ɪɴᴋᴇᴅ ʙy ᴀ ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ᴍᴀɴ ( ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ ꜰꜰ )

chap 01

Jungkook

"Not going to indulge?" Taehyung says, a teasing note in his voice.

I look over at my best friend , shaking my head with a smile. Or what passes as a smile with me, anyway.

"You're lucky this isn't a business meeting," I tell him.

Taehyung grins and gestures with his bottle of whiskey, waving a hand toward the tattoo studio.

We stand on the raised balcony, which overlooks the bar area. Nobody in this city would guess that the upscale,
hipster studio belonged to the leader of the Jeon mafia - or that the usually non-alcoholic bar is flooded with booze the second the lights go off.

It's the same with countless businesses all over the city.
We're behind the scenes, making our money, trying to keep the streets clean from the blood and other filth.

"A drunk consigliere is a good consigliere. Haven't you ever heard that phrase?"I smirk, letting out a short laugh. "Can't say I have, Taehyung "

My friend / cousin grins wider, patting his belly in a contented way.

People make a habit of underestimating Taehyung, mainly because he's slightly short, and wears big round glasses that magnify his eyes.

But when it comes to making money, he's one of the best in the game.

If a man like me can have friends, he's my closest.

But not even he knows why I own so many tattoo parlors and the place they hold in my heart. If I can even say that I have a heart at this point.

"Any of them meet your fancy?" he says, nodding down at the assembled crowd. Everybody here is mob-related, either korean or chinese . Once upon a time, it would be unthinkable for the Chinese and the koreans to mix, but since I took over, peace has reigned.

Everybody has become rich.

And, if any bastard decides he wants to get greedy and start dealing powder or needles or any other shit, I put them in their place.

Taehyung isn't talking about the men in their slick suits and styled hair. Or the more casual chinese men in their leather jackets, smoking their cigarettes.

He's talking about the mob women who circulate, some of them wearing dresses that climb halfway up their asses.
They give men suggestive looks as they pass, fluttering their eyelashes, making it clear they're available for whatever the men desire.

I turn away, biting down on a harsh response, not against the woman. They're doing what they know, making money the best way they can.

It's the men, the stupid slack-jawed smiles on their faces,
as though they don't know these women are faking every interaction.

"No," I grunt. "I'm not interested." I walk away from the railing, the pumping music growing quieter. Dropping down into the booth, I move my finger around the rim of my coffee mug.

It's black, strong, steam rising.

"What about jackson wang?" ( typical wattpad author Don't kill me guys ) I ask when Taehyung joins me.

He frowns, placing his whiskey down. "He's distracted.
He's supposed to lead the chinese, but he's too busy playing his weird harem games."

"Harem?" I ask.

"His wives," Taehyung says.

"Ah." I nod. "How many has he got now?"

"Legally?" Taehyung coughs out a laugh. "One. But everybody knows he keeps at least five women, all of them demanding more and more of his attention. Plus, he's marrying the Bonetti girl."