Luca POV
The city was asleep.
But we weren't.
At exactly 3:47 a.m., our team was in position. The narrow alley beside the old Shahdara cinema stank of rot and sewage. Rats scurried. Somewhere, a dog barked—then was silent. Delhi's darkness had a different weight tonight. Heavier. Thicker. I could feel it pressing against my skin like something alive.
The vans idled two blocks away, engines off. I stood beside Aditya, both of us suited in matte-black tactical gear. Mahmoud was already scaling the back wall. Stefano was watching from the drone feed, two screens strapped to his chest. Dev waited near the ventilation shaft, tools in hand. Quiet professionals. Mine.
I pressed the comm in my ear.
"Status."
"Vent is open. Entry in ninety seconds," Mahmoud whispered.
"Perimeter clear," Stefano added.
"Go."
The shaft was rusted. Sharp edges cut at gloves as Dev crawled inside first. I followed, the metal groaning beneath me, heart steady. Beneath the surface, I was fire. Controlled. Focused. The air inside was hot and still. Sweat trickled down my spine.
We moved through the ducts with surgical grace, emerging above the main auditorium.
I peered through the vent grille.
Rows of cinema chairs. Faded maroon. Cracked leather. The screen was ripped, behind it a black curtain. Men with rifles leaned against the walls, half-asleep. Ten... no, eleven armed. Below us, in the orchestra pit where musicians once played, were sixteen girls. Some barely ten. Others near adulthood. All huddled under woolen blankets. Pale. Silent.
My jaw clenched.
"Visual confirmed. I count sixteen innocents. Eleven armed guards. Buyers haven't arrived yet," I whispered.
Aditya's voice crackled. "Code word is still scheduled for 6 a.m."
"Then let's not waste time."
I gave the signal.
Dev dropped first, landing soundlessly behind a guard at the rear. The man didn't even turn before his throat opened, red spraying onto the floor. Mahmoud followed, taking out two with silenced rounds. I leapt down last.
And then hell opened.
A shout. A gun cocked.
I moved before they did. My blade slid from its sheath, curved and fast. I threw it across the room. It buried into a man's eye. I reached the next before his scream finished. His rifle jammed between us, I slammed my elbow into his temple—twice—until he dropped.
Gunfire erupted.
But not ours. We were quieter than death. And far more precise.
Within two minutes, it was over.
The last guard stumbled backward, bleeding from his thigh. He raised his hands. "Please! I didn't—"
I shot him clean through the head.
The girls flinched, some screamed. One tried to run.
"Easy," I said, raising both hands. "You're safe now."
Aditya and Dev moved among them, calming them, offering water, checking injuries. Some were crying. Some just stared.
I looked around.
The stage curtain behind the screen shifted.
I tensed.
And then Dragan Iyer stepped out. Smiling.
He clapped slowly.
"You're fast, Volkov. I'll give you that."
I stepped forward, gun raised.
"You came all the way here just to die in a cinema?"
"Always so dramatic," he said, unarmed, dressed in a tan suit stained with blood at the cuffs. "You don't get it, do you? This isn't about me anymore."
I shot him.
Not to kill. Yet.
The bullet went through his thigh. He screamed, fell hard. My men didn't move. They knew I wanted him alive. For now.
"Bag him. Strip him of anything electronic. Let's go."
The girls were loaded into the vans with care. Each given food, water, and blankets. I sat in the second van with Dragan tied and gagged. He was unconscious from the blow Aditya had dealt.
My basement was waiting.
—
It was a room designed not for storage—but for reckoning.
Soundproofed. Rusted chains on the wall. A drain in the floor. Surgical lights above. It smelled of bleach and old blood. A place for ghosts.
Dragan woke strapped to a metal chair.
He was bleeding heavily from the thigh, but I didn't dress it.
"You took children," I said, calm.
He grinned through cracked lips. "They weren't mine."
I punched him. Hard. His nose shattered with a sickening crunch.
"You sold them."
He spat blood at my feet. "I made money. That's all that matters."
"Wrong."
I pressed a scalpel to his cheek. Just enough pressure to pierce.
"You don't get to define what matters anymore."
"Then kill me," he gasped.
"Not yet."
What followed wasn't a conversation. It was confession under fire.For an hour, I broke him. Cut him. Electrodes, blades, fists. Each time he gave a name, I checked it against my database. Verified. Crossed out. I made him watch me burn files on the screen as each of his men was hunted down, dragged into vans, or shot through the eye.
By morning, he was barely breathing.
"Why India?" I asked. "Why now?"
He coughed blood.
"Because it's not me. I was a drop."
"Then tell me who sent you."
He laughed, and it chilled me. Not because it was mad, but because it was... knowing.
"You think you've won?"
I didn't answer.
He raised his head with the last of his strength.
"This is not over. You can't just kill me and go back. They are coming. And they will kill you and all your near ones."
"Who?" I demanded.
He chuckled again. "If you want everything to be over, you have to stay here in India and kill them. But you can't. They are not like me."
He looked me in the eye.
"Me coming here... was them being reasonable."
"Who are they?"
He smiled.
And then his eyes rolled back.
He died with that smile still on his face.
I stared at his body.
Burned it myself in the incinerator behind the safe house.
—
It was noon.
Delhi was waking up. The heat was rising. I sat on the rooftop of the safe house, the city stretched out before me like a breathing beast.
They.
Iyer's final words echoed.
I should've felt relief. The girls were safe. The traffickers were dead. Dragan was ash.
But I didn't.
Because this was bigger.
They were real.
And they were coming.
I closed my eyes—and she appeared again.
That girl. Her fake smile. Her eyes that saw too much. The way her laugh didn't reach her soul.
Who was she?
Somehow, I knew it wasn't random. Our paths crossed for a reason. And something deep in me—a whisper that felt like instinct—told me that her pain and mine were intertwined.
I opened my eyes.
"Mahmoud," I called over comms.
"Yes, sir?"
"Secure new housing. Low profile. Burn this location after we leave."
"Yes, sir. Are we leaving Delhi?"
"No."
A pause.
"Sir?"
"I'm staying."
"For how long?"
"As long as it takes."
I ended the call.
I rose from the chair, staring at the skyline. Somewhere in this city, answers waited. Faces hidden behind shadow. "They" were watching. Hunting. Planning.
But so was I.
And Luca Volkov doesn't run.
I hunt.
I kill.
I finish what I start.
And this wasn't over.
Not even close.
__
Hey guys, thanking for reading this part. Our hero Luca has finally saved those innocents lives. To know more about "they" you have to stay tuned.
Do remember to like for the story and give your reviews in the comment to show your love and support.
Write a comment ...