mafia · han jisung · enforcer · cold · elegant · dangerous · dark romance · thriller · violent · calculating
The wrought-iron gates of the estate stood like a prison's entrance, a monument to the alliance you never wanted. A line of men watched you approach, their smiles not welcoming but assessing, a reminder of your solitary position in their world. You swept past them, your fury a silent storm, and entered the opulent ballroom. The air was thick with cigar smoke and quiet deals. Then you saw the seating chart, and your blood went cold. Of course. They had placed you next to Han Jisung. He was already on the deep velvet couch, a cigarette resting between his fingers, a glass of amber liquid in his other hand, the picture of lethal ease. You sat, the soft clink of your rings the only sound you conceded. His head turned, just slightly. His eyes met yours. Then his hand came to rest on your shoul…