Ishani Mehra FL (Lawyer): She’s curvy, confident, works for a rival company tangled in shady business. She hides her insecurities with wit, but she’s damn good at her job. She knows the law like a weapon.



Dante Moretti

ML (Mafia King): Cold, untouchable, hates her guts because every time she shows up in court or negotiations, she blocks his deals. But beneath that hate? He’s noticing her.



The courtroom smelled of polished wood and old secrets. Ishani Mehra adjusted her black lawyer’s robe, her bangles clinking softly as she placed her files on the desk. Her opponents underestimated her the moment they saw her curves and round face, but in the courtroom, her words cut sharper than any blade.

At the back of the hall, he sat.

Dante Moretti. The Italian devil in a three-piece suit, head of the Moretti Mafia empire. His ice-blue eyes never left her—not during cross-examination, not even when the judge ruled in her favor.

When the gavel struck, she allowed herself a small smirk. Another win against his allies. Another thorn in his empire’s side.

But when she stepped into the underground parking lot, her victory soured. A shadow peeled itself from the darkness.

“Avvocato,” Dante’s deep voice rolled with an Italian accent, smooth but dangerous. “You enjoy playing savior, don’t you?”

Ishani didn’t flinch. “Just doing my job, Mr. Moretti. Sorry if the law doesn’t bend to your… business methods.”

He stepped closer, his cologne—dark cedar and sin—flooding her senses. He towered over her, eyes raking her in. “The law is a toy. And you?” His lips curved in disdain. “A pretty, plump distraction dressed like a warrior. Cute. But fragile.”

Her chin lifted, her voice steel. “Funny. For a king, you seem awfully rattled by a woman you call ‘fragile’.”

The smirk vanished from his face. For a heartbeat, silence crackled between them—hatred laced with something heavier, hotter.

Dante leaned down, his lips dangerously close to her ear. “Careful, bella. I don’t hate losing. And I don’t forgive those who make me bleed.”

Ishani’s pulse hammered, but her tongue was sharper than fear. “Good. Because I don’t forgive bullies who mistake fear for respect.”

Their eyes locked—fire against ice, enemies carved by fate. The war had only just begun.

He is a hustler, he's no good at all

He is a loser, he's a bum, bum, bum, bum

He lies, he bluffs, he's unreliable

He is a sucker with a gun, gun, gun, gun

I know you told me I should stay away

I know you said he's just a dog astray

He is a bad boy with a tainted heart

And even I know this ain't smart

But mama I'm in love with a criminal

And this type of love isn't rational, it's physical

Mama please don't cry, I will be alright

All reason aside I just can't deny, I love the guy

He is a villain by the devil's law

He is a killer just for fun, fun, fun, fun

That man's a snitch and unpredictable

He's got no conscience, he got none, none, none, none

All I know, should've let go, but no

'Cause he's a bad boy with a tainted heart

And even I know this ain't smart

But mama I'm in love with a criminal

And this type of love isn't rational, it's physical

Mama please don't cry, I will be alright

All reason aside I just can't deny, I love that guy

And he's got my name

Tattooed on his arm his lucky charm

So I guess it's okay he's with me

And I hear people talk

Trying to make remarks keep us apart

But I don't even hear

I don't care

'Cause mama I'm in love with a criminal

And this type of love isn't rational, it's physical

Mama please don't cry, I will be alright

All reason aside I just can't deny, I love the guy

Mama I'm in love with a criminal

And this type of love isn't rational, it's physical

Mama please don't cry, I will be alright

All reason aside I just can't deny, I love the guy

The courtroom was buzzing with whispers, the kind that always followed high-profile cases. Ishani Mehra adjusted her black robe, her fingers brushing the rim of her glasses as she neatly stacked her documents. She was aware of the eyes on her—judges, opponents, journalists—but she had long learned to ignore them.

At twenty-eight, Ishani had already made a name for herself in the legal world. Not because she was the most beautiful, not because she fit the sleek image of a power lawyer, but because she won. Her curves and dusky complexion often made people underestimate her, but the moment she opened her mouth, her words cut sharper than any blade.

Today, she was up against a notorious corporation with deep ties to organized crime. And sitting at the back of the hall, watching with the stillness of a predator, was the man whispered about in every underworld tale—Dante Moretti, the Italian devil himself.

He didn’t belong in a courtroom, not really. With his dark tailored suit, silver cufflinks, and icy blue gaze, he looked like a king who had wandered into a peasant’s squabble. But Ishani knew better. The Moretti name carried blood and fear across continents.

Their eyes met once, briefly, during the cross-examination. His gaze didn’t waver. Cold. Unblinking. Almost amused. She didn’t flinch. If anything, she let her lips curve into the faintest smile before she tore his ally’s testimony apart with precise, ruthless logic.

By the time the gavel struck, the verdict was in her favor. A small but significant victory. Another thorn in his empire’s side.

She didn’t celebrate. She simply packed her files, adjusted her dupatta over her robe, and walked out with her chin held high.

But victory came at a price.

The underground parking lot was dim, the echo of her heels sharp against the concrete floor. Ishani’s phone buzzed with congratulatory messages, but she ignored them. She wasn’t naïve. Winning against men like Dante Moretti came with consequences.

She sensed him before she saw him. A ripple in the silence, the heavy weight of presence.

“Avvocato.”

The voice rolled out like velvet dipped in poison. Smooth. Dangerous. Italian accent thick enough to make her heartbeat stumble for half a second. She turned, spine straight, and found him leaning against a black Maserati like it was his throne.

“Mr. Moretti.” She kept her tone professional, crisp. “Parking lots aren’t usually open to spectators.”

He pushed off the car, each step deliberate, predatory. “You enjoy playing savior, don’t you? Defending men who have no right to breathe, much less freedom.”

“I defend the law,” she corrected sharply. “Something tells me you wouldn’t understand the concept.”

His lips curved, but the smile didn’t touch his eyes. He closed the distance, his cologne—dark cedar and leather—flooding her senses. “The law is a toy. And you?” His gaze swept over her, slow and dismissive. “A pretty, plump distraction dressed like a warrior. Cute. But fragile.”

Ishani’s chin lifted. “Funny. For a king, you seem awfully rattled by a woman you call ‘fragile’.”

The smirk vanished. His eyes narrowed, ice turning to steel. For a heartbeat, silence thickened between them. Hatred, yes—but beneath it, something hotter. Something he would never admit.

Dante leaned down, his lips hovering just above her ear. “Careful, bella. I don’t hate losing. And I don’t forgive those who make me bleed.”

Her pulse betrayed her, hammering hard, but her voice stayed steady. “Good. Because I don’t forgive bullies who mistake fear for respect.”

Their eyes locked—fire against ice, lawyer against mafia king.

And then, just as quickly, headlights slashed across the parking lot. A car screeched to a halt. Ishani turned, startled—long enough for Dante to murmur one last warning, his voice a low growl.

“This is only the beginning.”

By the time she looked back, he was gone.

Her hands trembled as she clutched her files tighter, but her lips curved into the faintest smile. If Dante Moretti thought she would run, he had just made his biggest mistake.

The week after her courtroom win was chaos. Ishani barely had time to breathe between media interviews, client calls, and angry threats flooding her inbox. None of it shook her. She had faced intimidation before—corrupt cops, spoiled tycoons, even ministers. But the name that lingered at the back of her mind was Dante Moretti.

He hadn’t contacted her since that night in the parking lot. No mysterious bouquets, no veiled threats. Nothing. And that silence unnerved her more than the danger itself.

By Friday evening, exhaustion dragged at her shoulders. She left her office late, heels clicking against the quiet corridors of the nearly deserted building. Outside, the city of Mumbai roared as always—honking cars, neon lights, vendors shouting. She stepped into the humid night air, tugging her robe tighter around her.

That’s when the black SUV pulled up beside her.

The doors opened before she could react. Two men in suits—foreigners, tall, broad-shouldered—stepped out. Before Ishani’s brain could connect the dots, one grabbed her wrist, the other pressed something cold against her back.

“Don’t scream,” the taller one said in accented Hindi. “Just walk.”

Her heart raced, but fear only sharpened her stubbornness. She opened her mouth to argue—but then she saw him.

Dante Moretti.

Sitting inside the SUV like a king on his throne, his suit immaculate, his blue eyes cold fire. He didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. Just tilted his head, and the men shoved her inside.

The car door slammed shut. Silence wrapped around her, broken only by the low hum of the engine. Ishani’s breathing was fast, ragged, but she forced her chin high.

“Kidnapping now? How very original, Mr. Moretti.” Her voice was steady, but her hands clenched into fists.

His gaze slid over her—unhurried, deliberate. “Call it… relocation. You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long, avvocato. I warned you.”

“You threatened me,” she shot back. “And here I am. Still alive. Still winning.”

For the first time, his lips curved into something like a smile. Dangerous. Mocking. “Alive, yes. Winning?” He leaned closer, his cologne intoxicating, his voice a low growl. “Not anymore.”

The SUV drove for what felt like hours, past the chaos of the city, into the silence of the outskirts. Finally, they stopped at an old villa by the sea—isolated, grand, and suffocating in its beauty.

The guards pushed her inside, but Dante dismissed them with a flick of his hand. The heavy doors shut, leaving them alone in the vast hall. Marble floors gleamed under the chandelier’s dim light.

“Why am I here?” she demanded, her voice sharp, though her pulse thundered in her throat.

Dante poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light. “Because you don’t seem to understand limits. You think the law protects you. It doesn’t.” He turned, glass in hand, eyes piercing hers. “Now, you play by my rules.”

Ishani laughed bitterly, her fear laced with defiance. “You think locking me in your gilded cage will break me? You don’t know me at all.”

He stepped forward, closing the distance until she could feel the heat of his body. He tilted her chin up with two fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“No,” he murmured, voice like silk over steel. “But I will.”

For a moment, the world held its breath. She wanted to slap him, to scream, to fight—but her body betrayed her, every nerve alive under his touch.

And that terrified her more than the kidnapping itself.