The Hawa Mahal Palace on the outskirts of Jaipur had been transformed into a fortress. Searchlights cut through the desert night, and hundreds of armed guards stood at every entrance. Inside the grand durbar hall, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars, sandalwood, and the underlying stench of treachery.Every major player in the Indian underworld was there. From the gold smugglers of Mumbai to the coal lords of the North the Mafia Council had gathered.

At the center of the room, Seenu Bhai sat like a man who already wore the crown. He was surrounded by a dozen smaller bosses, all leaning in to catch his every word. Keshav, his right-hand man, was busy pouring him a glass of vintage scotch.