The Mafia's Heir

The air was tense, humming with power, as Kim Taehyung sat at the head of the long, dark mahogany table. His fingers, adorned with silver rings, lazily held a lit cigarette between them, the ember glowing like a predator's eye in the dark.

He was a sight to behold-draped in a black silk shirt, unbuttoned just enough to tease a glimpse of his sculpted chest, the fabric clinging to his body like a second skin.

A tailored black blazer sat perfectly on his broad shoulders, the intricate embroidery along the lapels shimmering subtly under the dim lights. His black dress pants were fitted, cinched with an expensive belt, the silver buckle engraved with his initials. And his shoes-Italian leather, polished to perfection-completed his aura of deadly elegance.

But what truly stole the breath away was the way he held his gun-a Colt Dragoon revolver, an old yet reliable piece, resting in his grip like an extension of his own body. The metal glinted coldly as he tilted it slightly, his thumb brushing over the barrel