Just stop caring. Mishti gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. She knew she should be freaked out by what she was about to do. However, coming off a 19-hour hospital shift left her with aching feet and zero fucks. She should be on her way home to a hot bubble bath and the rest of that strawberry cheesecake she'd been daydreaming about since lunch. Instead, she drove to the local underground gambling den to settle her father's debts to the Chatterjees. She filed this away when she picked out her father's retirement home.

Kunal Malhotra wasn't always like that. As a cop, he was a respected community leader whose formidable reputation made him excellent at his job — and a pretty useless father. Snakes had more nurturing instincts. And then he started playing cards as a hobby. Once while still in med school, Mishti made the mistake of accompanying him to the gambling den with him. The rows of glassy-eyed zombies mindlessly playing cards, and smoking weed or drinking toddy trying to chase instant gratification was enough to sour her on the entire experience.

Father and daughter were barely flickering shadows in each other's lives. While Mishti nursed a small, dark worry that her father might be in trouble with the mob, she ignored it. And it had served her well all these years — until an hour ago in the hospital parking lot.

Kunal was as still as a statue as he sat in her police jeep, parked next to Mishti's car. Heart sinking, Mishti knocked on the driver's side window. The blank expression on her father's face was immensely troubling.

"I'm in trouble."

Mishti registered an undercurrent of fear in her father's voice and that's when she started to worry.

Because Kunal Malhotra was never afraid.

"How much?" she sighed, rubbing her forehead tiredly.

Suddenly defensive, Kunal retorted, "50,000 rupees." But I had a system and was up, but then it hit wrong and I couldn't walk away until I fixed it. Damn, those manipulative bastards."

Mishti shrieked in disbelief, "50,000?! You owe Hriday Chatterjee 50,000! Have you lost your goddamn mind?"

"I was ahead, damn it, but then I had a few unsuccessful runs, and the Chatterjee's know I'm capable of it. I don't know why they're up in my ass about it now," her father muttered petulantly.

Unbelievable. "Because it's not a legit operation! The Chatterjees can call in debt whenever they damn well please," she told him, shaking her head angrily. When her father stared blankly ahead, she lost her patience and snapped, "Well, what's your plan?"

How was it possible that decades later, her father could still attack her with a glare? She felt as if she had missed curfews and keys snatched away. "I just need a small loan to get Hriday off my back."

Everyone knew Hriday ran his underground business fast and loose and as long as you pay up, you gotta keep your kneecaps. There is no way a 'little loan' could make him forget about the 50,000 he owes. "You seriously think I'm willing to give YOU money? Ignoring the fact that this is the first time in all these years you've bothered to visit me at work, do you honestly believe I'd trust you not to gamble away with whatever I give you?"

"I didn't come here for a lecture. I came here for help," Kunal replied, a hysterical edge to his voice as he added, "If the department finds out about this, I'll lose my job!"

Fuck. "Fine. I'll pay off your debt — directly to Hriday." When Kunal opened his mouth to protest, Mishti held up a hand to silence him. "This is a one-time thing. Don't return if you're looking for an ATM. I'm your daughter — act like it."

This is how Mishti now found herself standing at the side door to a seemingly closed car dealership. The bulky security guard eyed her up and down (a bit longer than necessary to determine her threat level — seriously, her wrinkled scrubs didn't look remotely attractive). Finally, he let her go, and her senses were immediately engulfed by obnoxious neon lights, yelling and clinking noises from empty bottles, and thick clouds of smoke. She wrinkled her nose in distaste as she felt a headache coming on from the constant jangling and clanking — how could her father waste hours here?

It wasn't difficult to find the back room where high gamblers lurked. More intimidating security goons stood in front of the massive double doors decorated with gaudy gold leaf. Hriday Chatterjee took decorating cues from Lucifer. Hriday was the most visible member of the powerful Chatterjee crime family. Among the darkest corners of the city, he was infamous for his showoff attitude and violent displays. The other preferred to pull the strings behind the scenes. They emerged sporadically to deliver bloody vengeance whenever an enemy foolishly tried to usurp their power.

Ronobir. Mishti shivered as her memory conjured dirty curls and a devilish smirk. He happened to be in the ER waiting room where she delivered bad news to a hysterical woman and her teenage son. She should've been focused on her patient's distraught family, but her gaze kept getting drawn to the man casually lounging on the sofa along the back wall, seemingly unconcerned by the speckles of blood that dotted his white shirt. She only knew who he was because she overheard nurses gossiping at their station. They said he was the worst of them all. Dangerous. Dangerously sexy.

Shaking her head in irritation at getting distracted by a man she'd never spoken to, she boldly stepped in front of the guards. "I have business with Hriday."

The men exchanged a look, one of them subjecting her to another casual eye fuck. This made her snap, "Not that kind of business, dumbass. I'm here to settle a debt."

Before they could respond, an amused voice drawled from behind her. "She seems rather insistent. Let's not wait."

Heart pounding, she glanced around, refusing to be charmed by his boyish charm and looks. Hriday was a killer. From a family of killers. She wordlessly followed him as he led her beyond the doors, his ridiculously shiny suit nearly blinding her as it caught the pulsing lights. With wiggling eyebrows, he gestured toward a gleaming leather daybed at one end of an enormous office. She snorted and replied, "No thanks. I won't stay long — I'm here to pay off Kunal Malhotra's debt."

With an amused grin, he plopped down on the bed, his tone teasing as he observed, "You don't look like someone who can afford a 50,000 rupee debt."

"And you look like a preacher," she snarled, temporarily forgetting she was talking to a man who asked the famous cricketer, Prithvi Luthra to autograph a bat. He then used it to smash in his face and kneecap over an outstanding debt. "Your business is if someone can pay — not how they get the money."

"My, my, don't you have quite a fiery personality? We could work out an equitable arrangement without having to resort to a sordid coin."

Suddenly, another door opened, and Mishti's eyes widened as Ronobir walked in, leaning against the glass and steel desk across the room. "That's enough, Hriday," he told his brother sharply.

She struggled to keep her face calm. Hriday may have scared her, but Ronobir scared her. This was the seat of true power, perfectly suited to a deliciously toned body whose shirt hugged just so. She clenched her jaw, ignoring the wildly inappropriate urge to nibble along the edge of the black tattoo she saw trailing up his collarbone. Stop it. Sexy criminals are criminals.

"We'd be delighted to settle your father's account, sweety."

Relieved but wary, she gave him a brief smile, not sparing Hriday a second glance as she crossed the room toward Ronobir. Fuck — were those dimples? His gaze was flirtatious to the point of making her blush, and she cursed her selfish father for bringing this madness into her life. No, that's not what happened. Nothing was brought into her life. This was a simple business transaction. With the mob.

His casual interest changed into something more and he suddenly studied her intently. Nodding at her hospital badge, he said, "Dr. Mishti Khanna. Tell me, sweety, what sort of doctor are you?"

Confused, she replied, "I'm a trauma surgeon."

Hriday suddenly spoke up, his tone incredulous as he said, "You can't be serious, Ronny! Just from the look of her, you can tell she's too clean."

At Mishti's questioning look, Ronobir explained, " Our family needs a doctor from time to time. Just someone to be on call if anything untoward were to happen." He lightly tapped the dark glass on the desk, adding in a tone full of false concern, "I fear it's only a matter of time before your father becomes indebted to us once more. Let's negotiate — we could reach a generous arrangement now that will save you future unseemly hassles."

For fuck's sake — Did he just ask her to be a mafia doctor? How was this her life? Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a check, slamming it down on the desk. Glaring at Ronobir, she flatly said, "No." She enjoyed the stunned expressions on the Chatterjee brothers' faces as she turned to leave. "And any trouble my father finds after this is on him."