Chapter 12: Chains of the Past

Chapter 12: Chains of the Past

The morning light was gentle over Mount Abu, filtering through the old lace curtains of the guest house room, casting golden webs over bare skin and messy sheets. Matteo was already awake, lying on his side, watching her. Watching his Aaravi sleep, curled into the hollow of his body like she belonged there.

And she did.

But even in peace, her face held a trace of tension — the kind that lived in people who had known too much pain, too young. He hadn’t just stolen her from her world. He had dragged her into his.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and his jaw tightened. He didn’t need to check it. The past never stopped chasing him — and now it had her scent too.

Aaravi stirred, her lashes fluttering as she opened her eyes. He could read the hesitancy in her. Last night had been forgiveness wrapped in lust and love. But this morning was reality.

“How long have you been watching me?” she asked softly, voice still thick with sleep.

Matteo’s lips curved faintly. “Long enough to know I never want to wake up without this.”

She smiled, small and tired. “We should talk.”

“I know,” he said, already dreading it.

She sat up, wrapping the sheet around her chest as if it could shield her from the conversation. “You said you’d protect me. But Matteo... you are the danger. I left because it felt like the only way I could breathe again.”

He sat up, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. You were right to leave. I wasn’t giving you choices. I was just dragging you deeper.”

Aaravi glanced at him, heart tight. “But I love you. And that’s what makes it harder.”

He reached out, took her hand. “There are things you don’t know. About my past. About your past.”

She stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Matteo exhaled slowly, rising from the bed and pulling on his shirt. His voice was low, even. “Do you remember a name — Leone Fabrizio?”

She shook her head, but something cold coiled in her stomach.

“He was your father's business partner. Years ago. Before the accident.”

“My father died in a car crash,” she said, suddenly defensive. “My mother barely talks about it.”

“It wasn’t an accident, Aaravi.” Matteo looked at her with something deeper than regret. “It was a hit.”

She stared at him, lips parting. “What?”

“Your father got caught laundering money for the Milanese syndicate. When he tried to back out… they silenced him. My family wasn’t involved back then, but I knew the man who gave the order.”

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, that can’t be—”

“I didn’t know about it until recently,” Matteo added quickly. “But when I found out… I understood why you were always going to be a target. Someone wants to tie up loose ends. You’re a name on a list.”

Aaravi’s breath caught in her throat. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because I didn’t want you to be afraid of your own past,” he said. “I wanted to give you time. To choose me, not because you had to — but because you wanted to.”

She stood up, the sheet slipping from her shoulders, but she didn’t notice. Her hands were trembling.

“So all this time… I was already in danger, before you.”

“Yes.”

“And you? What are you now? My protector or my jailer?”

Matteo moved to her in a flash, cupping her face, voice raw. “I’m whatever you need me to be. But I will not let them hurt you. You’re not running again, Aaravi. If you want to leave me, fine. But don’t go thinking you’ll be safe just because I’m not around.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t cry. She had cried enough.

“I don’t want to leave,” she whispered. “I just want to stop looking over my shoulder.”

Matteo pressed his forehead to hers. “Then stay. Let me fix this.”

Aaravi closed her eyes. “We fix it together. No more secrets.”

“No more secrets.”

---

Two days later, they were back in Mumbai. The safehouse Matteo brought her to wasn’t a palace. It was simple. Hidden. Secure. A place no one would look for a mafia boss and the girl who once ran a bookstore in Jaipur.

Aaravi tried to find peace in the rhythm of the space — cooking simple meals, organizing Matteo’s shelves, sketching again. But the chain of her father’s past pulled at her with every quiet second. Matteo spent his nights making calls, reviewing encrypted files, meeting with Nico and Helena in the shadows.

He was closing the circle.

One night, Aaravi woke to voices.

“—the hitman’s still active,” Helena said from the next room. “Goes by the name Ravan. Slippery. Lethal.”

“Then he’s mine,” Matteo growled. “He touched her father. He won’t come near her.”

Aaravi’s heart skipped. Ravan. The name curled like smoke in her lungs.

Later, Matteo returned to bed. She pretended to be asleep as he lay beside her, but he knew. He wrapped his arm around her anyway, pulling her close.

“I will bury the past if I have to,” he whispered into her hair.

She didn’t answer.

But in the dark, she made a silent vow: she would face the past too — and burn every chain that ever held her back.

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