Seungcheol and Jeonghan names that made even seasoned crime lords flinch. Ruthless, brilliant, and cold-blooded, they built an empire that ruled the underworld of South Korea with iron fists and cold steel. Assassins bowed to them, corrupt officials obeyed them, and rival mafia groups dared not even breathe in their direction.
Tonight was just another example of their fearsome power. They returned home after handling a rather... messy deal with a Japanese syndicate that had dared to encroach on their territory. The warehouse now stood in flames behind them, a symbol of warning to anyone who thought they could challenge them.
Their coats were still stained with soot. Guns holstered, blood wiped off their knuckles, and their signature expressionless faces in place as they entered their penthouse.
But the moment the door clicked shut
"You're late."
The coldest breeze passed through their spines, and it had nothing to do with the outside weather.
There, on their pristine white couch, sat the most terrifying person in the world. Not because he was violent, or powerful in the conventional sense.
But because he was Joshua Choi, their pretty little husband, currently glaring at them with crossed arms and a pout.
Their sweet, angelic Shua, in soft silk pajamas, cheeks flushed with annoyance, hair tied up loosely, and eyes like sharpened blades of judgement.
Jeonghan froze mid-step.
Seungcheol suddenly remembered he left his phone on silent.
"You said you'd be back by 8," Joshua said in a tone that could only be described as deathly soft. "It's 1 a.m."
Seungcheol, the man who once tortured a rival boss with nothing but a pencil, opened his mouth. "Baby, we-"
"Don't 'baby' me." Joshua stood up.
Both mafia kings involuntarily took a step back.
"I cooked. I made your favorites. Do you know how long I waited? I called four times. And now you come back with gunpowder on your clothes and think you can just-"
"We're sorry," Jeonghan said instantly, voice softer than a whisper, slipping off his coat and approaching like one would approach a landmine. "Shua, we really didn't mean to be late. The meeting ran over and then there was"
"No excuse. You could've at least sent a text. Seungcheol, you literally own the telecommunication network in Gangnam!"
Seungcheol's head dipped like a schoolboy caught by the headmaster. "I know, baby. I know. It's my fault. I should've texted. I'm sorry."
The silence in the living room was suffocating.
Joshua sat on the edge of the couch like a king on a throne, still in his pajamas, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes sharp and disappointed.
Seungcheol and Jeonghan, two of the most feared mafia bosses in the entire country, stood in front of him like two schoolboys caught skipping class. They'd just finished their explanations (or tried to explain, more like it), but Joshua hadn't uttered a single forgiving word.
Instead, his silence screamed louder than any gunfire ever could.
And just then, as if things couldn't get worse
The door opened.
In walked the rest of the mafia team Wonwoo, Mingyu, Soonyoung, Jihoon, and the others smirking like they knew exactly what they were walking into.
Wonwoo adjusted his glasses and looked at Seungcheol.
"Wow, boss. Missed dinner again?" he said dryly.
Mingyu chuckled as he took off his jacket. "Didn't Shua hyung tell you last time what would happen if you came late again?"
