TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️
This book contains a lot of fights. which are slightly hard to read not at the beginning though , also contains. some explicitive content . I expect soft core readers to be okay while reading this book
The basement was heavy with serious discussions echoing through the room and whispered bargains when the door exploded inward. Silence fell as the meeting carried on about the new weapon deal—one of the most important of the season.
An intruder stormed in, face twisted with rage, gun gleaming under the flickering light. Two corpses already lay cooling outside—the guards he had cut down without hesitation. Now, he stood at the threshold of men who had bathed in blood long before he learned to load a weapon.
He didn’t care. He had one target.
The barrel of his gun rose and locked on the honored guest at the table, the man whose presence had drawn this secret gathering. For a heartbeat, the room held still—chairs half-turned, hands inching toward steel, breaths sharp with disbelief.
And then it happened.
No warning. No drawn-out stare.
Just a flash, a thunderclap of finality.
The intruder’s throat erupted crimson before a single word left his mouth. He collapsed instantly, body jerking once before surrendering to silence. His weapon clattered uselessly to the floor.
The shot had come from the head of the table.
Rudra Devangan.
He sat back in his chair as though nothing had occurred, smoke curling lazily from his pistol. His eyes burned like coals banked under stone, merciless and unblinking. Rudra was not a man of patience—every second wasted was an insult, every unnecessary presence a stain to be erased. Tonight was no different.
“The inconvenience is regrettable,” he said, voice quiet yet slicing through the room.
It was not an apology. It was a decree.
And just like that, the mess was swept aside, blood on the floor treated no differently than dust. Rudra resumed the meeting, his composure chilling, his cruelty clean. By the time the night was done, the deal was sealed—swift, absolute, unquestioned.
This was Rudra Devangan: the cruelest hand of the northern mafia, a storm in human skin. A man who erased threats as easily as most men exhaled, and whose darkness existed only to extinguish worse.
The meeting ended as swiftly as it had begun. Papers signed, weapons promised, alliances stitched together with the thread of fear. The men rose one by one, their bows subtle, their eyes careful never to linger too long on the corpse still cooling by the door.
No one dared suggest removing it until Rudra himself stood. Only then did two men scramble to drag the body away, hands trembling as they left faint streaks of red across the polished floor.
Rudra lit a cigarette, the flame catching briefly in his gaze before he exhaled smoke that curled like ghosts around his face. The silence around him was reverent, suffocating. His presence had that effect—turning grown men into shadows, their voices swallowed, their wills bent.
“Mrunal.” His voice cracked the air like a whip.
His second-in-command stepped forward instantly, sharp suit, sharper eyes. “Yes, bhai.”
“Find out who sent him.” Rudra’s tone was calm, almost bored, but Mrunal felt the weight of death pressing in the space between them. “And when you do—don’t just kill them. Burn them. Every name tied to theirs, every piece of dirt they ever claimed. Salt the ground they stood on.”
Mrunal nodded, though his throat was dry. “Consider it done.”
Rudra leaned back against the leather chair, eyes narrowing. For a moment, the world around him dimmed—the murmurs of his men, the scrape of chairs, the distant thud of the corpse being discarded. He saw none of it. Only the scar inside his mind, the endless reminder that mercy had no place in his bloodline.
Patience, he had none. Forgiveness, even less.
In his kingdom, there was only loyalty—carved in fear and sealed in blood.
And tonight, once again, Rudra Devangan had reminded the world who ruled the North.
The North belonged to Rudra Devangan.
That truth lingered in the smoke-filled room long after the last chair scraped back, long after the blood was mopped from the polished marble.
Mrunal returned, wiping his hands with a linen cloth that did little to hide the stains.
“It wasn’t a lone wolf, bhai,” he said quietly. “The man was bought. Small gang from the East—thought they could test the water.” His jaw tightened. “We’ve already cut out the roots. By dawn, their name won’t exist.”
Rudra didn’t glance at him. He stubbed out his cigarette, eyes fixed on nothing, as though already weighing the next storm.
“See that it doesn’t,” he said flatly. “Leave no embers.”
Mrunal bowed his head. “Done.”
For a long moment, silence pressed thick against the walls, broken only by the faint hum of the city beyond. This was how Rudra ruled—not with noise, but with the quiet certainty that his word was final.
A few hours later…
The Devangan estate carried none of the chill of the underworld. Golden light spilled through chandeliers, polished marble softened by warm carpets, the faint scent of sandalwood and jasmine lingering in the air. Here, power bowed to love.
Arvind Devangan stood near the bar, sharp-eyed, iron-backed, a man who had once made the world kneel before him. He swirled amber whiskey in a crystal glass and let a rare smile curve his lips.
“You did well tonight, Rudra. The North breathes your name louder with every move you make.”
Rudra sat apart, a shadow in a black shirt, his silence steady. His father’s praise washed over him, but he did not need it. Still, the flicker of pride in Arvind’s eyes settled somewhere deep inside him.
Aaradhya entered with soft steps, her saree trailing lavender silk, her presence gentler than the empire around them. She touched her son’s shoulder, smoothing a wrinkle from his sleeve as though he were still a boy.
“You look tired,” she said, eyes searching his face. “Did you eat anything?”
Rudra did not answer, but his gaze softened briefly under her touch. That was answer enough for Aaradhya, who sighed and pressed a kiss to his temple before moving on.
Mihir, leaning against the railing, smirked in that way only a younger brother could.
“Bhai, do you even hear yourself? ‘Leave no embers.’” He mimicked Rudra’s gravelly tone, chuckling. “You sound like a villain from one of those old films.”
Rudra’s gaze snapped to him, eyes narrowing. “How do you know?” His voice was quiet, but sharp—curiosity laced with the weight of command.
Mihir’s grin widened, fearless. “I hear things. Even the quietest ones,” he said, shrugging casually. “You forget, I’ve been around long enough to pick up your little threats.”
Rudra’s lip curved—just barely, a ghost of a smile, the kind only Mihir could draw from him. “Careful, Mihir. Some threats are meant for the wrong ears,” he warned, though the tension eased slightly.
Arvind shot Mihir a look, half amusement, half warning.
“Mihir, enough.”
In this house, Rudra was not only the storm that ruled the North.
He was a son. A brother.
A man whose silence was not feared, but understood.
And for a fleeting while, the cruelest hand of the North found himself home.
The laughter lingered faintly in the air—Aaradhya fussing over Mihir’s careless tie, the hum of glasses clinking softly as servants retreated. But beneath the comfort of home, a quiet storm brewed.
Arvind set his glass down with a firm click against the marble table. His eyes—dark, seasoned with years of ruling the underworld—fixed on Rudra.
“There will be a celebration tomorrow night,” he said. It wasn’t a suggestion. “The men need to see their leader, their future. The North must see you.”
Rudra’s jaw tightened, though his gaze remained steady on the swirling smoke of his half-burnt cigarette.
“I don’t need a party to prove what already belongs to me.”
Arvind’s voice sharpened, iron wrapped in velvet.
“This isn’t about you. It’s about power. Appearances. Legacy. If you can’t understand that, then perhaps you’re not ready to carry the weight of this empire.”
The room went still. Mihir shifted uneasily, his smirk fading. Aaradhya’s hand brushed her husband’s arm in a silent plea, but Arvind didn’t look away.
Rudra finally lifted his eyes. Cold. Defiant.
“I don’t dance for applause. If they fear me in silence, that is enough.”
Father and son locked gazes—two storms colliding, neither yielding.
Aaradhya’s voice trembled softly. “Arvind, Rudra…”
But neither moved. Neither spoke.
Only the tension thickened, unspoken threats and unyielding pride hanging between them like blades.
And then—Arvind’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“Careful, Rudra. The empire may bow to you, but this family does not.”
The silence after those words was heavier than any gunshot.
And that was where the night ended—
on the knife’s edge of blood and love,
where the cruelest hand of the North stood against the very man who had made him.
Howdy guys !!! Here’s how the chapter 1 of devangan's Anandini ended and I look forward to write more frequently
Also this is my first book and English is not my first language
If you want any special scenes tell me I'll dd them on the book
love you my readers.
Bye^^
Write a comment ...