, the air thick with gunpowder and screams. His sharp gaze suddenly locked onto a car parked just beyond the firefight. Inside, he spotted a man clearly not just a bystander. This man was overseeing everything, trying to stay hidden while orchestrating the theft of the consignment.

The man wasn’t stepping out of the car, which meant he was waiting for the perfect moment to escape with the shipment.Vikrant narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Without hesitation, Vikrant signaled Akhil to take over the lead and manage the men on the ground. Then, he began advancing toward the vehicle. His steps were slow but filled with purpose. The chaos of the gunfight continued behind him; he was firing like he was just focused on eliminating all, but his focus was now solely on the man inside the car. He would drag him out, regardless of what it took. And he would make sure this betrayal ended with one final shot.

Vikrant, while attacking the men around him, began maneuvering toward the car in such a way that the man inside would never suspect he was approaching. He vanished amidst the chaos of the fighting, blending seamlessly into the crowd. Inside the car sat Viren Chandel, closely watching the ongoing bloodshed from the safety of his seat. He wasn’t here just to witness the battle he was here to win it. He was desperate to get the consignment and flee the scene. This shipment was his only ticket to securing his wife and daughter’s safety. Mark had made it clear: deliver the consignment, and only then would he see his family alive again.

He had thrown everything into this plan. Chandel had united every rival mafia group that stood against Vikrant and convinced them to join forces for this ambush. In his mind, once Vikrant was eliminated, it would be easy to crush the remaining factions one by one with Mark's support and seize control of the entire arms trade. But first—Vikrant had to die.

Chandel nervously observed the relentless bloodshed outside. What was worrying him now was the lack of backup. None of Vikrant’s men were retreating. They were fighting like warriors; nobody felt any fear of death. And that unnerved him. He turned in frustration to the bodyguard seated beside him and snapped:

“I don’t understand why it’s taking so long to kill just one man—Vikrant!”

The bodyguard didn’t flinch. Instead, a cold voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“Why don’t you try doing it yourself?”

Viren Chandel’s eyes widened in shock. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, and fear clutched his chest. He didn’t dare turn his head. He hadn’t even noticed when Vikrant had entered the car. Somehow, despite the chaos outside, Vikrant had managed to eliminate the bodyguards around the car one by one, slipping inside unnoticed. Vikrant had silently taken down the guard next to Chandel using his silencer-fitted pistol, then casually sat beside him.

Chandel slowly reached for his gun, attempting a subtle move. But Vikrant was faster; his finger had already pulled the trigger of his gun by using his hand. The bullet tore through Chandel’s thigh. He screamed in agony, clutching his leg as blood poured out. Vikrant smirked, his eyes burning with quiet fury.

“I wanted to kill you slowly, make you suffer… But the problem is, I don’t have time to waste, not even on your death. So I dropped that plan.”

Without another word, Vikrant pressed the barrel of his pistol against Chandel’s temple and pulled the trigger.

Bang.

Viren Chandel slumped over, lifeless. Vikrant looked at the corpse with a cold smile, then turned to glance outside. His men had already taken down most of the enemy force. Without hesitation, he stepped out of the vehicle and began firing rapidly, backing up his team with ruthless efficiency. Within minutes,the last of the attackers lay dead on the blood-soaked ground. He surveyed the scene carefully—no survivors, no mercy. Turning to Akhil, he spoke firmly, his tone commanding:

“There shouldn’t be a single piece of evidence left here. Call our team immediately and clean this area as soon as possible. The consignment must be loaded and sent to different cities without any delay. And one important thing nobody knows about Chandel right now is because I want to know who are the ones who help in this."

Akhil nodded sharply. “Yes, sir.”

Vikrant continued, his voice colder now, calculating:

“And tomorrow, without fail, arrange a meeting with all the mafia gangs. I need to know which gangs these dead men belonged to. If their leaders don’t claim them, I want it made clear what happens to cowards who send their men but don’t take responsibility for their deaths. I’ll decide their fate myself.”

“Yes, sir,” Akhil replied again, more resolutely this time.

Vikrant walked ahead, his footsteps firm, unshaken. Although they had already won a war, it was engulfing them, where every breath held significance, every betrayal resulted in bloodshed, and every vow carried a price.

~~~~

Mark stood in front of Ravindra’s farmhouse, the very place where he had kept Chandel and his daughter hostage. His eyes fell on Jhankar, whose head was bleeding profusely. Smiling coldly, Mark looked at her and spoke in a calm and composed tone.

“I’m absolutely certain that Chandel must have completed the job by now. All the powerful mafia gangs in India weresurprisingly quick to offer their help because each one of them wants to dethrone Vikrant and claim the chair for themselves. The intoxication of power is a strange thing, not everyone is capable of understanding it.”