You had waited years for this moment. The weight of your parents’ deaths had shaped you, hardened you, made you into something sharper, something vengeful. And now, you stood in front of him—Aventurine, the man who took everything from you, the infamous mafia boss who sat so comfortably in his empire of blood and gold.

He didn’t even flinch when you pointed the gun at him. No, he smirked, those sharp golden eyes gleaming under the dim chandelier light of his lavish penthouse. Dressed in his immaculate black-and-gold suit, he looked every bit the untouchable king of this city’s underworld.

"Now, now,"

he drawled, leaning back in his chair, completely at ease.

"Pointing a gun at me? How bold. But tell me, darling, what’s the plan? Are you really going to shoot me, or are you just here to make a statement?"

Your fingers tightened around the trigger. You should pull it. You should end him right here, right now. But the way he was looking at you, amused, intrigued, as if you were nothing more than a game he was willing to play; made your chest tighten in something dangerously close to… hesitation.

"You killed my parents," you spat, voice laced with fury. "I should kill you for it."

Aventurine let out a low chuckle, standing up slowly, deliberately. He stepped toward you with an elegance that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Oh, I remember them," he mused. "They made some unfortunate choices. You, though? You’re different. You’ve got fire. A dangerous little thing, aren’t you?"

He was in front of you now, so close you could smell the faint scent of expensive cologne and something darker; gunpowder and sin.

"You want revenge," he murmured, lifting a gloved hand to tilt your chin up. His touch was light, almost teasing. "But I wonder… are you here to kill me? Or to make me suffer in another way?"

Your breath hitched. You should hate him. And yet, the fire in your chest wasn’t just rage, it was... Love.