CHAPTER 9: "FAMILY IN HIDING"

  The drive to Ghaziabad was a torture of silence and suppressed terror.

  Aanya, sensing the tension radiating from her parents like heat from a furnace, sat in the back seat clutching her stuffed rabbit, eyes wide and fearful.

  Priya stared out the window, her jaw set tight.

  She hadn't spoken since they left Lajpat Nagar.

  The suitcase in the trunk rattled with every pothole, a reminder of their displacement.

  Vikram’s uncle, Uncle Mahesh, lived in a gated colony in Indirapuram.

  It was a quiet, retired neighborhood—boring, safe, invisible. Perfect.

  They arrived at 11 PM.

  Uncle Mahesh, a retired army colonel, opened the door in his pajamas, his face crinkling in confusion.

  "Vikram? Beta? Is everything alright?"

  "We just need a place for a few days, Chacha-ji," Vikram said, trying to smile.

  It felt like a grimace.

  "Some pest control work at the house. Chemicals. Not safe for Aanya."

  It was a weak lie.

  The Colonel’s sharp eyes assessed Vikram—the sweat on his brow, the darting eyes. He didn't buy it, but he nodded.

  "Come in. Come in. The guest room is always open."

  Later, in the guest bedroom, after Aanya had finally fallen asleep, Priya turned on him.

  Her voice was a hiss of fury and fear.

  "Pest control? Really, Vikram?" She stepped closer, her eyes blazing.

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  "Tell me the truth. Is it them? The men who came to the house?"

  Vikram sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

  "Yes." "I thought you paid them! You said you handled it!"

  "It's... complicated, Priya. They want more. They're not stopping."

  "So we run? For how long? Do we live like refugees now? Aanya has school on Monday!"

  "She's not going to school!" Vikram snapped, his voice rising before he caught himself.

  "She's not going anywhere. Not until this is fixed."

  "How is it going to be fixed?" Priya grabbed his shoulders, shaking him.

  "Go to the police, Vikram! My cousin is a lawyer, let's call him. We can't handle this alone."

  Vikram looked at his wife.

  He loved her more than his own life. He wanted to tell her everything.

  He wanted to tell her about the river, about the body, about the smell of burning blood.

  He wanted to weep in her lap and have her tell him it would be okay.

  But he couldn't.

  If he told her he was a murderer, it would break her.

  And worse, it would make her an accessory.

  "I can't go to the police," he said quietly.

  "These people... they own the police, Priya. If I file a report, they'll know before the ink is dry. And then they won't just threaten. They'll act."

  "So what do we do?" tears streamed down her face now.

  "What do we do?"

  "You stay here. You and Aanya are safe here. Uncle has his old service revolver, the colony has armed guards. No one knows we're here."

  "And you?"

  "I have to go back."

  "No!" She grabbed his arm.

  "No, you are not going back there!"

  "I have to work, Priya. If I disappear, they'll know something is wrong. They'll start looking harder.I have to maintain the routine.I have to figure out a way to pay them off or make them stop."

  He kissed her forehead, lingering there, breathing in her scent.

  It might be the last time, he realized.

  "Trust me. I'll fix this. I promise."

  He left at dawn, leaving his heart behind in that guest room.

  Driving back to Delhi, the reality of his situation settled over him like a shroud.

  Running wasn't a solution.

  The Khanna gang was a hydra.

  He had cut off one small head—Bunty—and now the beast was waking up.

  They wouldn't stop until they found him. Or until they were destroyed.

  Eliminate the threat.

  The words echoed in his mind.

  It was a debugging principle.

  You don't patch a virus; you delete it.

  He reached his empty, silent house in Lajpat Nagar.

  It felt like a tomb.

  He sat at his computer, the screens glowing blue in the dark room.

  He opened a TOR browser.

  He had used it occasionally for cybersecurity research at work.

  Now, he used it for war.

  QHe began to research.

  Not cybersecurity, but the anatomy of the Delhi underworld.

  He searched for news articles about the Khanna gang, old FIR records that had been leaked, forum discussions on crime watch sites.

  Slowly, a picture emerged.

  Rakesh Khanna.

  The boss.

  Based in Okhla.

  Runs construction, extortion, gambling.

  Protected by a local MLA.

  Below him, three Lieutenants.

  Karan "Blade" Malhotra was one.

  Below them, the street soldiers.

  Enforcers. Collectors.

  It was a hierarchy.

  A system.

  And every system had vulnerabilities.

  Vikram stared at the screen, his eyes burning.

  He wasn't looking for a way out anymore.

  He was looking for a way in.