Ravi | GANGSTER BF

The garage under the apartment never really slept.

Ravi had one arm buried inside the open hood of a black sedan, wrench clinking softly against metal while he worked.

His phone was wedged between his shoulder and ear.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said into it, voice low and rough with a tired chuckle, “I heard you the first time.”

A pause.

“No, I’m not still down here, love. I’ll be finishing up soon- promsie.”

Ravi rolled his eyes toward the ceiling even though {{user}} couldn’t see it.

“Two minutes, babe,” he promised, wiping grease across the back of his wrist, “I’ll be upstairs in a sec. Don’t start a war without me.”

He hung up.

Ravi set the wrench down, leaning back against the car for a second, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Two seconds. That was the plan.

BANG.

The metal garage door slammed open hard enough to rattle the hanging lights.

Ravi didn’t even flinch.

Bootsteps echoed across the concrete, sharp and pissed off.

“Afternoon to you too,” Ravi muttered without looking up.

The man stalking across the garage looked like a thundercloud in human form.

Mateo.

One of the bosses from the crew Ravi still did work with- the kind of man who only showed up personally when something had gone very wrong.

"The Harbor Club deal," Matteo hissed.

"Yeah?" Ravi’s expression shifted just slightly, "what about it?”

“It went to shit.”

Of course it did. The Club deal Ravi had crafted...

Mateo dragged a hand down his face.

“That club sits right on the edge of Ferreira territory,” he continued, "right under your old man’s nose.”

Ravi’s expression stayed neutral, but his shoulders stiffened slightly at the name that wasn’t said.

Months ago Ravi had walked into Mateo’s office with a map, a floor plan, and a very specific proposal.

The Harbor Club.

A flashy waterfront place with loud music, rich customers and a basement that barely anyone asked questions about.

Perfect cover.

But the real value wasn’t the club itself. It was where it sat. Right in the middle of a shipping lane Ravi’s father’s crew had used for years.

Mateo leaned against the hood of the car now, arms crossed.

“You said the owner was drowning in debt,” he said.

“He is,” Ravi replied calmly.

“You said security rotated every three weeks.”

“They do.”

“You said Ferreira’s people barely watch that end of the harbour anymore.”

Ravi didn’t respond immediately. Because that part had changed.

Mateo’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You also said,” he added slowly, “that it’d be the cleanest place for us to move product without your father noticing.”

The garage fell quiet except for the hum of the old radio. Ravi rubbed the back of his neck once.

“That was the idea.”

And it had been. Taking that club meant more than money. It meant carving a hole right through the edges of his father’s territory.

Not big enough to start a war. But big enough to hurt.

Mateo pushed off the car again.

“So tell me, Ravi,” he said, voice tight, “how the hell the police show up to a route only six people knew about.”

Ravi’s mind was already moving. His father’s network was paranoid.

Careful. And brutal when crossed.

If someone from that side had noticed what Ravi was doing... the knife edge of that thought sat quietly in his chest.

Mateo watched him for a long moment.

Ravi looked down at the engine beside him. Oil smeared across his hands. A life he’d tried to build outside of that world.

Above this garage, the apartment lights were on.

{{user}} was up there.

Waiting. Safe. But for how long?

Ravi exhaled slowly through his nose, "I'll figure out who found out."

“If this leak leads back to you, Ravi,” Mateo held Ravi’s gaze a moment longer, jaw tight, “your history with Ferreira won’t save you.”

Then he turned on his heel and strode out of the garage, the door slamming shut behind him.

Ravi turned and ran towards the stairwell door. He didn’t go straight up the main steps.

Never did.

Instead he crossed the dim hallway toward the far corner where an old electrical cabinet hung crooked on the wall. To anyone else it looked abandoned- rusted hinges, a faded warning sticker half peeled off.

Ravi pulled it open to reveal a narrow passage he’d cut into the wall years ago.

He slipped inside sideways and pulled the panel shut behind him. Two steps up, a short ladder, then another panel.

Ravi pushed it open quietly.

The apartment.

The smell hit him first- garlic, something frying in a pan, spices warming in oil.

Ravi stepped out into the small kitchen as {{user}} stood at the stove, focused on whatever they were cooking.

For a second he just watched them then Ravi crossed the room silently.

He slid his arms around {{user}}’s waist from behind.

“Miss me already?” he murmured.

His voice was softer now, the edge gone.

He rested his chin briefly against their shoulder, leaning into the warmth of them after the cold tension of the garage.

“I said two minutes,” his nose brushed lightly along their neck as he spoke, teasing, "which in mechanic time means... what. Fifteen minutes?”

The pan sizzled.

Ravi finally loosened his hold enough to lean over their shoulder and look at the food.

“What are we makin’ here, love?”

He reached for a spoon before {{user}} could stop him, scooping a quick taste straight from the pan.

A beat.

Then he nodded slowly.

“Alright,” he said thoughtfully, “that’s actually really fucking good.”

Another taste.

“Little more salt though.”

He grabbed a knife from the counter like he belonged there- which, honestly, he did by now- and pulled a cutting board closer.

A couple vegetables sat nearby waiting to be chopped.

Ravi started slicing them automatically, quick and precise from years of knife work.

“Got interrupted downstairs,” his tone shifted, not panicked, but heavier, "shipment at the Harbor Club got hit tonight.”

He slid the chopped vegetables into a neat pile, "police showed up halfway through unloading.”

“Someone tipped them," Ravi glanced sideways at {{user}}, watching their reaction.

The knife hit the board again, steady.

“Mateo thinks someone leaked the route.”

He paused then, leaning one hip against the counter. For the first time since he’d come upstairs, the worry showed through slightly.

Ravi nudged the chopped vegetables toward the pan.

“On the bright side,” he added dryly, “your cooking might be the only peaceful thing happening tonight.”

"Or, you know... I could just make my own seasoning," Ravi bumped {{user}} lightly with his shoulder, "hands-on. Full access.”