Power Plays at SR Fashion’s – The Business of a Queen:-

The next morning, Sanjna Rajput stepped into SR Fashion’s headquarters—her own empire. SR Fashion’s was her passion project, a global leader in luxury fashion.

The towering glass building stood in the heart of Manhattan, its modern architecture exuding elegance. Inside, the air buzzed with the subtle hum of productivity—designers discussing sketches, executives preparing presentations, and assistants rushing with coffee trays.

Sanjna strode through the hallways in a tailored black suit, her heels clicking with authority. Employees straightened as she passed, murmuring greetings with a mix of admiration and fear. She rarely made public appearances at the company, but when she did, everyone knew it meant something big was about to happen.

She entered the boardroom, a grand space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the New York skyline. The conference table gleamed under the soft lighting, occupied by the top executives of SR Fashion’s—men and women who had built their careers under her leadership.

Marco stood by the door, ever watchful.

Sanjna took her seat at the head of the table. The room fell silent.

She glanced at the reports in front of her before speaking.

“Let’s begin.”

The Head of Marketing, Elena Vasquez, was the first to speak. She pushed her glasses up and adjusted the slides on the projector.

“Our recent Spring Collection launch in Paris was a massive success. We recorded a 32% increase in sales compared to last year’s launch. However, our U.S. market hasn’t seen the same level of growth.”

Sanjna leaned back, tapping her manicured fingers on the table. “Why?”

Elena hesitated. “Well, competitors like Valerio and Maison de Luxe have increased their influencer collaborations. They’ve also expanded their luxury streetwear lines, which appeal to a younger demographic.”

Sanjna smirked. “So they think they can outmaneuver me by playing the ‘influencer’ game?”

Elena shifted uncomfortably. “It’s… effective, ma’am.”

Sanjna’s gaze sharpened. “Then we hit back harder.”

She turned to Damien Carter, Head of Finance. “What’s our current budget for strategic expansion?”

Damien flipped through his notes. “We have enough to push aggressive marketing campaigns in major cities, but if we plan influencer collaborations, we’ll need to reallocate funds.”

Sanjna considered this for a moment before speaking. “Fine. Double the marketing budget for digital outreach. But instead of just influencers, we’ll partner with high-profile celebrities—ones who define exclusivity. We’re not selling to everyone. We’re selling to those who want to feel untouchable.”

Elena nodded. “Understood. I’ll draft a list of potential brand ambassadors.”

“Good. And what about production?” Sanjna turned to Raymond Clarke, the Head of Operations.

Raymond cleared his throat. “Our manufacturers in Milan are running at full capacity. We could expand to additional facilities in France, but there’s the risk of increased production costs.”

Sanjna raised an eyebrow. “Do we look like a brand that worries about cost-cutting?”

Raymond flushed slightly. “No, ma’am.”

“Then do it. I want luxury, not compromises.”

He nodded quickly. “I’ll handle it.”

Just as she was about to move to the next topic, Marco’s phone vibrated. He checked the message and leaned in to whisper, “We have a problem.”

Sanjna’s eyes darkened. She stood abruptly. “Meeting adjourned. I have other matters to handle.”

Without another word, she walked out, Marco following closely behind.

The business world was one battlefield. But the war outside these walls? That was something else entirely.

The War Beyond Business

Sanjna stepped into her private elevator, Marco following behind her. The moment the doors closed, she turned to him with a cold stare.

“What happened?”

Marco’s expression was grim as he handed her his phone. “Our Russian rivals—Viktor’s men—have made a move. They raided our shipment at the Brooklyn docks.”

Sanjna’s grip on the phone tightened. “How much did we lose?”

“About fifty million dollars' worth of merchandise.”

Her jaw clenched. “And our men?”

Marco hesitated. “Two dead. One taken.”

Silence. The kind that made men tremble in her presence.

Sanjna turned to the elevator panel and pressed the emergency stop button. The lift jerked to a halt.

She took a deep breath, her rage simmering beneath the surface. Then, in a dangerously calm voice, she asked, “Where is Viktor’s main hideout?”

“Warehouse district near the docks. He fortified his base after we took him.”**

Sanjna smirked. “Then it’s time for a visit.”

---

The Showdown – Brooklyn Docks

The docks were silent at first glance, but Sanjna knew better. There were eyes watching. Guns ready.

Dressed in all black—combat boots, leather gloves, a sleek tactical vest—she was no longer the CEO of SR Fashion’s. She was the Mafia Queen.

Her team spread out, moving like shadows between shipping containers. Marco stayed close, a silenced pistol in hand.

“Stay sharp,” he muttered.

Sanjna pulled out her twin knives, the cool steel a familiar comfort in her hands. “I always am.”

Then—movement.

A guard patrolling near a stack of crates. Sanjna didn’t hesitate. She darted forward, swift and silent, wrapping an arm around his neck and driving a blade into his side.

A muffled scream. A gurgle. A body hitting the ground.

Marco grinned. “You really enjoy this, don’t you?”

Sanjna wiped her blade on the dead man’s jacket. “You expected mercy?”

Suddenly—gunfire.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

They took cover as bullets tore through the metal containers.

“They knew we were coming!” Marco growled.

Sanjna smirked. “Good. Let’s give them a reason to regret it.”

She darted out, her gun aimed—BANG! A headshot. The Russian dropped.

Another charged at her, a knife gleaming in his grip. She met him head-on, ducking under his swing, grabbing his wrist, and twisting until she heard a sickening POP!

He screamed, but she silenced him with a bullet between his eyes.

“Keep pushing forward!” she commanded.

Her men advanced, the fight turning into a full-blown war.

She had one target. Viktor.

---

She found him in the main shipping office, sitting behind a desk like a king on his throne. His face was bruised from the last time she had him in her basement.

He smirked. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Sanjna raised her gun. “Where’s my man?”

Viktor chuckled and gestured behind him. One of her men, tied to a chair, bloodied but alive.

“He’s breathing. For now.”

Sanjna didn’t blink. “I’m done playing games, Viktor.”

“Then let’s end this.”

He lunged at her, pulling out a knife. She sidestepped at the last second, twisting his wrist and forcing him to drop it. But he was strong—he slammed his elbow into her ribs.

She stumbled back, but recovered quickly, throwing a punch that landed across his jaw. He retaliated, grabbing her by the throat, but she drove her knee into his stomach, forcing him to release her.

They circled each other. Predator versus predator.

Then she saw her opening. A flick of her wrist—her hidden blade sliced across his thigh.

Viktor roared in pain. She didn’t stop.

A punch. A kick. A sharp elbow to his face.

And then—her gun against his forehead.

“This is for my men,” she whispered.

BANG!

Viktor slumped to the floor.

Marco stepped in, glancing at the lifeless body. “You never let them live, do you?”

Sanjna exhaled, stepping over Viktor’s corpse. “Not when they cross me.”

She turned to her captured man, untying him. “Let’s go home.”

And with that, the Mafia Queen walked out, leaving behind a warzone.

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