Page 78 of Runaway in the Mafia
“Adhya.”
Ahana Adhya.Fuck!She sounded perfect.
“That was before marriage.”
Thank you, Jesus.
“What’s his name?”
“Mamma didn’t know. But she knew her surname after marriage, Sharma.”
Sharma sounded like a shrimp that needed to be dissected and thrown back into the sea.
I looked around for my phone. He nodded to the floor underneath the table, where it lay beneath a chair. I got to it and dialled the number of Enrico, my Spanish hacker. My lifesaver in this case.
“I need everything you can find for Ahana Adhya.” Damn. Her name sounded like a forbidden fruit. One that I couldn’t wait to nip into soon. When she was all mine. Only mine. “And replace the last name with Sharma and see what you can pull up.” I couldn’t get myself to link her name to it.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Sergio grinning like a clown.
“What?” I snapped.
He shrugged. “I still want that boat.”
“Whatever.”
That was the last thing on my mind.
It took him half an hour.Fucking thirty minutes to get me an entire file.
Ahana Adhya, eldest daughter of Vad Adhya, billionaire industrial mogul and Shanti Adhya, housewife. She was twenty-four, and her birthday was on March eighteenth. None of these details I’d known before I’d decided she was going to be mine.
She had a brother, Ayaan…
Back off with your bossy attitude. If I wanted that, I’d ask my brothers.
And Anil.
Yeah, how many?
Two, and that’s not—
She hadn’t lied. I didn’t know why that made my chest fill with a soothing thickness.
I bet they are called Bahana and Cahana.
No, they aren’t.
She really hadn’t lied.
She had a sister, too. Amara. Obviously, her parents weren’t creative with the alphabet.
I wondered if the jackass she was tied down to also began with an A.
He didn’t. I found out on the next page.
Rajesh fucking Sharma.
A millionaire running his software company from London. The bastard won some awards. Was a famous speaker in the entrepreneurial world. What a charmer. My molars ground as I scrolled through the images of their wedding in the fucking Indian Times. He looked like a wife beater, and she looked… fucking beautiful. But anyone who knew her could see she was sad. Her eyes spoke volumes even through the representation of a thousand pixels. And that made me ecstatic. I felt light-hearted. Motivated.
