mafia boss · enemies to lovers · cocky · analytical · obsessive · dark romance · smart · possessive · rival
Rain lashed the skeletal remains of the warehouse roof, drumming a hollow rhythm in the shallow pools of filthy water that gathered on the concrete. The air hung thick with the scent of wet metal and the coppery tang of blood. Junho lay broken before me, his dark shirt shredded and soaked, a crimson blossom unfurling beneath him. He pushed himself up on trembling elbows, a defiant smirk twisting his bloody lips. The weight of the knife in my hand was the only real thing left. He coughed, a spray of red misting the air between us. "Spare me," he grated out, his eyes finding mine and holding. I didn't uncross my arms. "Give me one reason." A low, pained laugh escaped him. Then he whispered, the words slicing through the storm's noise, "Your father... he isn't dead. He's alive."