ᴛᴀᴇɴɴɪᴇ ʟɪꜱᴋᴏᴏᴋ | ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

Mafia

The soft flutter of Lisa’s eyelashes was the first sign of her awakening as the sharp rays of sunlight pierced through the curtains, casting a golden glow on her delicate face. Still weighed down by the heaviness of sleep, she blinked lazily before her eyes slowly widened in realization. This room—this unfamiliar space—wasn’t hers. Panic began to claw at her chest as she inhaled sharply, her breath quickening, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.

The room was opulent, almost intimidating, with its sleek black and beige color palette. Every piece of furniture was meticulously placed, exuding a sense of luxury that only added to her disorientation. But none of it mattered. What echoed in her mind like a broken record was the question: How did I end up here?

Her muscles screamed in protest as she tried to move, her body aching as though she had been through a battle. Even lifting herself off the bed felt like a monumental task. With sheer willpower, she swung her legs over the edge and forced herself to stand, her legs trembling beneath her. She scanned the room desperately, her eyes darting from one corner to another, hoping to find a familiar face, or at least a phone—anything to contact someone.

Then, her gaze froze. Just beyond the glass door, a figure stood. A tall, muscular man dressed head to toe in black, his presence ominous yet still. Relief mixed with apprehension washed over her as she took a tentative step toward him.

Before she could utter a word, the man swiftly turned, his hand reaching for the door handle. The sharp click of the lock echoed in the room, sealing her inside. He disappeared before she could call out.

A surge of panic hit her like a wave crashing against the shore. She lunged at the door, banging her fists against the cold surface, the wood rattling under the force of her blows. "Open the door!" she screamed, desperation leaking into her voice. But silence was the only reply. Again and again, she struck the door until her palms stung, the skin flushed an angry red.

Her chest heaved as she slumped against the door, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. "What the hell is going on?" she muttered, her mind spinning, her fear now mingling with an unsettling confusion.

Suddenly, the door flung open with a force that made Lisa jump, revealing three figures who stood in the doorway, their gazes sharp and unforgiving. The room seemed to chill under their cold, unblinking stares. At the center was a woman with piercing, cat-like eyes, flanked by two men whose presence alone was enough to send a shiver down anyone’s spine. Their faces were etched with a deadly calm, but the moment Lisa’s eyes locked with theirs, recognition dawned on her like a crashing wave.

Her heart thudded wildly in her chest. These weren’t just any strangers. Her knees buckled as fear washed over her in a suffocating wave. The rumors, the whispers she had heard — all true. Standing before her were the notorious leaders of Korea’s most feared mafia: Kim Taehyung, Kim Jennie, and Jeon Jungkook. Their reputations were legendary, shrouded in blood and terror. No one crossed paths with them and lived to tell the tale. People whispered their names only in the darkest corners, too afraid to speak of them aloud. And now, here they were, standing in front of her.

"So, you’ve finally decided to wake up after an entire damn day?" Jennie scoffed, her eyes rolling in annoyance as she strolled casually into the room. Her tone was biting, like she was chastising a child.

Lisa’s voice trembled, her throat tightening with fear. "Wh-why am I here?" she stammered, her words barely coherent. Taehyung, standing off to the side, didn’t even glance in her direction as he spoke, his voice deep and devoid of emotion. "Because of your beloved father."

Her beloved father? Lisa’s brows knitted in confusion, a flash of anger momentarily overpowering her fear. Beloved? She didn’t love him. How could she? Ever since her mother had died, her father had spiraled into a mess of alcohol and questionable women, parading them around their home as if Lisa hadn’t been just a child at the time. He had shown her no respect, no care — only shame and disgust. Now at twenty-three, she harbored nothing but hatred for him.