13.01.2025

-

"Okay," Shubman wrapped his arms around you amidst your conversation. "Imagine. A cozy cabin. You and me. Maybe five kids?"

You turned your head to stare at him and he worded his sentence again.

"Maybe eleven?" He tilted his head to the side questioningly.

"What are we planning to do?" You asked him. "Start a football team?"

"Maybe a cricket team," your husband answered as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"We'll need reserves," you added and he pulled away just a little to look at you. "But after three years. Until then, I want you all for myself."

He smiled, placing a small kiss on your lips before mumbling, "All yours."

"You do realize the door is open, right-"

"Y/n- Sh!t," Shahneel mumbled before covering her eyes, standing near the open door.

"Goddamnit," Shubman swore as you almost jumped out of the bed. "Di, can you knock-"

"Excuse me," she removed her palm from her eyes. "What was there to knock?"

She received a groan and a pillow, which she dodged by the way, in response.

"Shubi, you see this rectangular piece of wood here?" Shahneel pointed to the said piece of wood. "It's called a door. Wow, I know. You know what you can do with it, you can close or open it by moving it like this or this to conceal your shenanigans and save other people from trauma. Surprising, right?"

With a done look and not waiting for a reply, she left you trying to hide your face in the rest of the pillows.

"So back to what we were doing," Shubman started, still half-lying, half-sitting beside you on the bed.

Lifting your head up, you stared at him. "Have some shame, please."

All you got back was a kiss on your cheek. "Never with you."

-

Shubman wasn't that intimidating. Really.

People close to him knew how much of a dork he was, and despite his reputation of never repeating a word for someone else, he'd go to the end of the world to plead with you.

So when this just-turned-twenty year old walked the halls of hell on earth for the first time, he wasn't close to Shubman.

But he knew he needed a job right now and you'd vouched for him.

He couldn't let you down.

Plus, it isn't like he'll be on field work. It's just behind the desk.

Sighing, Abhi shook his head once for no reason before knocking the door to what he was told was the office.

Or tried to.

Because instead of a door, his knuckles came in contact with a forehead.

Gawd forbade him if it was Shubman.

No, thankfully.

It was a different person.

Eyes closed until he lowered his hand, the skin smooth like chocolate, shone in the light that poured through the window at the end of the hallway.

He was buff, but not the steroid induced or scary bouncer kind of buff.

Like, really the typical mafia person in fictional novels that you could fall in love with.

Hair parted sideways, his curls fell slightly on his forehead and held his gaze for a few seconds.

"Abhishek Sharma?" The mafia-person-from-fictional-novels asked.

"Abhi," he replied, though unsure why.

He knew this guy.

They stared at each other for a few more seconds, one with realization and the other raising a questioning brow.

"I saw you," Abhi mumbled. "You burnt my workplace, you fudge nugget-"

"Robin," a voice said from inside and he halted his words.

The right hand man's eyes moved just a little before his body did, making way for the twenty year old to enter.

"Inside," Robin mumbled and left without another word, and a weird look. What the hell was fudge nugget?

And he wasn't about to follow him and ask why he'd burnt that place when he'd just started to like it there.

Okay, maybe he'll ask that later but right now, he had a sort of job interview.

Abhi had a feeling that he's going to hate Robin during his time here.

He walked in wordlessly to find the infamous Shubman Gill seated on his chair, his second in command on the other side of the table.

All his previous interviews did not involve mafia and guns on the table.

Speaking of which, it's his first time seeing a gun.

"Y/n told me about you," Shubman started, a file in his hand as he spoke.

'She told me about you too.'

Intrusive thoughts.

"I'm offering you a job on the insistence of my wife," he paused and shifted his eyes to meet the boy. "-if you're willing to."

"I am," Abhi replied while Ishan was trying to get rid of the tiny bit of nail polish on one sleeve of his blazer.

He'd gotten it on him while painting Shahneel's nails in the morning.

"Good," Shubman brought his eyes back to the file. "You can ask for Robin to clear any doubts. You'll be briefed on what you've to do."

"You'll be reporting to him," Ishan said to the boy standing just a few feet beside him. "And based on your performance, we'll consider moving up your position."

Abhi nodded first, then added. "Yes."

"You can leave now," the oldest of them said and he nodded again before walking out of the room rather hastily.

That had to be the most awkward job interview ever.

He felt so odd in a place where everyone seemed to be wearing suits.

"Maybe button-up isn't their thing," Abhi mumbled as he looked down at himself.

"A man of few words," Ishan teased as the door closed.

"Speak only what's necessary," Shubman mumbled as he continued looking at the file. "London or Bali?"

"Bali," he answered. "Third honeymoon?"

"Birthday gift," the younger one smiled a bit, finally keeping the file on the table.

If anyone thought it was related to work, think again.

"Should we buy another house there?" He asked while watching Ishan give up on removing the nail polish stain.

"Why does it seem like you're planning on retirement?" His best friend asked back as he stood up.

Shubman paced the length of his office for no reason, a smile on his face before he finally settled down.

"Ishu, come here," he prompted and the latter obliged, sitting beside him on the couch.

He threw an arm over Ishan's shoulders as he started to speak again.

"Just imagine," he started. "Twenty years from now. Where will we be?"

"Forty six," Ishan pointed to Shubman, then at himself. "-and forty seven."

"Ishu," the younger one gave him a look.

"Alright, serious," he smiled before continuing to listen.

"A small cabin in between fields," Shubman visualized.

'Mine fields?' Ishan wanted to ask but controlled the urge.

"On top of a hill. Maybe we'll grow corn."

"Free popcorn."

"That's not how it works, but still imagine," he continued. "Four of us, kids, Brownie, more puppies, Scorpius."

Why did it sound like he's said this over a thousand times?

"And are you ready to leave this all?" Ishan asked him. "Even if we can be sure that we're not a direct target."

This empire he'd started building when he was 18.

From that day Ishan held that mafia boss by his neck from behind as he shot him in his chest, then his head.

That day, they watched life leave someone's eyes for the first time. And it hasn't stopped ever since.

This was for his father, he'd told himself. For all the years he watched him suffer helplessly.

"Once Robin is ready to take the place."

Because like anyone else, Shubman can't live forever and he needed to make sure people around him weren't left clueless if he wasn't there.

It was tacit that after Shubman and Ishan, Robin would be the successor.

Just belonging to the same bloodline doesn't mean you get it all.

Yes, maybe sometimes you do. When you're really skilled and work for it.

Not all the time. Neil and Sidharth are examples.

Shubman stared at Ishan like that time in this very couch, when the latter asked him if he was sure about you.

"If she asks me to leave all this even right now, I will."