[ complete ] 𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀'𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 || 𝐉.𝐉𝐊 𝐅𝐅

81. father

Jungkook POV -

I stood in that perfectly trimmed garden, the scent of roses and jasmine floating through the damp evening air, but nothing could soften the rage boiling inside my chest. My fists were shoved deep into the pockets of my black coat, jaw clenched so hard I could hear the grind of my own teeth. Birds chirped somewhere, but all I could hear was my wife’s broken voice echoing in my mind—her sobs, her pleading over the phone this morning.

"Jungkook… bring them back. Please… bring our babies back."

That sound killed me more than any bullet ever could.

My twins. Aarohi and Advait. My whole damn world. Only eight years old. Innocent, fragile, and stolen from me like some bargaining chip. I could picture them—her tiny braids, his mischievous smile—crying for their mother, scared out of their minds. My throat burned with fury.

And the name that sat like venom on my tongue—Junghyun.

I whispered it under my breath. “I’ll bury you alive for this, Junghyun. You touched my family, and now you’ll die screaming.”

I lit a cigarette, needing something to keep my shaking hands steady, though it wasn’t nerves. It was rage—pure, undiluted rage.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel path behind me. I didn’t turn. I already knew who it was.

“Kian Fletcher,” I said flatly, blowing smoke into the night air.

The tall figure stepped closer. Sharp suit, polished shoes, British composure that almost looked out of place in the middle of this dark game we were playing. He was younger than me, maybe twenty-seven, but he had the kind of arrogance only an Englishman with old-money blood could carry.

“You’re always two steps ahead,” Kian said with a smirk, sliding his hands into his coat pockets. “Impressive, Jeon. But I expected nothing less from the most feared mafia king alive.”

I turned then, my eyes locking on his. My stare had made grown men piss themselves. Kian didn’t flinch—but I saw his jaw tighten for just a second.

“Drop the flattery,” I growled. “You said you had information on Junghyun. I didn’t fly all the way to America to listen to your bullshit.”

Kian tilted his head, studying me like I was some dangerous animal. “Still as impatient as ever, I see. Tell me, Jungkook, how is Seoul treating your lovely wife?”

My hand twitched. “Don’t you dare mention her.”

He chuckled lightly. “Ah, I struck a nerve. So it’s true then. She’s falling apart without her children.”

That did it. I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the marble fountain behind us. Water splashed as the stone cracked under the force. My voice came out like a growl from hell.

“Don’t fucking test me, Fletcher. I’m not in the mood for games. You have five seconds to tell me what you know about Junghyun before I blow your head off and dig up the information myself.”

He struggled just enough to adjust his breathing, then smirked even with my hand crushing his throat. “Always so violent. But I respect that.”

I tightened my grip. “One.”

He raised his hands slowly, smirk still playing on his lips. “Fine. I’ll talk. But let me go first, unless you want to explain to the gardeners why there’s blood on their roses.”

I released him with a shove, stepping back but never taking my eyes off him.

“Speak.”

Kian straightened his suit, brushing invisible dust from his shoulder like I hadn’t just almost strangled him. “Junghyun isn’t working alone. He has an entire network spread across the U.S. East Coast. Smuggling routes, hidden warehouses, corrupt politicians in his pocket.”