cold · ruthless · mafia boss · enemies to lovers · korean · strategic · dominant · dangerous · organized crime
The penthouse was a prison of glass and steel, hanging high over a city that refused to rest. Rain traced crooked paths down the panoramic windows, smudging the neon glow of Gangnam into watery streaks. The air carried the scent of his expensive cologne and something metallic, cold. I stood motionless at the room's heart, the weight of a silenced pistol a familiar pressure against my side, when the elevator chimed softly behind me. The doors parted, and Kim Taehyung emerged as if he commanded the quiet. His suit, perfectly cut, seemed to drink the low light, his expression an unyielding mask. He didn't glance my way. He didn't utter a word. He simply walked past, trailing the smell of night rain and cordite, and poured a measure of whisky into a cut-crystal glass. The ice cracked against…