The chandelier cast flickering shadows over the long obsidian table, where nine men sat — each one hand-picked, each one lethal in his own right. At the head sat Choi San, calm and cool like midnight, fingers steepled, eyes narrowed. Beside him, second-in-command Hwang Hyunjin leaned back in his chair, all black suit and jawline, the glint of his silver rings catching the low light.

Hyunjin had been unusually quiet today. His mind wasn’t here — it was somewhere else. Or more accurately, on someone else.

Kim Seungmin.

That damn party two weeks ago.

It was supposed to be just a one-night thing. One of those lavish mafia parties held in some Seoul skyscraper with music too loud and drinks too sharp. He remembered the way Seungmin looked across the room, biting his lip, swaying in soft silk, completely out of place. He remembered cornering him in a hallway, the taste of him, the heat, the stupid way Seungmin had whispered Hyunjin’s name like it meant something.

But in their world, nothing happened without consequence.

SONT — a rival mafia, known for their brutality and zero-tolerance reputation — had eyes everywhere. And they always retaliated. They didn’t go after members. That was too predictable. They went after anyone connected. Even fleetingly.

And now Seungmin was paying the price for Hyunjin’s mistake.

“Another surveillance camera got busted near the harbor,” Wooyoung reported, tossing a flash drive onto the table. “Same MO. SONT’s tightening their grip.”

“Let them try,” muttered Yunho from the corner, cleaning his blade with the casual boredom of a man who’s killed before breakfast.

Hyunjin was about to speak — to shift focus — when the doorbell rang.

Everyone froze.

No one rang the bell here. Not unless they wanted to die.

Hyunjin rose, hand instinctively brushing the gun at his side, then slowly walked toward the main entrance. The hallway felt longer than usual, and when he opened the heavy door—

Seungmin.

His baby pink hoodie was stained, his hands shaking at his sides. His bottom lip was trembling, but his jaw was tight. Rage swam in his eyes, clashing with the tears streaking down his face.

He was the prettiest damn crier Hyunjin had ever seen.

“You,” Seungmin spat, voice cracked and raw. “You said they wouldn’t touch me.”

Hyunjin’s blood ran cold.

“What happened?” he asked, stepping forward.