Ali's POV
"I think it's time for you to return, son," I remember his tired voice over the phone.
He always gave me liberty for making my own decisions whether they were personal or for running the business. It was time for me to listen to him once, without any arguments.
I tried to get something out from the body guard, but the man wouldn't budge. I assumed he would know because Mr. Khan trusted him enough with his son's life, but the fact that he said he couldn't relay any information due to security reasons, made the flight longer than it actually was.
I couldn't stomach any of the fancy stuff delivered by the flight attendee, so a bowl of fruits and nuts was sent in front of me with a bottle of wine. I tried calming my nerves with the fruity wine, along with the munchies as part of traditional anxiety.
Finally, the wheels of the private jet hit the familiar grounds of the garage and I stepped out of the plane with my duffel bag slung over my shoulder. I figured I wouldn't need much stuff, as I had more than enough to where I was heading. Mr. Khan stood proceeded towards me from the crème marble stairs of the porch to greet me, looking effortlessly graceful as ever.
"Welcome home, son," he said with outstretched arms, his firm and toned torso embracing mine.
"Good to be back, father," I replied, unable to keep the smile off my face.
The house looked the same and luxurious as ever, with gold light of the chandelier gleaming off the polished tiles and dark wood furnishings. Persian rugs and Arabian style floor couches and table adorned the lounging area, while an eight seat dining table with hand knit crochet cloth draped over it stood close to the kitchen. Apart from that, various expensive mantel pieces adorned the cabinet with intricate pattern carved into its wooden surface that stood next to the doorway, as well as any place they could occupy, with finishing touches to add to the luxury of the place.
Stepping into the bedroom, a wave of nostalgia swept over me at finding all the things exactly as they were. Light streamed into the room in abundance from the window that overlooked the spacious lawn, and I took a moment to close my eyes letting the guilt and anticipation engulf me. Upon opening my closet, I wasn't surprised to see my whole wardrobe renovated. I took out a fresh pair of sweats and took a nice warm bath before heading down for lunch. There is something extremely pleasing in taking a shower in your own bathroom after all these years. And here I thought I had got over my tendency to get fond over material things.
Making my way down the swirling stairs, a mixture of different hearty smells wafted up my nostrils, making my hungry stomach rumble, mingled with the scent of the Bakhoor and musk burning in the elegant clay pots (part of the aesthetics within the house) adding to the ever present nostalgia on my first day of return. The table was laden with various continental as well as local dishes, while a rich chocolate cake was set on high platter along with baklava, and a colorfully decorated vanilla trifle.
"Everything alright, son?" Mr. Khan said taking a seat on the head of the table.
"Never better," I said taking a seat beside him. "How was the flight?" he asked serving himself a piece of steak, some mash potatoes and mushroom sauce.
"It was fine." I replied serving myself some prawn curry and vegetable rice.
"No turbulences or any other inconveniences?"
"Turbulences? I thought you would send a pilot with an actual license to take your son home safely." I looked up at him when he didn't reply, chewing silently and prepared his next bite. My snarky comment should be met with his own, by now. "Your men seemed on edge too, during the flight. Is everything fine around town?"
"The mafia in the north is getting more powerful. Their attacks are increasing day by day, and not only on us but all local mafias and even on underground organizations abroad, especially those we work with."
"Does this call for another war? We are more than equipped, already. All we need is a strategy-"
"Not alone. Not this time, son."
"You can't mean alliances, father. Don't you remember the last time we tried working together?"
"The enemy is strong, stronger than we think. And it's good to be prepared since we don't know their stronghold and they know ours, since their spies are roaming all over our lands. United, we stand a better chance."
I don't remember a time when Khan left anything to chance. Things must be really bad around here.
"Mr. Khan?" A tall girl with ginger hair came through the front door, her heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor.
"Come in, Arina," he tells her, and beckons her in with his hand holding the knife.
"I'm sorry for the interruption, but there's been an incident at Mr. Yousef's warehouse. They want your help in approaching the police, and asked me to bring this file to you this instant," she placed the file she had been carrying on the table for Khan baba to have a look at or wait for his dismissal.
My blood boiled at hearing Yousef's name and my grip on my utensils hardened, unintentionally.
"Since when did Yousef require our help in approaching the police?" I interjected. "They have shown to be quite capable of handling the department, themselves."
They both looked at me as if I had grown horns on my head, before Mr Khan addressed the girl.
"Why don't you have a seat, Arina?"
"I-"
"Have dinner with us. It might give you both the opportunity to build an understanding, since you will be spending a lot of time together."
She looks taken aback and her blue doe eyes flicker up to meet mine for a second before composing herself and taking a seat, beside Khan baba.
"Thank you, Mr Khan." She tells him.
"Ali, this is Arina, my personal secretary. I hired her soon after you left. Arina, this is Ali, my son. His morals get the best of his sense sometimes1, but otherwise he is a good lad. Not too bad to spend time with." He winked at me, at which I rolled my eyes.
"Yes I have heard of his… nobility from your men," she says, helping herself to some rice and prawn curry.
"A snake will always remain a snake," I seethe through my teeth. "How do you know it isn't waiting to strike again?"
"Because we do, and we will cut off its head when the time is right," Arina says, her eyes on her food. "We despise the asshole as much as you do, Mr Ali, but we can't deny the dude's got connections."
"How do you know he isn't working for the mafia up north?"
"We have got our back up plans ready and men that are informing us of his every move. If he is indeed working for the enemy, then he is doing us a favor and leading us right to them. That is what we want, isn't it Mr Khan?" She says spooning the curry and rice into her mouth.
I can see now, why Mr Khan hired her as his personal secretary.