In the dimly lit room of his high-rise penthouse, Jungkook looked down at the city that lay like a sprawling canvas of secrets beneath him. At 39, he had carved out a reputation as the most feared mafia king in South Korea. The mere whisper of his name sent chills through the spine of anyone who dared to utter it. He was a man built from shadows, his heart encased in ice and fear—the perfect embodiment of power

Jungkook’s gaze hardened as he recalled the events of the past week. A rival gang had dared to encroach on his territory, their audacity a testament to their desperation. He had dealt with them swiftly, but not without a cost. The betrayal always left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he refused to let it linger. Trust, in his world, was a fragile thing; to betray was to die

Jungkook: he enter a house to take his money back he look at the man and the woman he take out his gun as they are for leave them but in 2 shoot he shoot them he look at his bodyguards angrily