dance for me [xiao zhan x wang yibo]

Blood and madam's Persian carpet

The grand residence of the mafia’s most feared family was shrouded in an eerie calm, belying the chaos that had erupted only hours before. The opulent living room, usually a picture of elegance, now bore the scars of a violent confrontation. The air was thick with tension, and the coppery scent of blood lingered, a stark reminder of the night’s brutality.

Yibo stood in the center of the room, his dark brown eyes brooding over the scene. His eyes, notorious for their dead, emotionless look, were a striking feature that left a lasting impression on anyone who met his gaze. At over six feet tall, his height and broad shoulders added to his intimidating presence, his tailored suit still immaculate despite the chaos around him.

The crimson stain spreading across the Persian carpet contrasted sharply with the pristine fabric of his attire, underscoring his control and precision even in violence.

The remnants of the amateur drug dealer’s misguided rebellion were being meticulously erased by the housekeeper, who scrubbed furiously at the floor.

Overseeing the cleaning with a critical eye was Madam, Yibo’s mother. Her presence exuded a formidable mix of grace and authority.

“I told you no killing inside the house, Yibo,” Madam chided, her voice a blend of disappointment and resignation. She shook her head with a sigh, her elegant features betraying a rare moment of weariness.

Yibo clenched his jaw, absorbing his mother’s reprimand. He respected her greatly, but sometimes the demands of his position left him with little choice. “It was necessary, Mother. The fool needed to be made an example of.”

Madam’s eyes, sharp and discerning, softened slightly. “You must learn to temper your actions with discretion, Yibo. The walls of this house have ears. You never know who might be listening.” Her voice carried a wisdom born from years of navigating the perilous world of mafia politics.

Before Yibo could respond, their conversation was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Dante, Yibo’s cousin, sauntered into the room with an air of casual arrogance. He was Yibo’s opposite in many ways—slightly shorter but with a charismatic charm that hid a darker, more unpredictable side. He was dressed in a more casual manner compared to Yibo, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. His attire was still stylish but practical, a clear indication that he had been involved in less savory tasks prior to arriving at the scene.

He clapped his hands together as if trying to rid them of dust, a smile playing on his lips that sent a chill down the spine of anyone who saw it.

Yibo, done having any of Dante’s nonchalant demeanor for the night, turned to give him a look that made him drop his gaze to the ground immediately. Despite being cousins and working closely together, their relationship was defined by Yibo’s position as the ultimate authority within the family.

Madam observed the interaction with a knowing glance, her expression unreadable. She was well aware of the dynamics within her family, the unspoken hierarchies, and the alliances that kept the organization functioning.

Dante didn’t dare to move, holding his breath until Yibo’s attention returned to Madam.

“I’ll go to my room for now. Call me if anything happens,” Dante said quietly, his voice a stark contrast to his earlier bravado. He turned and ascended the staircase without another word, the tension in the room lifting almost immediately as he left.

“Don’t take it to heart, Dante. You know he loves you,” Madam said softly, walking over to Dante and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “He’s just very tired.”