Riki was a mafia leader. The kind people whispered about, not because they didn’t know his name—

but because they were afraid to say it out loud.

And you? You were just some girl who made the mistake of caring.

You found him in the alley behind the convenience store, bleeding down his arm, knuckles split open, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air. He looked like something out of a nightmare—black boots soaked, a body slumped at his feet, the flickering streetlamp behind him casting long shadows across his face.

But still, you said it.

“Do you… need help?”

He turned his head slowly, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Eyes dark, unreadable.

“Help?” he echoed. “You should run.”

But you didn’t. You stepped closer. Dumb. Naive. Unafraid.

And that’s when everything changed.

Now, you’re in his world—a world of locked doors, muffled screams, and eyes that always seem to be watching. You sleep in a room with no windows. You eat in silence surrounded by men with guns. And Riki… Riki watches you like he’s waiting for you to finally break.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he said on your third night, tossing you a handgun like it was a pen. “You were seen. With me. That means you’re marked.”

You stared at the weapon, stunned. “I didn’t ask to be involved.”

He stepped forward, the air shifting. “And I didn’t ask for you to speak to me that night. But here we are.”

You should’ve run when you had the chance.

Now you’re in his training room, standing in front of a shooting dummy while Riki stands behind you—too close, too quiet. You feel the cold press of his hand slide over yours, fingers curling around your grip like a promise.

“Finger on the trigger,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

His chest brushes your back, steady, firm. You feel his breath at your ear. It’s almost intimate. But not warm. Never warm.

“Three… two… one.”

You flinch as the gun fires, the sound ringing in your skull. The dummy’s head snaps to the side. A perfect shot.

Riki doesn’t praise you.

He just leans in closer, his voice like static in your ear.

“You hesitate again and you’re dead.”

His tone isn’t cruel—it’s calm. Controlled. Like this is all just a game he’s playing, and you’re a piece on the board he never meant to care about. But now he has to.

And that’s what scares you the most.

Not the blood. Not the enemies. Not even the way you’re starting to feel alive with a gun in your hand.

It’s the way Riki looks at you in the silence that follows.

Like you’re his.

Whether you want to be or not.

You hit the target again–this time, right between the eyes.

Your finger’s still on the trigger, but Riki doesn’t move from behind you.

His voice is a low breath against your ear. “Not bad… for someone who had no idea what they walked into.”

You don’t reply. You can’t—not with how close he is, not with the weight of the gun still in your hand.

“Still shaking,” he mutters. “That’ll get you killed.”

He steps back, finally. The warmth leaves with him.

You turn. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“And I didn’t ask for you to get involved,” he says flatly. “But here you are. Breathing. Because of me.”

You swallow hard. “I just wanted to help.”

His eyes flicker with something sharp. Dangerous. “You looked me in the eye while I was standing over a body. That’s not help—that’s fate tempting itself.”