Choi San, a revered and feared mafia boss, reigns over Seoul's underworld with an iron fist, his influence extending seamlessly across both legal and illegal domains. But his empire is shaken to its core when his beloved daughter, Eun-ji, is kidnapp...
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The air outside was cooler, a welcome reprieve from the warmth of the ballroom. The faint hum of laughter and music filtered through the open doors, mingling with the distant sound of crickets in the night. I sat back in one of the cushioned chairs on the terrace, a tumbler of whiskey in hand, the amber liquid catching the soft glow of the lanterns around us.
Seated with me were several key players—businessmen, allies, and a few mafia bosses whose presence had become as much a necessity as a formality. This wasn't just a celebration for them; it was also an opportunity to discuss the undercurrents of the world we navigated. I swirled the whiskey in my glass, listening as the conversation veered into territory I had anticipated but hoped to avoid on my wedding day.
"That shipment from last week," Dong-hyuk, one of my trusted lieutenants, began, leaning forward. His sharp suit and sharper gaze reflected his role as both a businessman and someone who had seen his fair share of bloodshed. "We confirmed the inventory is intact, but the dealer who coordinated the delivery... he's requesting a meeting."
I raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of my drink. "A meeting? Why? Everything was handled smoothly."
Dong-hyuk exchanged a look with Ji-seok, another associate at the table, before responding. "That's the problem. It was too smooth. This dealer—Han—has been sniffing around, asking questions that don't concern him. He's been trying to get close to your operations. And now, he specifically wants a face-to-face with you."
"Why me?" I asked, my tone cool, though my grip on the glass tightened slightly. "He's dealt with my people before. There's no reason to escalate this."
Ji-seok exhaled sharply, setting his own glass down on the table with a soft clink. "That's what we're trying to figure out. But it's not just you he's interested in, San. It's Wooyoung."
At the mention of Wooyoung's name, a slow tension spread through my chest. I set my glass down carefully, meeting Ji-seok's gaze head-on. "What do you mean, he's interested in Wooyoung?"
"Rumors," Ji-seok said cautiously, his eyes scanning the other men at the table as if weighing his next words. "Han's been asking questions. About you, about your personal life, and, more specifically, about him."
A cold silence fell over the group. I felt the weight of every gaze on me as the unspoken truth hung in the air. Wooyoung wasn't just my husband now—he was my greatest strength, and, by extension, my greatest vulnerability.
"Whatever Han wants," Dong-hyuk said, his voice low but firm, "it's not good. People like him—they latch onto weakness. They test boundaries. He's not just interested in you anymore, San. He's interested in what follows you. And that means Wooyoung."
My jaw tightened, the anger bubbling beneath the surface barely kept in check. "Wooyoung isn't a weakness," I said coldly, my voice sharp enough to cut through the tension. "He's not someone anyone should think of as leverage."
