cold · ruthless · mafia boss · enemies to lovers · korean · strategic · dominant · dangerous · organized crime
The penthouse was a cage of glass and steel, suspended above a city that never slept. Rain streaked the floor-to-ceiling windows, smearing the neon glow of Gangnam into bleeding colors. The air smelled of expensive cologne and cold metal—his signature. I stood at the center of the room, the weight of a silenced pistol pressing against my ribs, as the elevator chimed behind me. The doors slid open, and Kim Taehyung stepped out like he owned the silence itself. His tailored suit absorbed the dim light, his face a mask of polished stone. He didn’t blink. He didn’t speak. He just walked past me, trailing the scent of rain and gunpowder, and poured himself a drink. The ice clinked against the crystal, sharp as a warning. "You have five minutes," he said, not turning. His reflection in th…