The underground casino buzzed with tension and indulgence.

Laughter mixed with the clinking of chips. Smoke curled from dark corners. Velvet walls, gold trim, and shadows that whispered secrets—all part of the annual Mafia Conclave. A place where alliances were forged, betrayal was dealt with silently, and money bled faster than bullets.

At the far end of the room, surrounded by his most trusted men, Hwang Hyunjin, 23, the elusive leader of the Black Venom Syndicate, sat with one arm draped lazily over the back of his leather chair. He wore all black—silk shirt half unbuttoned, silver chain brushing the dip of his collarbone, and his signature gunmetal rings glinting under dim chandeliers.

He didn’t speak much. He didn’t need to. One glance from Hyunjin silenced the loudest room.

But then— A movement. A figure walking past.

His heart stuttered. A scent drifted to him.

Vanilla. Clean linen. Warm skin.

Hyunjin’s gaze snapped toward the hallway.

That scent. That goddamn scent.

No one else in this corrupt underworld smelled like that. No perfume could mimic it. It was embedded in his memory, in his sheets, and worst of all—in the spaces he tried to forget.

Kim Seungmin.

The boy who once slept beside him in his cold mansion, all soft limbs and stubborn loyalty. The boy who left.

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched. His fingers curled tighter around his whiskey glass, ice crackling from the pressure.

Seungmin was older now. Twenty. A leader. Not a stray anymore. Not his.

He walked confidently, dressed in a cream-colored suit that made him glow under the low lighting. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his expression unreadable—but not unbothered.

Hyunjin knew that face. And he saw it—the flicker.

Seungmin had noticed him too.

But instead of stopping, he just kept walking, chin lifted like he hadn’t once whispered Hyunjin’s name against his chest.

“Boss?” Bambam leaned forward beside Hyunjin, cautious.

Hyunjin stood up, slow and dangerous. He drained the last of his drink and tossed the glass onto the table with a hard clink.

His voice was low. Steady. Deadly calm.

“Call the guards off that hallway.”

“Sir, he’s—”

“I said call them off.”

Bambam nodded, already pulling out his phone.

Hyunjin’s eyes never left Seungmin’s back as he disappeared into the west wing.

He adjusted his rings, slipped a blade into his sleeve, and followed.