From Reluctance to Desire: A Mafia Story [JJK]

✨SILENT MOURNING✨

The pen in my hand hovered over the document as I struggled to focus. Numbers blurred together, my thoughts weighed down by exhaustion. Work was supposed to be a distraction, an escape. But today, even that failed me.

Then my phone rang.

I glanced at the screen, and my breath caught in my throat. Mom.

A strange sense of foreboding coiled in my stomach as I answered.

"Mom?"

The moment I heard her voice, I knew she was crying.

My breath hitched, and the world seemed to close in around me.

I had prepared myself for this moment, told myself that grief was an inevitable guest I'd have to face. But nothing could have prepared me for the way my heart plummeted into an abyss of dread.

"Y/N..." Mom's voice cracked under the weight of her grief, barely above a whisper. "Your father... he's gone."

The words stole the air from my lungs.

Gone.

I knew it was coming, but it still felt like a betrayal. Like something in the universe had shifted, leaving me stranded in a world that suddenly felt much colder.

"They didn't even tell me until two weeks after he died," she cried, her voice laced with devastation. "Two weeks, Y/N."

The number hit me like a slap.

For days, my mother had believed my father was alive, while the truth had been buried beneath a mountain of lies. The betrayal cut deeper than I could have imagined. My fingers curled into my palm, nails digging into my skin.

Two weeks.

For two weeks, she had waited, prayed, and hoped for nothing.

A knock at my door shattered my spiraling thoughts.

I turned just as Lucas stepped inside. Their face was carefully neutral, but the way they held themselves—stiff, cautious—told me they knew I was barely holding it together.

"It's time," they said softly.

I nodded, forcing my body to move, though every step felt heavier than the last.

By the time we arrived, the funeral was already crowded. I barely noticed the sea of black surrounding me, the low murmurs blending into white noise. The scent of incense and freshly turned soil filled the air, thick and suffocating.

I stood beside my mother, who clutched a delicate handkerchief between trembling fingers. Her eyes darted over the crowd, searching... hoping.

"Namjoon should be here," she whispered, her voice tight with worry.

I didn't respond.

Because I knew Namjoon wouldn't come.

He had his reasons, and I understood them, but that didn't make it any easier for her.

"He won't show," I muttered under my breath, more to myself than to her.

My gaze flickered to the familiar figures scattered discreetly throughout the crowd—Jungkook's men.

They weren't here to mourn. They were looking for Namjoon.

Of course, they were.

Mom sighed, the sound barely audible over the murmuring guests. "He promised your father... he'd always be there for us."