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alpacaparkaseok · 2 years

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How to Sell Sunshine |14|

Chapter 14. Omertà

→ Pairing: mafia!BTS x reader (not poly)

→ word count: 27.8k (literally someone sue me)

→ warnings/tags: blood, firearms used quite a bit, same with knives, explosions, death, kissing, general betrayal, this is the finale so there’s that, Lambo is spic and span and ready to roll, Jimin drank all the milk

→ a/n: Thank you for being so patient. Thank you for joining the ride. I look forward to hearing your thoughts! Please look for my note at the end of the chapter, there’s some important information there!

Past

On the morning of April 14th, 2018, it snowed. “A light dusting” the newscasters called it, covered head to toe in mittens and beanies. “Unusual” and “unprecedented” they repeated on every channel, showing the thin layer of snow covering Queen’s Wharf.

It struck you as poignant then, as you walked out into the dawn with blood spattered on your dress, that it was snowing. Little white snowflakes clung to your red gown, as if they could cleanse you of your wrongs. Walking into the silent street, you stopped for a moment as the cold nipped at your heels.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Yadiel hadn’t gone quietly, although he was much more subdued than you’d expected. Perhaps the dress really was a good choice, after all. The man always did have a strange obsession with the color red.

It’s difficult to repress a shudder as you think back on the way his eyes roved your body, how his breath felt against the back of your neck as he followed close behind you.

He saw the gun. You know that there’s no way he didn’t – not with a dress this tight. It’s the fact that he didn’t say anything about it that makes you worry, even now. Even when you left him bleeding out on the floor of his own home.

Smoothing the fabric down, you flip a long coat around your shoulders as a cab meanders by. Right on time. You step up to the curb as they roll down the passenger side window. It’s an older man, with kind eyes. He looks worried as he surveys you in your dress that probably offers little to no warmth.

“It’s chilly out,” he says, voice raspy from exhaustion. No doubt he’s coming off of the night shift. “Where ya headed?”

He doesn’t ask much more, knowing that this place is crawling with gang members. Few people come to the cul-de-sac on the east side of Queen’s Wharf for anything beyond what duty requires.

“Drop me off at 312?” The cabbie gestures for you to hop in the back, which you do so quickly. The heater is on full blast, instantly soothing the ache in your chest.

“312 it is,” the cabbie says, instantly heading off toward the south. It’s a well-known location, a club only a block away from your dingy apartment. Anyone who steps foot inside Queen’s Wharf has either heard of it or smelled it.

You stare out the window as the cul-de-sac turns into apartment buildings. Shock begins to settle into your bones once the 312 comes into view, and it’s a struggle to keep your hands from shaking as you finagle a wad of cash from your garter where your gun is safely tucked away.

“Keep the change,” you blurt out before throwing the door open. A rush of cold wind takes your breath away, and you pull the coat a little tighter around your frame as you watch the cab drive off. Once he’s around the corner and out of sight, you cross the street and head up the block.

Clubbers are wandering about in a daze, a few very clearly drugged while a couple more puke up last night’s drinks. The smell jolts you a bit, the alcohol burning your nostrils and replacing the smell of Yadiel’s aftershave that spilled on the carpet after you stumbled back from his dying body.

Up ahead, a little green door opens up, revealing a familiar face.

“What did you do?”

Quickening your steps, you push past Taehyung and into your apartment. “Close the door, before you let the cold in.” He does so immediately, but you know it’s because he’s more worried about people overhearing your conversation than running up the heating bill.

Inside, Jungkook snores on the discolored brown couch. His mouth is slightly ajar, hair ruffled with his arms wrapped around his middle. It’s an endearing sight, one that you’ve grown used to seeing as you’ve been coming home later and later.

“What did you-” Taehyung starts again, but you hold up a finger and motion for him to follow you. Heading into your room, you close the door behind him. Taehyung looks exasperated, not caring whether or not your conversation woke up Jungkook.

“I paid Yadiel a visit.”

Blinking, Taehyung looks you up and down. The action sends an unwanted thrill through your body, and you can’t help but lift your head a little higher when Taehyung’s breath catches as you unzip your coat and move to hang it up.

“Did he attack you?” He asks, eyeing the little drops of deep scarlet littering the front of your dress. “Whose blood is that?”

“Tae, when do I ever come back not covered in blood?”

He snorts, nodding along. “Ok, true enough. But what happened?”

Taking a deep breath, you steel up all of the nerve you can manage. Despite the messy black hair and the pajama set Taehyung is wearing, he’s still intimidating like this. You still aren’t quite used to the possessive way he looks at you sometimes.

“He’s had this coming for a long time.”

Something shutters in Taehyung’s expression, screaming distrust. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Yadiel was using me to get to my father. Stupid, if you ask me, my father couldn’t care less if I were dead or alive.”

Again, there’s a slight change in Taehyung’s face. “Was?”

Holding your breath, you stalk up to him and turn, pulling your hair to one side. The red gown clings to your body, feeling as real as the boy at your back. A part of you feels as if it was a witness to your crime last night, and now you’re two steps away from clawing it off of you. The need to get rid of Yadiel’s blood echoes in your mind, and you roll your neck, ridding yourself of those thoughts.

“Unzip me?”

Seconds pass, stacking on top of each other until it’s a towering pile of tension that’s threatening to crush you. You’re about to look back over your shoulder to see what the hold-up is, but then you feel Taehyung’s surprisingly cold hands on the nape of your neck.

They ghost over your skin, feather-light and frozen. He hesitates, holding his hands there as if trying to decide whether he should kill you with those hands or do as you asked.

It’s always been this way with Taehyung. You’ve seen the way he looks at you sometimes, with such unwavering intensity that the only words that come to mind are crime of passion.

The zipper whispers to you as he slowly runs it down your gown. It isn’t until you feel his breath along your neck that you realize how close he’s gotten. The zipper reaches the bottom, but neither of you move. You remain paralyzed, forever stuck in this moment as Taehyung releases a shaky exhale.

“I killed him.”

Taehyung’s slow inhale is dizzying when you realize he’s breathing in the lingering perfume along your nape. “Hmm?” He hums out, clearly in a daze.

“…Yadiel,” his name makes your tongue feel leaden. “I killed him.”

The confession is barely a whisper, but it’s enough. Taehyung jerks away in an instant, eyes wild as he turns you around to face him. “You what?” He shouts.

Wincing, you shake your head. “I had to, Tae. You knew that as well as anyone. I can’t keep living like this-”

“Don’t call me that,” Taehyung hisses, pointing an accusing finger at you. “And don’t lie to me. We’re screwed now!”

You’re so focused on what’s right in front of you that you hardly notice the figure in the doorway. “So you’d rather I die as a pawn? Is that what you’re saying? What do you care, anyway? You never had to deal with him! You don’t understand what kind of – of monster he is!”

Stepping forward, Taehyung fumes as he stares down at you. “You murdered the best chance we had at getting out of this hellhole. You did this to us.”

“This hellhole is a temporary solution for only two more weeks,” you spit back, glorying in the surprise in his eyes. “While you’ve been complaining, I’ve been planning. Pack your bags, Kim. We’re moving.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, not believing a single word out of your mouth. “You’ve been saying the same thing for years. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

With that, he strides from the room, nearly colliding with a bleary-eyed Jungkook. Seconds later, the front door slams shut, leaving the two of you in the silence.

“You…” Jungkook stares at you, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Yadiel…” Then, he tilts his head to the side, fighting an amused smile. “Your dress is a little, uh…open.”

Jumping, you rush over to grab some sweats and a shirt, closing the door on Jungkook’s grinning face. Once you’re fully clothed again, you open the door to see him still standing there, much more solemn.

“He’s gone?”

You nod once, stomach knotting. “He’s gone.” Silence falls, before you recall what Taehyung shouted. “Do you think we won’t make it without him?”

Jungkook’s response is immediate as he pushes off the wall, leading you into the bathroom where he runs the faucet for you to wash your hands. To rid yourself of Yadiel.

“We’ll figure it out,” he quietly reassures, watching your trembling hands as you lather on more soap than necessary. Leaning forward, you look up to see Jungkook in the mirror as he places a soft kiss atop your head. It’s chaste and sweet, so stark in the face of what you’ve done in the past few hours.

You wash your hands over and over. Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a long while before softly suggesting that you take a hot shower.

“For the record,” Jungkook adds, lingering in the hall before you close the door. “I’m glad he’s gone. And I…” He looks at you then, looking much older in the blink of an eye. “I think you were very brave.”

The words are meant to be a comfort, but they send a fissure through your heart all the same. Jungkook always sees the good in you – the bravery where all you see is cowardice. Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply nod before closing the door.

The shower runs cold after fifteen minutes, but you stay until your teeth are chattering so hard that it’s starting to give you a headache. Under the water, you can pretend to drown all your worries.

The act falls apart four years later.

--

Present

“Look,” Jungkook whispers, leaning forward until his nose is practically smashed against the windshield of the SUV. “Looks like the changing of the guard.”

In the back seat, Namjoon looks up from where he’s been playing a game on his phone, squinting into the darkness. On the far edge of the cul-de-sac, Yadiel’s home is a glistening gem of activity. Black silhouettes barely stand out against the navy sky, but your trained eyes immediately pick them out on the roof like a hawk from an oak.

“Time?” You ask, not daring to look away for a mere second. Jungkook flips open the small notebook he brought with him. He’s always been funny like that, refusing to use his phone for storing any important information. A piece of paper is easy to burn, he’d say, but the internet is infinite.

That, of course, was usually preceded by a long rant about Mark Zuckerberg, but you push that aside for the moment.

“9:33.”

“And the last one?”

“9:01.”

Pursing your lips, you nod. “32 minute increments?”

Namjoon pipes up, keeping his voice low despite the safety of the SUV. “What if he changes it depending on if it’s night or morning?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs, returning to his game now that the excitement has faded. “Like, 60 minute intervals in the morning, forty-five minutes in the afternoon, and thirty at night.”

Jungkook exchanges a look with you, weighing the likelihood of Namjoon’s theory. “I remember Yadiel saying something about keeping guard routes random. That could go hand in hand with schedules.” He pauses, a light coming into his eyes. “What was it like the night you…”

“Thought I killed him?”

Wincing, Jungkook nods. Namjoon makes an interested noise, still not looking up from his phone as he speaks. “Oh, that’s right. I haven’t heard about that night yet.”

Watching the guards who have stilled on the roof, you sigh. The memories of that night are drudged up in your memory far too often; nightmares bringing them back to life for your own personal torment again and again.

“I went in at half past four,” you finally say, steeling your voice. Sitting here, across from the place that’s haunted you for years, brings the memory to life in new and terrifying ways. “His security wasn’t what it is now, back then.”

Jungkook nods, remembering it for himself. He’d paid several visits to Yadiel’s home in the past – none of them willingly.

“So you just walked right in?” Namjoon asks. He pauses his game now, setting it face up on the seat. You catch sight of the screen. Anagrams.

Your head is already nodding before you answer. “Yadiel called me in. I…set a few things up, before. Things that I knew he’d want me there for.”

“What kind of things?”

“News, from my father. Plans that Yadiel would want me to be aware of. My father was moving precious cargo that night, and Yadiel never missed a chance to send me after him.”

Namjoon’s brows furrow. “Why?”

You meet his eyes in the mirror, pleased to see the bond that the two of you have forged in the past 24 hours still burns bright there. “He figured I was his ticket to the top,” you shrug, still not understanding Yadiel’s logic. “Strange, because he knew that I meant nothing to my father. But the connection was still there, I suppose.”

“Ok ok, so you walked in…and what happened next?” Namjoon moves the story along, bringing a smile to your face at his impatience.

“I worked my magic,” you drawl, sending him a sloppy wink. It’s met with a collective groan from both boys, making your smile grow. “Hey! I can be sexy when I want to!”

Jungkook shakes his head furiously, head falling into his hands. “Nope. No. We’re not having this conversation again.”

Namjoon barks a laugh. “Again?”

Trailing your finger under Jungkook’s chin, you tip his face up until his wide eyes meet you. “You really think you’re in a position to dispute my abilities?” Pink rushes his cheeks, and he slowly shakes his head as a memory swims in his vision. “That’s what I thought.”

Guffawing now, Namjoon points between the two of you. “That’s a lot to unpack, and I-” he wipes at the corner of his eyes mockingly. “Don’t have the attention span for it. Hurry up.”

“It was fairly simple, which should’ve been my first worry,” you admit. “I kept him distracted. He’s always had a weird obsession with the color red, you know? So I wore a red dress and talked to him.”

“Just talked?” Namjoon asks.

“That’s all. Talked about the past, about what I was worried about with my training, and then I asked him if he’d ever let me go.”

Jungkook stills in the passenger seat. You’ve rarely given this much insight into your ordeal with Yadiel that night, but he knows well enough what Yadiel would’ve answered. “He refused, I assume.”

Jaw clenched, you survey the house once more. It seems utterly calm there, sending warning bells ringing through your head. Your hand fiddles with the gear shift, wondering if it might be in your best interest to clear out for a while.

“Sort of.” Another car has pulled onto the street, the sleek red appearing as fluid as blood as it moves silently down the road. “He said he would, but I’d have to kill you, first.”

“Kill me?” Jungkook chokes out. “Why me?”

Why Jungkook? You’d asked a similar question that night, appalled at the thought of killing your closest friend for a shot at freedom. You weren’t foolish – you knew what that would mean. Leaving one prison cell for a new one, riddled with guilt and regret.

The car pulls up alongside the house, striking you as odd. It doesn’t pull through the gates, as if dropping someone off. Sure enough, the driver’s side opens and a figure that you still see in your nightmares stalks to the other side.

“It’s him,” Jungkook whispers, mouth agape. His eyes follow Yadiel as he opens the passenger side door, and a woman steps out.

She’s blindingly beautiful, you note. Wearing a skin-tight red dress that looks all too similar to the one you wore the night Yadiel was shot. She offers him a warm smile before he leans in for a chaste kiss on the cheek. Her long hair sways as she turns, moving with the kind of elegance you wish you could capture.

Guards step aside, opening the gates for her to enter. Yadiel gets back in the car, waiting. You turn to look at Jungkook, eyebrows furrowing, but something else catches your eye.

Namjoon, sitting there looking like he’s been stabbed through the heart.

“Victoria,” he whispers. Twice, as if making sure he can still say it. “Victoria.” As if the name itself might float away if he doesn’t say it again.

From the look in his eyes, you worry that he might leap out of the car and chase after her, completely blowing your cover. But he doesn’t move. Namjoon remains completely still as his cloudy eyes remain glued to the spot where she disappeared from view. The gate, now locked and secured, posing as a closed door to the outpouring of memories that threaten to take him down.

“…who?” Jungkook asks gently. “You know her?”

“The woman in red,” you mumble. “Remember her, Jungkook? She’s the one that planted Yadiel’s message at the café a couple of weeks ago.” You recall seeing her striding out of the café in a red pantsuit; each step laced with power.

“You’ve seen her before this?” Namjoon asks, eyes unable to tear away from where Victoria just disappeared.

“You know her?” Jungkook counters, craning his neck in a way that looks painful, trying to catch Namjoon’s eye. “Old flame?” He asks, biting back a grin.

Namjoon’s gaze snaps to Jungkook, trouble flashing in those eyes of his. “Try the girl I thought I’d marry someday until Yadiel stole her out from under me.”

It’s your turn to crane your neck, eyes wide. “What?”

“You’ve never seemed like the type to settle down,” Jungkook muses, completely unphased.

“Yeah, well,” Namjoon’s jaw ticks with a hint of annoyance, “you’ve always struck me as the type to marry the first girl that gave you an ounce of attention, so there’s that I guess.”

“Ouch,” you hiss, dodging Jungkook’s wounded stare. “Play nice.”

Yadiel has begun driving again, turning down a darkened street at a leisurely pace. You watch the lights fading, mind churning before you decide to bite the bullet.

“Namjoon,” you’ve already put the car into drive, but you hold the brake. “I’m dropping you here. Keep your distance, glean whatever information you can about this place.”

Namjoon has one foot out of the car, face set in stony determination. “Meet back in an hour?”

You nod. “Don’t approach her.” Meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror, clench your jaw. “That’s an order.”

He doesn’t respond, simply stepping out of the car without a backward glance. Not wanting to waste time, you leave him to disappear into the shadows as you begin to trail Yadiel.

The car feels smaller without Namjoon’s hulking presence in the back, leaving only Jungkook for company. You see him fiddling with his seatbelt out of the corner of your eye, clearly feeling the pressure just like you.

“There,” you mutter once you catch sight of Yadiel’s car up ahead. It’s simultaneously a relief and a worry to have caught up to him so easily.

“Probably a trap,” Jungkook replies, matching your low tone. You say nothing; only grunting in agreement.

The streets steadily deteriorate as you keep a safe distance behind Yadiel. Golden streetlamps turn to seedy neon lights the closer you get to Queen’s Wharf; each block tying another knot in the pit of your stomach.

At last, Yadiel pulls in front of a crumbling motel called River Run. You watch as he strides inside with his head tucked low, whistling a lilting tune that sends shivers down your spine. It’s a tune he often picked up while you were staking out a job. There’s a moment of stilted silence as both you and Jungkook fight out of the memories that threaten to overcome you; Jungkook breaking out of it first.

“I’ll head in first,” he says, already unbuckling his seatbelt. You stiffen, hand jolting out to stop him.

You push on his chest until he’s leaning back in his chair, eyeing you warily. Beneath your fingertips his heart beats wildly; a testament to his fear at seeing Yadiel again.

“No,” you finally manage, tearing past your blind fear. “I’ll go. You stay here and call Jimin-”

Jungkook’s hand rests on yours, feeling his own heartbeat. When he speaks, his eyes are kind despite his cold voice. “Just because I’m afraid doesn’t mean I can’t do this. Besides, we need to stick to the plan.”

You blink. “…Jungkook.” You can’t bring yourself to care about the plan - carefully crafted last night in the wee hours of the morning - when you just saw Yadiel mere feet away.

“Let me…” he shakes his heads, gently pulling your hand away and setting it back on your lap. “You’re the only person who thinks I break so easily, you know that?”

Your throat constricts before you can choke out an appropriate response to that, but by the time you open your mouth, Jungkook is already walking down the street.

“That little…” you shake your head before pulling up a number on your phone that you’ve rarely used before. The phone rings twice through the car speakers before a familiar voice answers; sounding breathless.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

Despite all that’s happened between you and the blond in such a short amount of time, you can’t help but grin at the way he tries to keep his tone nonchalant.

“Jimin.”

“Huh – yeah?” A stifled groan has you wondering who elbowed him. Most likely Hoseok. “Yes? Is everything alright?” Jimin says, sounding much more professional.

“Fine, I think. You’ve got eyes on our location?”

“Yes. Namjoon texted me saying that you and him split away from Jungkook. He’s trailing someone at the River Run?”

“That’s right. Yadiel stopped in; Jungkook went in to take a look. I’ll be in shortly as backup once we’re finished here.”

A pause, one filled with pointed stares and mimed messages on the other side of the phone, you’re sure. Then, the sound of movement. A door opens and closes, and it’s suddenly quieter than before. “I’m alone now,” Jimin mutters. “Yoongi and Seokjin have eyes on the traitor.”

You let out a long breath, eyes slipping shut against your better judgement. A headache pulses behind your eyes, and you roll your neck in one slow motion. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s…a little agitated, but nothing too out of the ordinary. Claims that he hates being cooped up while you’re out having all the fun.”

Stalking your psychotic mentor into a trap isn’t your idea of fun, but you suppose Taehyung has a twisted sense of humor. “I’m sorry to make you all hang back,” you say, and you mean it. “Too many of us would draw attention – that doesn’t mean I don’t trust you-”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Jimin cuts you off, and you can hear the rueful smile in his voice. “I understand.”

Now is not the time for you to dive into a much needed conversation with Jimin – the one you pulled in so close only to turn your back on once things became too hard – so you settle with a curt, “Thanks. Keep an eye on me? I’m heading in.”

“Copy that, boss. Stay safe.”

The call ends, and you attach a small earpiece to the inside of your ear. It crackles to life, Jimin’s soft voice slipping through. “Looks like Kook’s on the second floor. Southeastern corner.”

You make a noise of acknowledgement before flipping your hood up and hopping out of the car. You check your reflection in the window, hoping to look like a moody young woman on the run and not a wanted criminal.

The interior of River Run is nothing more than a laughable attempt at luxury. The supposedly marble countertop at the front desk is peeling, revealing the 70’s style wood beneath. Light fixtures range from a bottle green chandelier to a bald light above the front desk, which acts as a spotlight for the gum-chewing receptionist who eyes you with a look of disdain the second you walk inside.

“Busy night,” she drawls, “we’re going to be out of rooms at this rate.”

You hardly restrain your annoyed expression. “Good thing I already have a room.”

Her gum pops and snaps. “Is that right? I don’t remember seeing you.”

“My boyfriend’s the one that got the room,” you keep walking, heading for the stairs when the receptionist makes a delighted noise.

“Oh, that guy? I would tell you to use protection but with a man like that, it might be nice to keep him around.”

You blush down to your toes, and then feel your stomach turn as you wonder who she’s referring to: Jungkook or Yadiel. Either way, you push the door open to the stairs and call over your shoulder, “We’ll try to keep it down, but no promises!”

Her cackle follows you into the stairwell, and you find that it’s contagious as your own chuckle pushes past your lips. Shaking your head, you ascend the steps. Soon you’re passing the second-floor landing, pushing on to the third floor.

“Entering third floor,” you whisper.

“Careful,” Jimin whispers back. Biting back the urge to respond sarcastically, you push the door open. It appears clear of any activity, although as you pass the first room you hear a few noises that remind you that not all of the occupants are asleep as of yet.

“Southeastern corner…” you mutter to yourself, heading back toward the final room at the end of the hallway. A light flickers as you pass it, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Glancing back over your shoulder, there’s nobody there.

There’s no windows in the hallway, leaving little choice but to break into room 307. Knocking lightly, you clear your throat. “An extra pillow for room 307?”

A muffled response is all you receive, so you call out again, “Sir? Extra pillow for-”

The door is all but ripped open, revealing a man with a very large mustache and a seething stare. “I said I didn’t ask for-”

You move quickly, pushing the door open just enough to jam your elbow into his windpipe. The man slumps, clutching his throat while you hit him square in the temple. He wavers, staggering back while you step inside the room. A quick scan of the area shows that he’s alone; a tender mercy.

“In the bathroom,” you haul the man to his feet, wheezing as he shifts his dead weight onto you. “Take a nice, long shower. How about that?”

He grunts, attempting to say something scathing but only rasping out a jumble of incoherent syllables. Thankfully, he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Whether from your blows or from the alcohol that reeks of, you’re not sure. Once he’s stumbled into the bathroom, you take a bed sheet that smells of something rancid and tie one end to the bathroom door and the other to the room door.

“…everything good?” Comes Jimin’s voice, startling you.

“Good,” you say, holding a hand over your heart as it pounds. “Just buying myself some time before he figures out a way to get out.” A voice from beyond Jimin filters into your earpiece, and Jimin’s light laugh is tinged with concern. “Who else is with you?” You question, nearing the window. The last thing you need is for Taehyung to realize that you’re not with Namjoon but actually here, a mere level above Yadiel.

“Just Seokjin. He came out to check on you.”

Rolling your eyes as you open the window, you assess the descent warily. “Tell him to mind his own business.”

Jimin begins to relay the message, but Seokjin’s voice, clearer now, cuts him off. “You are my business, sweetheart.”

Your choked laugh seems to bounce off the brick wall right next to River Run, so close that you could reach out and brush it with your fingers. Clapping a hand over your mouth as if you could catch the sound before it left, you brace yourself for what’s about to come next.

“Heading down now.” You’re met with silence, a testament to the stress coursing through everyone’s veins.

A deceivingly thin rope is what you have to put all your faith in as you slowly begin the descent. Your heart ratchets up into your throat as you lower yourself down next to the windowsill of Yadiel’s room. The window is cracked open just an inch or so, allowing you to hear the gruff voices within.

“Look at you,” Yadiel is saying, sounding for all the world like an old baseball coach, “you’ve grown up quite nicely.”

Bracing both hands on the far corner of the windowsill, you dare to peek through the crack in the curtains.

Jungkook stands near the door, hands in his pockets in a show of nonchalance. His eyes are trained on Yadiel, who sits on the foot of the bed.

The mere sight of him knocks the air from your lungs.

“Although, I will say that I never expected this from you,” Yadiel continues. He fiddles with a gleaming watch, slowly taking it off and laying it lovingly on the bed beside him. “I thought you loved our little Bianchi darling.”

Our. The word hits you just as it hits Jungkook, who can’t quite school his features before slipping back into something between wariness and anticipation.

“I do.”

“And? I doubt she’ll take kindly to this visit, then.”

“I don’t expect forgiveness, Yadiel.”

“What are you expecting, Jungkook?” Rising from the bed, Yadiel begins to push up the sleeves of his white button-down, revealing a slew of tattoos against his tanned skin.

Jungkook’s eyes remain on Yadiel’s. “Her safety.”

“Her safety,” he echoes, frowning. He’s completely rolling his sleeves up, now turning his attention back to Jungkook. “I taught you better than that. What of your own?”

“Her safety, her freedom, far away from you,” Jungkook drags his eyes over Yadiel’s tall form with disgust. “Those are my conditions. In return, do what you will with the estate.”

Yadiel seems to be holding his breath. “And you?”

“Am I to assume that I’m still of use to you?” Jungkook’s chin rises a bit in defiance.

“Oh Jungkook,” he smiles softly. “I’m resourceful. So yes, I believe I could find a use for you.”

Yadiel pauses in his seemingly endless movements, pausing with his head cocked to the side as if listening to the devil that’s taken up permanent residency on his shoulder. “I wonder…” he mutters before stepping forward and grabbing Jungkook’s arm.

He doesn’t resist as Yadiel shoves his sleeve up, yanking his arm until it’s extended. Yadiel examines Jungkook’s tattoos before settling upon one in particular. Smiling wide, Yadiel taps the tattoo of a red eye – the twin to his own just below his elbow.

You bite back a gasp, mind reeling as you wonder how you never noticed the matching tattoos. The implications of such a mark conjure up a million different scenarios – all of them horrific.

“A price for everything,” Yadiel muses aloud, still gazing at the twin markings. “So you do remember some of the things I taught you.”

“A few,” Jungkook grinds out, finally taking his arm out of Yadiel’s grasp. “Do we have a deal?”

Yadiel grins, the very action screaming distrust, before extending a hand for Jungkook to shake. “I believe we do.”

--

Everything aches. Your tailbone, your thighs, and your right shoulder which remains jammed up against the River Run’s crumbling exterior as you listen to Jungkook luring Yadiel into a trap.

You have to give him credit; Jungkook hasn’t tried to throttle him once.

Step by step, the trap is set. The location agreed upon; Jungkook lightly insisting for the church in Queen’s Wharf. The bait is dangled above Yadiel like a carrot before a horse; another mafia to add to his list of conquering and an opening to move in on bigger, more notorious mafia families.

Nearly an hour later, you jerk out of the daze you found yourself in when you realize that Jungkook is saying his farewell.

“I’ll see you soon, then,” he mutters, door opening. You remain pressed up against the wall, refusing to risk looking into the room for fear of blowing your cover.

Yadiel’s footsteps are light as he follows Jungkook to the door. “Thanks for dropping in. Oh, and one more thing-”

Craning to listen to the quiet words, you freeze as your feel a tremor in your rope.

A matter of two seconds is all the time you have to brace your legs against the opposite wall, pressing your back into the rough brick with a wince. Grappling for your gun, you point it up toward the open window on the third floor.

It would appear that the mustache-clad man wasn’t as drunk as you thought. That, or he managed a lot of sobering up during he time in the bathroom. He sticks his head out the window, your rope in hand and mouth open with an insult surely waiting on his tongue.

Whatever he was about to yell down is caught in his throat at you aim your gun at him. His face pales, and he throws the end of your rope down to you before disappearing back inside his room, window slamming shut.

You curse as quietly as possible, legs already beginning to shake with the exertion. Back screaming and lungs heaving as your bruised ribs remind you of yesterday’s excursions, you struggle to steady your breathing.

Inside Yadiel’s room, the door snicks shut. Ears ringing as you try to listen for something – anything – you splay your hands against the wall at your back.

Jimin’s voice crackles to life in your ear. “Everything alright?”

You’re frozen, not daring to make a sound as you stare at Yadiel’s window. The thought of him lurking just inside and you dangling here like his next meal is enough to have you shaking in equal parts strain and terror.

“No, she’s still here Seokjin. Because I can still hear her breathing, that’s why. Why would I-”

Aggressively rubbing your ear against your shoulder, you pop the earpiece out. The second you do, the world seems to press in around you. A faint clatter from below seals the death of your earpiece, making you wince in guilt. Still, you can’t think when Jimin’s in your ear trying to explain your lack of a response to-

A creak sounds and you watch in horror as Yadiel’s window slowly opens the rest of the way. Long, scarred fingers curl around the windowsill before the rest of a body leans out, like a snake emerging from its den.

Yadiel looks different from the last time you saw him. More lithe, like cupping a puddle of water only for it to turn into a torrent in your hands. Something tells you that there’s been more changes than just the physical differences you see now as he angles himself away from you.

If only you could melt into the shadows – you press your legs harder against the opposite building in an effort to do just that. Yadiel sighs longingly up at the moon, which is barely visible between the slivers of buildings.

“Yes, he just left.”

You hold your breath in a desperate attempt to preserve yourself, heartrate jolting as you study Yadiel’s razor-sharp jawline. Eyes scanning up, you almost cry with relief as you realize that Yadiel isn’t speaking to you.

He fiddles with an AirPod in his left ear, listening intently before speaking once more. His voice is like a rosy grave, one that you can’t help but shy away from, further into the shadows.

“Yes, sir.” A small chuckle, and despite not being able to see his face, you know exactly what kind of smile he’s wearing. “Fine. Si, signore.”

Then, he’s ending the call. Tapping the AirPod with his fingers, and you feel your stomach churn as you notice the blood under his fingernails. Brown and caked, it’s a sight Yadiel rarely sported in exchange for his typical clean and composed self. Yet when he did, it was more as a warning than an oversight.

Yadiel breathes in the night air for a moment longer, drinking in the evening while you hang precariously close to him, wreathed in shadows. You bite your lip as your right foot slides down a few inches, leaving your hands bleeding at you scramble for some sort of purchase.

He doesn’t move at the sound, eyes still carefully angled away. As if you’re a ghost; one that doesn’t exist if he doesn’t acknowledge it. A shudder passes through your already trembling frame, wondering which of his mind games he’s up to now.

A flicker of movement and you squeeze your eyes shut in preparation for the pain. Yet something cool drifts your way, and you open your eyes slowly.

Yadiel has flicked open an ornately decorated fan and now waves it softly in front of his face. You gaze at it, drawn in by the deep blue and shimmering crimson; all drawn together by a neatly printed swan at its center.

That swan digs into the cobwebs of your memory, jolting something out of you. A fan, this fan is one you’ve seen before. One you played with on your father’s knee at a young age.

Back when your mother was still alive. Before you were old enough to understand the constant threat hanging over your head.

Squinting and momentarily forgetting the ache in your trembling body, you look for the tell-tale sign: Bianchi scribbled in fine ink along the edge.

“We must mark what is ours,” your father had said when you cried out in indignation as he marked the beautiful fan. “What we love most, we protect.”

“It’s a fan,” you had responded, small voice annoyed. You watched as your father blew on the ink before passing the fan back to you. “It doesn’t need protection.”

He smiled then, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Everything that is mine, I protect.”

Yadiel continues to fan himself, taking up a merry tune you’ve never heard before. The sound of his whistling is as sharp as a blade itself, filling the quiet alleyway with too much noise. It makes you feel naked, as if he’ll discover you with the mere sound of his whistle.

Yet, as you watch the fan your father bought you when you were no more than six years old, you realize two things.

First, Yadiel already knows you’re here. Every word – every breath has always been a calculated move with him. This show of ignorance is yet another piece to the puzzle.

And second…

Yadiel must have retrieved this relic of your childhood when he paid your father a deadly visit not long ago.

“It was sitting on his dresser.”

You jolt at the sound of Yadiel’s soft voice, barely stopping yourself from careening down to the alley below. He still doesn’t look at you, keeping his face hidden even as he continues to speak.

“I thought it seemed out of place…until I realized that after all these years, after your betrayal and vow to kill him off; he couldn’t quite let go of you.”

A shuddering breath works through you, matching the way your knees shake from exertion. You won’t last much longer like this, that much is certain. Your body is giving in to the pain.

“I’m not sure if that makes you a ghost or a god.” His scoff is low and dry. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll still be forgotten, before the end.”

The fan snaps shut, and Yadiel tilts his head to the side, awaiting a response.

Your response doesn’t come by way of words. It arrives in the form of aching ribs and sweat trickling into your eyes as the strain grows unbearable. You squeeze your eyes shut against the burning pain; the outline of the fan bright against your eyelids.

Yadiel’s lie fills in the gaps in your vision. Forgotten? Hardly. After all these years, your father kept a piece of you close to him. Perhaps you are a ghost – were a ghost, to him.

Dead, but not forgotten.

It’s with that declaration ringing through your mind that Yadiel slips back inside, hardly making a sound. You catch sight of a long shallow cut along the side of his neck before he disappears from sight and the window gently closes and the lock slips into place.

--

Time slows to a drip; the minutes marked only by the sound of your hands and feet scraping along the brick. Inch by inch, you’re falling.

Blood oozes from your ruined palms, and you press your head back against the brick as tears of frustration pour out. The night is quiet and still, only the occasionally passerby interrupting your silent struggle.

Yadiel’s window has gone dark. Whether he’s left or he’s continuing to toy with you, you’re unsure. You’re not sure it matters anymore, either. Not when everything hurts and you keep replaying that ancient memory again and again.

“Everything that is mine, I protect.”

That statement, that blatant lie he told you stokes the raging inferno within. All you see is that fan, crimson detail jumping out at you like blood as a scream tears through you.

You scream until the sound of it is bouncing off the buildings, carried through the night on a dark wind. Throat seizing and body slipping ever closer to the ground below, you scream. If this is how you end, so be it. Blood on your hands and betrayal in your heart seems a fitting end for the web of lies your life ended up being.

At last, your body gives up.

Skidding and sliding down the brick, you cradle your hands to your chest in agony as the flesh is torn open even more. Picking up speed, you let your eyes fall shut, bracing yourself for the impact. For the snap of bones and the long night ahead.

The concrete rises up to meet you, but you don’t hear a snap. There’s no sickening crunch; only a muffled groan quickly followed by a staggering breath.

“Look at me, Bianchi.”

The commanding tone is efficient, sending your eyes flying open as you realize that you’re not nearly as broken as you thought you’d be.

Perhaps that has something to do with Jeon Jungkook, flattened out like a pancake beneath you. Arms still outstretched, wrapped around you like a safety net.

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” he coughs out, and you scramble off of him only to stop and hiss as your hands burn. “No rush. It’s just as awful here as you remember it.”

Jungkook sits up slowly, wincing a little and rubbing the back of his head. You watch him like a hawk, mind reeling as you feel solid earth beneath you. “You…”

“Caught you?” He cracks a smile. “Something like that.”

“How?”

His smile falters. “I heard you screaming.” His eyes are shaky, as if your screams were still echoing through his mind. “What happened to your rope?”

Everything that happened over the past thirty minutes seems like an enormous weight, so you settle for, “Compromised.”

Slowly climbing up to his feet, Jungkook frowns as he notices the state of your hands. “Did Yadiel…?”

“It wasn’t him. Some drunk guy a floor up.”

Jungkook nods, grabbing your forearm and helping you up. You sway on your feet, legs utterly useless. He doesn’t hesitate to turn around, scooping you up into a piggy-back.

“Did Yadiel see you?”

“…not exactly.”

The two of you fall silent as Jungkook trudges back to the car. You note that Yadiel’s car is still here, making you stiffen.

Jungkook sets you down, letting you rest against the hood while he opens the door. Getting in without leaving bloody handprints everywhere proves difficult; so much so that Jungkook takes things into his own hands.

“Here,” he pulls his black shirt over his head, revealing a toned chest that instantly sends a flush to your cheeks. “Wrap them up in this until we get you home.”

“Uh,” you reply, staring so hard at the shirt that you hope it doesn’t start smoking, “the whole – you didn’t just wanna rip the bottom part -”

Jungkook stares at you, arms crossing in front of his chest. You note with some reluctance that it’s a very nice chest; one that he’s clearly been working on since the last time he strolled around the house shirtless.

“Like they do in the movies?” You finish lamely, staring back down at your hands. Blood still streams out of them, but it appears to be slowing down.

A huff and Jungkook places the shirt gently on top of your hands, face dangerously close to yours. Your eyes flit to his, anger flaring up as you see the amusement in his.

“I don’t do crop tops.”

The door closes, leaving you alone with your frenzied thoughts. “Uh-huh,” you mumble to yourself, watching as Jungkook rounds the car to hop in the driver’s side. Near-death experiences and shirtless men don’t mix well, apparently.

You huff a strained chuckle, the pain in your ribs fading in lieu of everything else that aches. Who knew?

--

Namjoon is waiting for you when Jungkook circles back to Yadiel’s neighborhood. You’re relieved to see him; even more relieved that he isn’t covered in blood.

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks by way of greeting as Namjoon hops into the back seat. Namjoon fiddles with his seat belt, annoyed at having to be in the back again.

“Fine. Didn’t run into anyone really. Just lurked.”

“Mm.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Namjoon speaks again. “…what happened to you two?” He’s clearly looking you over, noting your disheveled state; the way your eyes appear blank and unfeeling.

Jungkook glances your way while you carefully avoid his gaze. He sighs lightly, focusing on the road again. “We’ll report back to everyone. It’s…easier that way.”

Normally, Namjoon would have called him out on that, but tonight, he knows something is off. It’s obvious from the way you sit, stiff-backed and silent.

“I’ll let them know we’re on our way back,” Namjoon concedes, pulling out his phone. The sound of his phone click-clicking as he types out the message rattles around your brain, but you say nothing.

Say nothing. Do nothing. Because the moment you open your mouth, the screams will return. The indisputable anger will claw its way up your throat and you’ll have no way of stopping it.

You clench Jungkook’s shirt a little tighter, allowing the flash of pain to distract from the restlessness growing inside you.

Amidst the quiet hum of the car, Jungkook speaks, his voice pitched low.

“It’ll be over soon.”

--

The debriefing is like walking a tightrope with one leg.

Hard. It’s hard.

Together you weave a plausible story of what you discovered with Namjoon, all the while pretending you never saw Yadiel. That you were never within a mile of him.

“Did you see anything else of interest?” Hoseok asks while Taehyung yawns next to him. Tonight, you’re all strewn about the kitchen. Jungkook remains close to your side, thankfully wearing a sweatshirt now. Seokjin had retrieved it for him not long after you walked through the door, tutting something under his breath about common decency.

“Namjoon?” You ask pointedly, watching with a wary eye as Seokjin smothers your now clean hand in Neosporin.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to appreciate what your indicating, but he gives up the knowledge for your sake. “I saw Victoria. An old…friend.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows flick up from where he sits with his legs laid out on the chair in front of him. “I remember you mentioning her. She’s still with Yadiel?”

“Did you approach her?” Hoseok follows up.

Namjoon shakes his head. “No. I only observed her from a distance. And yes,” he responds to Yoongi. “It would appear so.”

“Do you think she could be a chink in his armor?” Jimin pipes up. He’s bent over in front of the sink, blond hair bright against his yellow shirt. “Maybe if you could contact her…promise her a way out…”

“That’s if she wants one,” Namjoon replies, a bite to his cold voice. “She chose him before, Jiminie. She’ll choose him again.”

Jimin raises his hands, backing off. Wisely, he changes the subject. “Alright. So Jungkook’s set the trap and we’ve got a general layout of Yadiel’s estate. What else do we need?”

Everyone looks to you, save for Seokjin, who is busy focusing on wrapping your hands with gauze now. You sigh, leaning back in your chair and watching him work.

“We still have the element of surprise on our side,” you begin methodically, ticking off all the checkpoints in your head. “We know our location, the time, the day. So for now…” shrugging, you fight off a yawn. “It’s important that we keep an eye on things to make sure nothing changes. Yadiel doesn’t trust us; chances are he’ll try to find a way to switch things up on us. We’ll need to be prepared.”

“Good enough for me,” Jungkook says. There’s a veil of exhaustion over his voice, one that instantly makes your eyes droop in response. “Anything else?”

Everyone seems just as eager to get to bed, shaking their heads. One by one they get up, chair scraping and feet shuffling as they head off to their rooms. Seokjin lingers a moment, and you realize why when Taehyung comes your way.

“Feeling alright?” He questions, eying your hands. “Sounds like a nasty fall. Can’t believe nobody saw you.”

Right. You’d explained your injuries away by saying that you fell when scaling the wall on your way out of Yadiel’s estate. If Taehyung didn’t look too closely, it was believable enough.

“Pretty lucky I guess,” you chuckle, flexing your fingers. It still stings; enough so that you know you’ll struggle gripping a gun for the next week or two. “I’m just glad that something went right, for once.”

It’s as blatant a lie as they come, but you smile your way through it. Taehyung smiles right back, hand reaching to brush your hair back over your shoulder.

“You know,” he muses, watching the way your hair falls, “having you out there tonight, sitting here worrying about you…it reminded me of old times.”

Taehyung pulls up a chair, sitting between you and Seokjin. Meeting your eyes over Taehyung’s shoulder, Seokjin gives you a slow nod.

Just give me a signal.

Your eyes shift back to Taehyung. Leaning back in your chair, you summon as much nonchalance possible before shooting him a lazy smile. “Back when we lived off of a steady diet of spam and the day-old bread they sold on the corner of Pelican and 8th?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen in mock horror. “That was spam? Jungkook always told me it was ham!”

“Well, one could argue that it is.” You bring a glass to your lips, sipping lightly. “Partially.”

Seokjin laughs, and Taehyung cracks a smile. “Spam or not, it doesn’t matter now. We were happy, that’s all that matters.”

Happy. The word has never carried such weight as it does now as you stare at Taehyung, trying to place him in the upheaval of your life. You know that once the dust settles, there may no longer be space for him.

“Tae…”

Looking up, you find two pairs of dark eyes on you. Seokjin looks tense but he makes no move to intervene as you meet Taehyung’s gaze.

You could swim in those eyes. They glitter and shine with unspoken words and unshared plans. It’s difficult not to question him here and now. For now, you allow yourself one last dive into the memories locked there.

“Take a walk with me?”

--

Pine needles silence your steps as you walk alongside Taehyung. Above you, the moon can’t help but shine its light on him, illuminating his dark hair like some unholy halo.

Now that you’ve got him alone, the words have all dried up. The quiet of the night becomes your companion instead, acting to call your racing heart as Taehyung tucks his hands into his pockets and saunters along.

“Beautiful night,” he comments. His voice is quiet in the great expanse of the outdoors.

All you can manage is a nod before you scrape up some words. “Beats Queen’s Wharf, at least.”

“Anything beats Queen’s Wharf.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Oh? This coming from the man who was just waxing nostalgic about the good old days?”

Taehyung follows the curving path around the outskirts of the house. He didn’t question you when you claimed that you didn’t want to venture too far; and Seokjin looked a little less worried when he realized that he’d be able to have eyes on you at all times.

“The good old days,” Taehyung mimics, nudging you with his shoulder, “were good because there were fewer walls separating us. Not because of Queen’s Wharf.”

You study him, pausing. Taehyung stops as well, meeting your gaze. His collar ruffles in the wind while he waits through your analysis, making him appear like a very realistic sculpture.

“Be honest. Do you mean that?”

His eyes burn right through you. “Of course I do.”

“That’s a lie and we both know it.”

Taehyung stills, and for once, you see something beneath those arrogant eyes that you’ve never seen before.

Panic.

“How so?”

“Because you always yelled at me for being too loud in the mornings.”

His laugh is loud and boisterous as Taehyung turns on his heel, stepping away from you. “You still are!”

It’s contagious. You laugh as well, stumbling after him. “I’m silent as a mouse.”

“You’re about as quiet as a horde of mice riding in on a calvary of donkeys, capa,” Taehyung giggles, peeking over at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. It’s replaced the panic that was there moments ago.

“No,” your side aches along with your ribs as you laugh. “That’s Jungkook.”

“Is it?” He tilts his head to one side, studying you with an appraising eye. “How dare you throw Jungkook under the bus as soon as he’s not here to defend himself!”

It’s his incredulous tone that keeps your laughing, and the way he’s looking at you that sends a dagger into your heart.

You quicken your pace, gazing up at the stars in an effort to hide the tears that prick at your eyes. It hurts, being here with him. Like this. Laughing, wondering if he’ll look at you with those stars in his eyes when he twists the knife in your back.

“Agree to disagree,” you finally mumble, shaking your head to rid yourself of the thought. Taehyung’s laughter subsides as he matches your pace. He walks close enough to nudge your shoulder with his own as he saunters along, the action achingly familiar.

A million questions lie on the tip of your tongue. A piece of you refuses to believe that he could betray you. It thrashes and shakes at the very idea.

You need to know. From his own lips. You need to know if your oldest friend has truly betrayed you.

“Tae?”

“Hmm?” He’s looking up at the stars, too. It makes him look infinitely younger. Like the boy you once met in Italy, giving you a false name. When he feels your gaze, his eyes fall to yours and he offers you a soft smile.

“Do you feel like…” you pause, shoving your trembling hands into your pockets. “Like everything is ending, somehow?”

It’s a question to hide the real question you’re dying to ask him. Do you know that we’ll never be the same now? Did you ever think of that when you went crawling to Yadiel?

Taehyung’s eyebrows furrow as he considers your question. “In what way?”

You push out a long breath. “I feel…” you breath catches as tears burn anew. He doesn’t speak, only staring at you with an intensity you’ve long since grown accustomed to. “You know that feeling, where you’re surrounded by people, but still alone?”

The only response he conjures up is a stuttering nod, eyes catching on the way your throat bobs.

“I’m alone,” you whisper, eyes falling.

“You have Jungkook,” he immediately replies, voice strangled. “And everyone else in that house. Seokjin hasn’t taken his eyes off you this entire time, you know.” He waves half-heartedly at a shadow in an upstairs window, making you croak with a chuckle.

It’s all the answer you need. Closing the curtains to your one-woman play, you nod, rising up on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on Taehyung’s cheek. His hands drift lightly to your waist as you linger for a moment too long, eyes squeezing shut as the confirmation sets in.

I’m alone, you’d said.

You have everyone, he’d replied. Everyone, but me.

“Thanks, Tae,” you whisper, shrinking away. “I needed that.”

His answering wink is the last thing you see before walking away. “Anything for you.”

You don’t look back as you leave him, entering the house once more. Inside, Seokjin stands in the foyer with an air of concern about him.

“How’d it go?” He asks, quiet voice like silk against your skin. You shrug, not feeling up to a heart-to-heart at the moment. Seokjin nods, stepping aside and gesturing down the hall. “How are your ribs fairing?”

It’s easy to report the state of your body as if it were nothing more than a machine. Easy to lose yourself in the technical way Seokjin speaks about how you should take care of yourself. He twiddles his thumbs as you walk side by side down the hall toward his room. There’s a sudden urge to reach out and stop the nervous action, but you stop yourself when you remember that he’s already shut you down once before. No need for him to get the wrong idea.

“I’m mainly sore and tired,” you conclude as Seokjin welcomes you into his rooms. He sweeps you into his adjoined bathroom, hardly allowing you much more than a cursory glance around. It’s clean and colorful, with a book on the bedside table with a familiar symbol.

Seokjin closes the bathroom door behind you just as you voice your question with a crooked smile. “You like Zelda?”

“What?” He chokes out.

“That book, by the bed. Isn’t that the Triforce on the cover?”

Seokjin’s answering smile is a sight for sore eyes. “Wait a minute, you’re a geek, too?”

“Stitch me up, doc, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

--

Taehyung stands in the garage, overlooking his car. An old shirt in one hand and a bit of polish in the other has proven to work wonders for the bright green Lamborghini. It shines like new under the lights, making him smile.

His uncle had a car like this, once. It was a deep cherry red, the kind you see on covers of magazines and the like. It was so iconic, in fact, that the whole of Sicily knew exactly what was about to happen every time that cherry-colored Lamborghini rolled into town. Windows shuttered, doors locked, and children yanked out of the streets to be coddled in the supposed safety of their homes.

Respect, his uncle had called it. He could still feel the ghost of his uncle’s hand in his hair, ruffling up the black locks with a proud smile. Without respect, our world would wither away.

But Taehyung knew what it really was.

Blind fear can bring out an interesting side to people. A magnificent tool, when used in the right hands. Taehyung gazes down at his own hands, frowning at the calluses there. Heaven and hell know that he’s spent countless hours honing himself into the perfect tool. His hands certainly made Ortega sing when he was confronted with his own death.

Respect, on the other hand, was the game his father played. It was what he laughed at when observing the mafia world on this continent – child’s play, he’d dubbed it. They carry no respect for each other, how can they expect us to stay away when they’re practically begging for a king to rule over them?

“Looking pensive tonight.”

Taehyung doesn’t move for fear of appearing caught unawares, so he simply smiles before applying a bit more polish to the ratty tee. “Evening, Hoseok.”

“Polishing it up?” Hoseok stands atop the stairs to the garage with a perfectly balanced expression on his face. He nods at the Lambo, a smile playing at his lips. “Looks lovely.”

Taehyung nods his thanks, crouching down to scrub at a particularly stubborn spot on a hubcap. “It was overdue for some pampering.” When Hoseok makes no move to respond, Taehyung sighs through his nose, collecting himself. “Did you need something?”

He’s looking at Taehyung with the same uncertainty everyone’s been assessing him with lately. He knows it’s only a matter of time before the truth is revealed; he can only hope it’s revealed on his own terms. After all, Taehyung loathes it when things don’t go his way.

“The Boss asked me to join up with you tomorrow. Just letting you know.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows flick up in surprise. “Oh? We’re buddies tomorrow?”

“Seems like it,” Hoseok beams, appearing genuinely happy at the prospect of being buddies for a day.

“Odd.”

“How so?”

Shrugging, Taehyung rises to his feet again to inspect the hubcap. “I just assumed you’d be with Yoongi. You always are.” He glances at Hoseok, who hasn’t moved an inch this entire time. Taehyung would consider it unnatural if it weren’t for the man’s successful occupation as a hitman.

As still as death, his mother would say. Yet, in Taehyung’s experience, death is often a writhing, thrashing affair.

“Yoongi is with Namjoon.”

Another note of surprise ticks Taehyung’s features. “And so capa is with…?”

“I’m not sure, actually.”

Hoseok doesn’t break eye contact; doesn’t even blink. His tone is steady and warm, a friendly smile still ghosting his lips. Yet there’s something hard beneath those eyes. Something like a challenge.

Jung Hoseok is lying.

“I see.” Taehyung smiles politely. “Thanks for letting me know, partner.”

Finally, Hoseok moves. Back through the door, into the house. “See you tomorrow, buddy.” Taehyung nearly flinches at the word being thrown back at him. Just before the door closes, he notices the outline of a firearm in Hoseok’s back pocket. The sight only turns his smile feral.

Tomorrow. Taehyung leans down, inspecting the hood of the car meticulously before slowly making his way around it. All the while, his mind is on tomorrow.

It will all end.

He knows what he needs to do. Knows the plan better than he knows himself. Yet there’s still a part of him – the part that you own – that hesitates.

Closing his eyes, Taehyung conjures up an image of a gleaming crown. The one that his father will award him with once all is said and done.

The Mafia King. The man whose power spans continents. Unstoppable, unbeatable.

His eyes wrench open and he storms from the garage as the image of his uncle, bleeding out in the back seat of his cherry-red Lamborghini comes to life.

Unlovable.

--

You didn’t ask Seokjin where he procured the drugs he slipped into your hands on the way out of his room earlier that evening. Now, perched on the edge of your bed and staring at the little orange bottle of Toradol in your hands, you can’t help but stifle a laugh.

Ernest Feeney is printed out on the label. To be taken orally once a day.

“That little snipe,” you whisper before popping the bottle open. Your body thrums with pain, begging relief. Tonight, it will arrive via the small pill that was originally intended for someone named Ernest.

Outside your door, a floorboard creaks. Nearly choking on the pill, your ears strain to hear who might be lurking in the hallway at this hour. Goosebumps cover your skin, and you shiver involuntarily as different scenarios invade your mind; each bloodier than the last. Ortega’s mangled crime scene that you discovered just yesterday morning plays out before you like a movie screen; so vivid that you’re tempted to swat it out of the air.

Another scuffle, this one closer to your door. Without thinking, you lurch to your bedside table, grappling for the gun hidden beneath the drawer. Within seconds the safety is off and you stand in front of your door with it aimed and ready.

One deep breath and then you’re ripping the door open. Teeth gritted and mind gloriously empty save for the weapon in your hands and the threat in the hallway, you squint into the darkness.

Jungkook’s hands are already up in the air, his eyes wide but calming as he waits for you to recognize him.

“Jungkook?” You breathe out, heart skipping up into your throat. “What are you doing creeping outside my room?” The words sound harsh, but they’re laced with delayed fear. Your arms lower, switching the safety back on before letting the gun hang loosely by your side.

“Just…uh…” his eyes linger on the gun before making their way back up to your face. “Checking on you.”

There’s a generic response on the tip of your tongue, but it slips away before you can verbalize it. Instead, you stay standing in your doorway, staring.

Jungkook’s hair is a mess from what you suspect has been a restless night spent tossing and turning in bed. His black hoodie is beginning to show the signs of wear and tear, basketball shorts kissing the tips of his knees and making him look simultaneously childlike and ancient in a single moment.

Finally, your eyes catch on his hands. His right one looks bloodied, reminding you of the state in which you found him only two days prior. Taehyung’s nearly broken nose and bruised jaw that came courtesy of Jungkook fill you with confused satisfaction.

“Come in.” You pause as you retreat back into your room. “Please.”

Jungkook hesitates for a moment, looking worried, before stepping in. He closes the door softly, leaning against it as you put your gun away. The feel of his eyes on you is as tangible as the gun in your hands, but you ignore it.

“Are you ok?” You find yourself asking, the tone of your voice not quite what you wanted it to be. It’s too hard, too cold. Almost annoyed.

“Are you?”

You deflect the question with a shrug and a poorly timed joke. “Better than Ortega.” Wincing, you shake your head. “I mean…I shouldn’t…” your head drops into your hands, hiding yourself from Jungkook as best as you can. “Sorry. I just can’t stop thinking about him.”

It’s a chink in your armor, and Jungkook notices immediately. He pushes off the door, coming closer until the bed dips beside you. He doesn’t touch you, and for some reason, it’s a relief.

“No, don’t apologize,” he mumbles. “Well, not to me, at least. Ortega’s ghost probably didn’t appreciate that, though.”

A weak chuckle works its way out of you. “The last thing I want right now is to be haunted to the ends of the earth.”

“Should’ve thought about that before using comedy as a shield, then, huh?” Jungkook nudges you lightly, enough to make you finally raise your head to look at him. He smiles demurely, pulling you out of your hiding place a little more.

“Thank you,” you whisper, nudging him back. “For catching me earlier.”

The light in his eyes shutters and he quickly looks away, red creeping up his neck. He opens his mouth just to close it again, at a loss.

“Jungkook?”

He lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You know, after all these years, you think you know someone…” Running a tattooed hand through over his eyes, he takes a deep breath. “The last thing I expected to find tonight was you dangling from a building.

“You and me both.”

“And Yadiel…” Jungkook is looking at you – really looking at you. His doe-like eyes take in every detail of your face, ruffling through you as if you were a book on the shelf. He’s unguarded in this moment, every emotion playing out across his tired face. “He didn’t see you?”

How has so much happened in such a short amount of time? How long has it been since your father died? Two weeks? Sometimes it feel like two days, and other times, two years.

It’s all too much, too fast.

Perhaps that’s why you continue to step around Jungkook’s question like it’s a live explosive. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

You look away from him for fear of your lie playing across your face. Although, now that you think about it, it’s not truly a lie. Yadiel never looked at you.

He just toyed with your mind while your body was already on the verge of breaking.

“How are you doing, though?” You ask, turning the spotlight back on him. “That can’t have been easy. Seeing him again.”

Jungkook’s eyes shutter. “No, it wasn’t.”

“…but?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, and you can see that he’s been preparing for this moment all night.

“It was worth it,” he breathes the words out as if they’ve been trapped inside a crypt for centuries. Once they’re out, more tumble after them. “I meant every word I said to him. And I wish –”

“Jungkook-” you begin, instantly drowning in guilt, but the words turn to ash on your tongue. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t need an excuse. And if you were to fall in love with anyone, I suppose Taehyung would’ve been the inevitable choice, but-”

“I’m not in love with Taehyung.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustrated. “Call it what you want. Infatuation, lust, love – it all leads to the same ending!”

Your heartrate spikes once more at the hurt in Jungkook’s voice. “What are you even talking about? Same ending? As if I even have the time or energy to start something up with somebody – let alone look at someone like that!”

Rising to his feet in one smooth, swift action, Jungkook runs both hands through his hair, tugging at the roots. “That’s your problem!” He bounces on the balls of his feet, struggling to keep his voice down. “You’d rather hide behind responsibility than look at what’s right here in front of you! You run and run and never find what you’re looking for because you overlook it every time!”

You’re standing too, now. Pacing the room with clenched fists before stopping inches from Jungkook. “My problem is a little more serious than some elementary-school crush, Jungkook. People are dying, and you’re yelling at me for trying to be responsible?” The sound of your laugh scrapes against your ears, loud enough that the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs goes unnoticed.

Cold flames sprout in Jungkook’s eyes, jaw ticked as he glares down at you. “I’m not stopping you from doing your job, so quit gaslighting me.”

“Then what’s your motive, here?”

Jungkook sways, inching a little closer. You jump a little when you feel his warm hands at your back, holding you gently despite the anger in his eyes.

His eyes dip to your lips. “I’ve never had a motive,” he utters, voice low. “That’s the difference between him and I.”

You tense at his words just as he dips his head, nose bumping your own. Jungkook’s eyes remain on your lips, half-closed as he shakily inhales.

“You…” the words trail off, but Jungkook hears them loud and clear as his eyes flit up to yours with a sense of urgency.

You love me?

“It doesn’t matter,” Jungkook whispers. His eyes fall to your lips once more, and you wonder if he’s remembering that night from years before just like you are. “Because you clearly don’t.”

He hesitates, almost expecting a response. Then, Jungkook steps around you and marches toward the door. He rips it open to find a crowd waiting just outside, Jimin unabashedly waving while Yoongi has the good sense to at least try to blend in with the shadows. Down the hallway, Taehyung’s door is propped open just enough for the Italian to prop up against the doorframe with a grim expression.

You’re hit with the sudden urge to scream. Hands tightening into a fist, all you see is red as Taehyung’s eyes meet yours for a split second before they return to Jungkook’s retreating figure. Like a spider watching potential prey, Taehyung looms larger than life.

“Goodnight, Jungkook. Taehyung.”

Eyes immediately locked on yours, Taehyung furrows his brows just enough to show his dislike at being ordered around. “Something wrong, capa?”

You’re sure that there’s no way he doesn’t notice the way Jungkook stiffens at the title before he slips inside his room. “Yes. Go to bed.” Then, turning toward the staircase, “You as well.”

Jimin rolls his eyes but turns to leave. Yoongi, on the other hand, doesn’t budge. “We’d like to speak with you.”

“It’s two in the morning.”

“So you do know how to tell time,” Yoongi observes calmly.

Teeth gritting, you remind yourself that Yoongi serves you better alive and refrain from throttling him. “Are you really that incapable of passing a night alone?”

His smile itself could pass as a threat. “And here I was thinking that that was our little secret.”

The sound of Jimin choking on his own spit has even you breaking out into a grin. Striding out of your room with as much dignity as possible considering the fact that you’re still very much clad in Christmas-themed pajamas, you pause to whisper something under your breath that only Yoongi can hear.

“As soon as all of this is over, I’m killing you.”

Descending the stairs, Yoongi sighs as he trails after you. “Promises, promises.”

--

“How did it go?”

Hoseok paces the length of the study while you sit across from Yoongi. Jimin lounges in the chair next to you, eyes closed. If it weren’t for the way he’s drumming his fingers against his legs, you’d think he was asleep.

“Fine, if you feel alright manipulating Jungkook and Taehyung’s already-fraught relationship.”

“No offense Bianchi,” Jimin croons, voice sleepy, “but their so-called friendship has already gone up in flames.”

You can’t help but glare at Jimin, ignoring the way he sends a lazy wink your way. “Aren’t you supposed to be outside keeping watch?”

Jimin groans but gets up nonetheless, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Yoongi snorts, circling the rim of an empty glass on the desk. “As frustrating at this entire situation is, I feel the need to add that Jungkook did willingly volunteer to go into there and make a scene tonight. Considering his little…tiff he had the other night with Taehyung, it seemed only natural that he’d seek you out.”

The plan supposedly went perfectly. Jungkook sought you out, acting the part of the scorned lover a little too well for your taste. Yet it was just another way to make sure Taehyung was feeling nice and secure. There’s no need for him to catch onto what you already knew. Especially now, on the eve of the end of your world as you know it.

You keep your mouth shut as you recall Jungkook’s quiet confession tonight.

That was most definitely not in the plan.

“Our plan is fragile as it is,” Yoongi sighs, leaning back in his seat and running a hand over his eyes, “I can’t help but feel like we’re running behind. We needed to move yesterday; now we’re just making it up as we go.”

“Great. That’s what I’ve been doing this entire time. And nobody’s died yet. Or…” you pause, frowning. “I guess Ortega has…and my father…”

Hoseok smiles grimly, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Don’t think about it too much. You’ve done your best, and that’s all-”

“All due respect, but we don’t need your best,” Yoongi interrupts, “we need you to get the job done. No matter the cost.”

You gaze at him for a long moment, recalling your deal that was hatched earlier with Russo. A deal that might just seal Yoongi’s fate, which he happens to be blissfully ignorant of at the moment. “Right. Whatever it takes. So even if I kind of recruited some extra help from someone I know you won’t agree with…?”

If he clenches his jaw any tighter, Yoongi might split a molar. “And who might that be?”

Curse Namjoon and his absence at the moment. If only you could throw him under the bus right now, fleeing the scene before Yoongi could shoot you where you stand. Instead, he’s off getting his beauty sleep and shaking the walls with his loud, albeit impressive, snoring.

“Maybe Russo?”

Hoseok curses, but it’s lost in the clatter of Yoongi’s chair scraping along the floor before he launches into a string of violent Korean expletives, hands flying and face turning an unnatural red.

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” you shout back at Yoongi, who still hasn’t subsided in his anger, “but if you keep yelling at me I might start crying because it’s been a long day and I hurt all over and I haven’t had sex in literal years because I’m constantly surrounded by the world’s moodiest men!”

Your ribs ache and scream at you in protest as you heave a labored breath. Yoongi stops with his mouth still wide open, words cut off as he and Hoseok glance at each other in confusion. Hoseok shakes his head once, but Yoongi completely ignores him.

“…like…” Yoongi’s breathing matches your own, and he’s flushed down to his collarbones. “How many years?”

The breath you inhale to scream at him turns into a mangled chuckle as you shake your head. “I just dropped a Russo-sized bomb on you, and that’s the first thing you think to ask?”

“It’s not every day that you drop a Russo-sized bomb on us and then follow it up with an update on your sex life!” Yoongi replies, annoyed.

“And hey,” Hoseok nudges you, feigning offense, “we’re not all moody.”

It’s your turn to blush down to your collarbones. “…right. What were we talking about?” The clock on the wall reads just after three, and you can feel the late hour down to your bones.

“Russo.” Yoongi says the name like a bad omen. “What, exactly, did you two agree upon?”

You cringe away from the look in Yoongi’s eyes. “Yadiel is a mutual problem-”

“Russo will find a way to rob you of everything you’ve ever loved and call it a fair deal!” Yoongi retorts, back to his fury. “You should’ve come to me first!”

“And what? Have my head bashed in with a bottle of Woodford Reserve?!”

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, Yoongi appears too furious to form a proper response. Hoseok steps in, standing beside your chair like a bodyguard. “You and I both know that you’d never have to worry about that happening. He’d die before wasting a good bottle of whiskey.”

Yoongi’s eyes flash, sending a jolt of electric fear through you. “Don’t worry. Those bottles don’t break easily.”

“I understand that this sucks, Yoongi. But we need back-up. We simply don’t have the numbers or the brute force that Yadiel has at his disposal.”

“Do you? Do you really understand?” Yoongi has grabbed his glass and looks tempted to fill it up.

“What? Going behind someone’s back and partnering up with their sworn enemy?” You lean back in your chair, head pounding and vision blurring with exhaustion. “Yes. I do. Now are we done here?”

“Absolutely n-”

“Yes,” Hoseok interrupts, practically throwing you out of the chair. “For the sake of us all.. Go to sleep. Tomorrow is a big day.”

Yoongi doesn’t look sold on the idea, but Hoseok shoots him a sharp look that has him rolling his eyes. “Very well. But look,” he points a finger in your direction. “I trusted you to do the right thing. If I so much as feel Russo looking at me wrong tomorrow…”

“Kill me yourself, then.” You reply, exhaustion coloring your voice. Hoseok blanches, but Yoongi stares you down, weighing your words. When you don’t take them back, he nods solemnly.

“Hoseok?” The hitman glances across to Yoongi, disbelief coloring his features. “Give us two minutes.”

He looks like he might put up a fight, but you lay a hand on his arm, nodding. “Two minutes.”

Hoseok doesn’t look remotely happy about it. Lowering his voice, he leans a little closer to Yoongi. “Do you understand what I’ll do to you if you lay a single finger on her?”

“We’ve had this conversation a million times,” Yoongi says dismissively, although he struggles to meet Hoseok’s eyes. “Yes, I understand.”

“And you,” Hoseok turns, glaring down at you. You widen your eyes, hoping to appear somewhat innocent. “The second you start causing trouble, I’ll personally tie you up.”

“You promise?”

You can’t help yourself, the need to deflect the seriousness with a stupid comment is too strong. Hoseok lets out a startled laugh, and even Yoongi cracks a grin. “You really are a little frustrated, aren’t you? Sexually, I mean-”

“Out!” Both you and Yoongi yell, sending a hysterical Hoseok out the door. You can hear Jimin’s incessant questioning as soon as he opens the door, making you drop your head in your hands. Then, all is quiet, and you fight to pluck up the courage to look at Yoongi.

When you do, his eyes are already on you. And in those eyes, you see something of yourself reflected there.

All the pieces you try to hide.

Yoongi silently rises from his seat, making his way around the desk. You track his movements, eyes involuntarily scanning him for weapons. He comes around you, grabbing a hold of the chair that Jimin previously sat in

Arranging his chair so he’s facing you directly, Yoongi places his elbows atop his knees and fixes you with a stoic stare. Catching on, you move your chair until your knees are almost touching.

Your eyes fixate on the space between your knees. The air between you seems to buzz with trepidation. It’s only multiplied when Yoongi speaks, voice like a dagger in the dark.

“I trusted you.”

You don’t bother to hide your wince. “I know.”

“And I…I still believe in you.” You glance up into his face, seeing the internal battle waging there. “But you went behind my back when you ran to Russo.”

“…I understand.” Other words – excuses, really – linger on your lips, but you know better.

Yoongi’s hands slide down to his knees before he takes a steadying breath. Then, he’s reaching out to rest those hands on your knees.

His grip is firm and unwavering. And as you see the shift in his expression; the light draining from his eyes and his lips forming a hard line, you see this for what it is.

This is not a lover’s touch. That much is obvious.

“I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Understood.”

“If whatever deal you struck with him makes me…” Yoongi shakes his head, unwilling to finish that thought. His eyes fixate on where your pulse rockets in your throat before sliding up to your eyes, leaving a trail of burning tar along your skin. “I need you to understand that I will kill you, if I am implicated.”

Whatever slew of sarcastic comments were pending before now take a nosedive as Yoongi begins tracing an ‘x’ along your kneecaps. You wish you could sink through your chair, but something stops you from slinking away.

This man doesn’t own you. And as much as it hurts to put your budding friendship on the line, you understand the stakes. And surviving meant more.

“Kill me if you must,” you whisper, stopping his hands and grabbing onto one. “You’ll still answer to me, even in death.”

Yoongi watches as you bring his hand to your lips, dusting a kiss to the fingers that were just tracing lines into your skin. You don’t bother to smile when you stand, towering over him. He looks up at you, the very action sending a rush of power through your veins.

“It’d do you well to remember who brought you here, Yoongi.” You brush a hand through his hair, dropping it to trace the line of his cheekbone. “Goodnight.”

As you walk to the door, you wait for a response. He remains silent, so you pause at the door. Seconds tick by before a quiet, “goodnight,” reaches your ears.

Satisfied, you push the door open to find Hoseok and Jimin chatting in hushed whispers. They straighten at your presence, and you offer them both a strained smile.

“You alright?” Jimin ventures. You sure you look haunted, but you shrug it off.

“You should see the other guy.” Then, brushing past them, you offer them a quiet goodnight. You can feel the other questions they have lingering in the air, but you ignore them, trudging up the stairs and into your room.

And there you stay, staring at the wall.

You wish the medication Seokjin had given you made you drowsy, at least. At this rate, you’ll never fall asleep. Not when you’re sick to your stomach while thinking of Yoongi’s distrust in you.

Yoongi’s distrust, Jungkook’s confession, Taehyung’s betrayal. Do you get a medal for three consecutive disappointments?

It’s not until another hour has passed and you find yourself still in the same position with the same thoughts circling your mind that you decide to finally do something about it.

The house is nearly silent as you tiptoe out of your room and down the stairs. You take each step deliberately and slowly, afraid to wake anyone. Even though you already know that Taehyung sleeps like the dead and can hear Jungkook’s snoring from down the hall.

It feels like an eternity passes before you’ve made it down to the foyer. You fumble for the light switch, hissing in discomfort when the lamp switches on and nearly blinds you.

It’s four in the morning, leaving you only a handful of hours before you need to get up and start preparing for the long day ahead. This is probably pointless, but as you lift the nondescript vase and spy the key laying beneath it, you can’t help but let out a sigh of relief.

Your relief doesn’t last long when you hear a door creaking open. Holding your breath, you try to melt into the shadows as someone tiptoes down the hallway, coming your way. You’re unsure if you’re just trying to avoid a scolding for being up so late, or if you really don’t trust people as much as you thought.

Then again, Yoongi did just promise to kill you only a handful of hours ago.

A light bobs up and down before someone emerges from the hallway, eyes half closed. And only half-dressed, you note.

Jimin maneuvers his way toward the kitchen by light of his phone, sighing through his nose when he bumps against the wall. You can’t help but stifle a laugh at how disheveled he looks, but apparently you don’t do a good enough job.

Eyes suddenly wide, Jimin whirls, and you hiss as he shines his phone’s flashlight directly in your eyes.

“Oh,” he says, not lowering the flashlight. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” you echo. “Blind now, but still the same.”

Jimin lowers the flashlight, and you blink, trying to adjust to the dark again. “Sorry. Didn’t realize – wait, were you going to use that against me?” His flashlight alights on your hands, and you look down to realize you’re still holding the vase. Hastily replacing it and covering up Seokjin’s spare key with a pang of regret, you shrug.

“Maybe. Depended on who you are.”

“Ah.” Jimin stares at you for a moment longer, eyes still bleary but clearer now, rubbing at a bold tattoo along his torso. Then, he turns and saunters away. “Come on.”

Surprised at yourself, you follow without a single word. Jimin heads straight into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses from the cupboard and setting them on the island. You ease onto a stool, watching him silently as he grabs some milk out of the fridge.

“Milk or water?” He mutters.

“Milk.”

Nodding, he proceeds to fill both glasses before passing your glass across the counter to you. He puts the milk back in the fridge and then turns, leaning against the sink as he sips his milk, watching you while you watch him.

There’s something strange about the early morning hours, something that smooths the rough edges of people and leaves us less wary than before. As you find your gaze settling on the tattoo marking Jimin’s torso once more, you find that you don’t feel as if you’re prying by looking at him so openly. In the wee hours of the morning, soft gazes and quiet whispers are a welcome guest.

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo.” Your voice is laced with exhaustion, softening it.

Jimin nods, taking another sip of his milk. “Mhm.”

“What does it mean?”

“What were you doing down here?” Jimin shoots back, voice just as tired. It’s always an eye for an eye with him.

Quirking a smile, you shake your head. “Nevermind.” Jimin smiles, too.

You fall into a comfortable silence, eyes falling to the countertop. As your mind finally slows to a sluggish pace, you find yourself feeling oddly peaceful while Jimin remains a silent observer across the way.

It crosses your mind that you could have had many more nights like this, had you not pushed him out of your life as soon as he entered it. You make room for the pang of regret that’s meant to follow such a thought, but nothing comes. Only mild curiosity takes its place.

“Do you do this often?”

Jimin takes a moment before answering. “Occasionally. On the nights I can’t sleep.”

“And how often is that?”

“Too often.”

You nod. “I should’ve joined you earlier, then.” When he doesn’t respond, you continue. “Thanks for looking out for us last night.”

“Just doing my job.” He holds his glass to his chest, eyes glued to the countertop.

“Then, thanks for doing your job.”

The quiet hum of the refrigerator is the only response you receive, but you don’t mind. Jimin is someone with whom you’ve racked up a lot of history in a short amount of time, and you don’t quite know what to do with it. You’ve never had someone dedicate themselves to you so fully so quickly.

“You know,” he mutters, the words coming out half-whisper due to the rasp in his voice, “I always feel silly around you.”

“Silly?”

“Silly, foolish. Like I assumed so much about you when we first met, but then you surprised me again and again. I assumed a lot about us when I first started out.”

Jimin’s three conditions pop up in your head uninvited, and you recall the way you practically melted through the floor during that first meeting.

And now here you are. Sitting in the kitchen with a glass of milk, like a couple of kids.

For the first time, you decide that you like Park Jimin. He’s someone you want to be friends with. Perhaps, it’s not too late.

“I’m sorry for holding you at arm’s length,” you reply. “I honestly didn’t know what to do with you…with any of you if I’m being honest. There’s a lot that goes on in this house, and I thought I had you figured out. So I started thinking it’d be easier to keep my distance.”

Jimin chuckles wryly, but there’s no malice in his eyes. If anything, it’s relief shining back at you. “That, you did.”

“Are you still planning on leaving if I don’t fulfill all of your conditions?”

Blinking, Jimin shakes his head. “No.”

“Why not? Do you not…?”

You remember the way he looked at you at that first meeting so long ago. The way he drew you in just like a magnet. It was instant, those feelings that popped up for each other.

But everything changed, so quickly. You try and fail to pinpoint the exact moment when Jimin’s coy flirting became a façade he hid behind in order to keep up appearances.

“I’ve come to realize that there’s something more important,” Jimin says, meeting your gaze with a soft, albeit regretful, smile. “After I thought you died, I was shocked to the core. And angry.”

“I seem to recall the anger, yes,” you chuckle.

“I was mad because I was played like a fiddle,” he whispers, voice still holding some of that dark emotion. “In my head, I was still there. On the dance floor. Frozen. Like a broken record, just waiting for time to start up again.”

He’s looking at you but not seeing you. At least, not the you of right now. Instead, you can almost see yourself, dancing with Jimin the night of the gala. Opening up for a spin, opening up for a bullet.

“Time didn’t start ticking for me until the night I went to the library.”

The library. The night Jimin found Yadiel’s book, which you’re still using to search for clues. The fact that someone – someone that you don’t want to believe is Taehyung – cut out the famous, et tu, Brute? line is something you want to forget.

“What happened?” You pry, curiosity getting the best of you. Jimin’s eyes sparkle as he leans forward, abandoning his glass for his tale.

“For the first time, I was doing something…useful. I wasn’t a pawn; I wasn’t expendable. I was…essential to the plan. And I actually pulled it off. I found the book. I stopped Ortega from doing something horrible.” His smile still seems sad, but there’s a tinge of hope there, now. “I belonged.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

You recognize that sad smile, now. It’s the smile of someone who has never belonged anywhere. Who has fought to survive and remain useful, but at too heavy a cost.

“That night,” Jimin utters, “I drove home with Jungkook. And we talked, about a lot of things. He opened up to me, for the first time.” He arches a brow at you, leaving you wondering just what they talked about that night. “And it felt…nice. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always had Namjoon. But there’s always been a clear line between being colleagues and friends. Here…we’re family. All of us.”

Family.

Family is a complicated thing. In your experience, family arrives by blood no matter what. Whether it be by the blood pulsing in your veins or the blood, sweat, and tears you carve out together, family is an inevitable part of life.

“That’s what I wanted,” you muse aloud, eyes wandering the kitchen. “Back when I first started entertaining the idea of building my own empire. I think it was all some grand scheme for me to start a family of my own. The kind that will never die.”

That light in Jimin’s eyes is contagious, you conclude, as he leans forward a little more with a grin. “Your legacy begins today, Bianchi. And I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

For the first time that you can remember, your family name makes you smile. Perhaps because it’s your mother, not your father, that you’re thinking of.

No longer do you fear what you come from.

“Thank you, Jimin.” Clinking your glass of milk with his own, you let out a contented sigh. “I’m glad I harassed you in that parking garage where we first met.”

There’s a bit of milk left on his upper lip as Jimin chuckles at the memory. “And I’m glad I didn’t kill you on the spot.”

After all, he would have missed out on all the fun.

--

Sleep found you, after all. It’s a bleary memory at best, one including a seemingly endless trip up the stairs and a few more glasses of milk. Jimin spoke with you for another hour before heading off to bed, barely able to keep his eyes open.

When he left, he gave you a tight hug. You’re grateful that he pretended not to see the tears that formed when he did, unable to stop the tide of emotion and gratitude for such a good friend. Even if he did look at you a little differently than you knew you looked at him, even if he paused to place a loving kiss on the top of your head, it was obvious that Jimin was first and foremost your friend.

It felt nice, to have a friend again.

Groaning into your pillow, you chance a look at the clock only to groan once more. It’s nine in the morning; much later than you were originally supposed to wake up. Nobody had bothered to try anything, knowing full well that you’d need your strength for the day ahead.

Rolling onto your back to stare at the ceiling in dismay, you listened to the sounds of the morning. It became readily apparent as to why you woke up now. Outside your door, you could hear the flurry of activity taking place.

“Only three cars?” Jungkook is calling outside your window.

“Three!” It’s Namjoon who yells back, from inside. From the sounds of it, he’s probably in the foyer, yelling out the front door.

“But I thought there were four pairs?” Jungkook replies, still confused.

“So?” It’s Yoongi now, his voice moving with him as he ventures outside. “We believe in carpooling, Jungkook. Saving the planet, or something.”

You snort, despite yourself. The easy banter, the seemingly normal questions. It’s almost as if your little house is getting ready for a road trip rather than a heist.

A moment later a car revs, the sound of it as familiar as your own face in the mirror. Taehyung’s Lamborghini.

Someone whistles lowly. “Is it shinier than before?” Jimin asks.

Taehyung’s chuckle is barely audible, but somehow it snakes its way into your ears. “I spent some time on it last night. A little polish goes a long way.”

The sound of his voice is enough to propel you out of bed and directly into the bathroom. It’s more than enough of a reminder as to what you’re about to do today. Your skin feels clammy as you turn on the shower, waiting until the water is near scalding before jumping in.

Oddly enough, this shower reminds you of the one you took four years ago. The morning you thought you murdered Yadiel.

Gazing down at your hands, you inspect them for traces of blood that has yet to be shed. Your eyes play tricks on you. One moment, your hands are sudsy and clean, and the next, they’re drenched in blood.

Whose blood is this? You wonder, eyes going in and out of focus. Yadiel’s? Or could it be Taehyung’s?

Despite the hot water, you shiver.

Again. And again.

Until you realize that you’re not shivering, but shaking. Uncontrollably so.

It’s all you can do to shut off the water and hop out, reaching for a towel but stopping abruptly and dropping to your knees instead.

There’s not much that comes up, only then remembering that you didn’t have dinner last night. Yet despite the lack of contents to throw up, your body convulses and heaves until hot tears are forced from your eyes and an assortment of bodily fluids dribble down your chin.

“Ugh,” you groan when the worst of it has passed. You raise a shaking hand to your cheeks, wiping away the involuntary tears. “Gross.”

Then, you flush the toilet. You stand, taking your time on trembling knees. With contemplated movements, you wash your face, brush your teeth, and dress.

Only when you’ve completed these steps do you glance in the mirror. Your appearance is to be expected; what with the puffy eyes and pale face. Offering your reflection an apologetic smile, you take a deep breath.

In.

Out.

“Ok,” you whisper to yourself. “Let’s do this.”

--

It takes you much longer get ready today, but you planned for that.

By the time you emerge from your room, it’s nearly eleven. The chatter from outside hasn’t ceased, and you force yourself to listen to Taehyung and Jimin talking shop for a few minutes in order to dull your ears to the sound of betrayal before greeting Taehyung face to face.

Now, standing at the top of the staircase, you make sure to lift your chin and school your features into an expression of cool control. There will be no slip-ups today.

Today, Yadiel will see a Bianchi when he looks into your eyes. It will be your mother reflected there.

He’ll see Madame Bianchi.

The title carved into your flesh seems to sing as you descend the stairs. Only a few remain in the foyer, but it’s Seokjin who notices you first. When he does, he arches a brow even as he grins.

“Is your date with the devil all lined up, then?” He remarks, eyeing your all-black outfit.

“If all goes well, yes.” You step off of the last stair, heading straight toward the kitchen without stopping. “Has everyone eaten?”

“Getting ready for lunch now, actually,” comes Hoseok’s voice just as you step into the kitchen. “Sleep well?”

You grin wryly, and you note the way he glances at your teeth as if they sharpened overnight. “Wonderfully.”

The preparations hardly pause as you fry up a couple of eggs before slapping them on toast. Seokjin watches you from across the island while Hoseok grumbles about the milk being nearly gone. You take extra caution to save your clothing from any spills, glancing down at your cashmere sweater warily.

Who said you couldn’t wear nice clothes on a day like today?

“Painted your nails,” Hoseok remarks, nodding your way. You hold your nails in front of you, smiling. The bright red hue glints and gleams, reminding you of a certain dress you wore four years prior.

“What do you think?”

“Very pretty.”

Red nails, to stand out against your black outfit. “I thought Yadiel might appreciate them,” you muse aloud, studying your nails. It took you a good long while to perfect them, but you’re pleased with the result. “He’s always liked the color.”

Neither men respond, but you don’t mind. You’ve finished your breakfast now. All it takes is a quick wash and then you’re ready to get to work. Turning, you see Seokjin watching you expectantly.

“Everyone knows their positions?” You question. Hoseok and Yoongi should have informed the others last night of their individual roles while you were keeping Taehyung distracted with your little spat with Jungkook.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Gesturing for him to follow, you feel the power thrumming through your veins as Seokjin falls into step beside you. “Then let’s get to work.”

--

The basement is as silent as a tomb as you and Seokjin wander the halls. He does a final count of your supplies, fiddling with an antique lighter as you walk. Not a single gun is missing, much to your relief. Everything appears to be in order.

“Hoseok and Taehyung will roll out at seven,” you explain, reviewing the plan. “Hoseok will part ways to post up across from Yadiel’s home, Taehyung will scout the area.”

Seokjin nods knowingly, falling in with the half-truth. “Jimin and Jungkook will follow as backup.”

“We’ll be close behind, setting the stage.”

“Yoongi and Namjoon?” Seokjin questions, eyes trained on the end of the hallway as if waiting for Taehyung to stroll down here at any possible minute. You pass the room where Ortega was held, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling.

“We’ll meet up with them at the rendezvous point,” you reply, forcing your voice to steady itself. “You know the signal.”

Seokjin laughs drily. “It’ll be hard to miss.”

“You’ll send everyone down?”

He nods, face schooled into that of a patient arsonist. Soon, he’ll get to burn. You can almost feel the way he itches for it. Heading up the stairs, Seokjin leaves you behind, but pauses on the fourth step.

“This will work, you know.”

You blink, unable to set aside your armor that you so meticulously put on this morning. “Right. I know.”

Seokjin’s half-smile softens the craving etched into his face that he gets when it’s almost time to burn. He doesn’t offer up any other words of comfort, only nodding once before leaving you alone in the basement.

Watching him leave does something to you that you don’t like. It’s easier to shove it aside rather than examine it any further, so you do just that. Tapping your foot and humming a tune fills the silence of the basement, pushing your thoughts of Ortega far from your mind.

It doesn’t take long before your first visitor arrives.

“Did I keep you waiting?” Jimin asks, bouncing down the stairs. He’s similarly dressed as you – they all are – making him look like a dark angel as he approaches.

“Not long,” you reassure, already feeling yourself relax. Still, you maintain a safe distance from him. “C’mon, let’s get you suited up.”

And so your afternoon goes. One after the other, your mafia comes to you to be outfitted for war. Weapons are strategically placed, plans reviewed, and words of reassurance offered. Your mask is kept firmly in place for it all, although you can tell how much it bothers Jimin in particular.

Jungkook comes after Jimin, quieter than usual as you suit him up. He doesn’t say much at all while you quietly go over the plan, glancing up into his guarded face.

“Any questions?” You ask, voice tight. You know that he’s thinking of last night, of the way he longed to lean in just a little closer.

There is a question, but he doesn’t dare ask it. Not now, when so much is riding on you maintaining your composure. So instead he shakes his head and quietly wishes you good luck before trudging back up the stairs.

Hoseok is a breeze when he comes down the stairs, clipping his weapons in as if he were shopping for accessories rather than guns and knives. You take extra care with Hoseok, even giving him a parting smile before he leaves.

“Thank you, Hoseok,” you murmur, squeezing his arm. “You’ve taken on the hardest task.”

Hoseok shakes his head, returning your smile tenfold. “You forget why you hired me in the first place. I always get the job done, no matter the stakes.”

Indeed he does. Hasn’t he always been the one you trusted to follow through? Even when it came to putting his own life in danger by shooting you, he pulled off the act flawlessly.

“Consider yourself tenured,” you call after him as he heads back upstairs. His laughter is music to your ears, lifting some invisible weight from off your shoulders as he disappears.

Namjoon appears next. Stoic eyes take in the armory before he points out a few specific items he wants to carry. Matching his energy, you quietly suit him up, double checking that everything is securely placed before looking back up at him.

“You’re thinking of her,” you mumble, and his eyes flash before he gives in and nods. “I can’t promise anything, but everyone has agreed not to harm her unless she becomes a threat.”

A wry smile tugs at his lips. “She will. That’s what I worry about.” Pausing, Namjoon’s eyes soften as he regards you. “I think we understand each other on this, you and I.”

Taehyung and Victoria. Victoria and Taehyung. Two people you two deeply cared for, two heartbreaking betrayals.

“That means you’ll do what’s necessary, then,” you croak out, fighting the urge to let your calm façade crumple. Namjoon nods once more, eyes searching your face for some chink in your armor.

“I’ll follow your lead.”

You’re still thinking about his words when Yoongi arrives. Unsurprisingly, he ignores you as much as possible. You allow it, only gesturing at the dwindling armory and waiting quietly, arms crossed as you lean against the wall.

When he’s snatched a few weapons, he hastily clips them in without waiting for your assistance. Only when he’s finished do you approach, double checking that everything is in order. Tugging at his belt, you nod in approval with the gun strapped there doesn’t so much as budge.

“Russo offered the numbers that we need, in exchange for a shot at having you back.”

Yoongi stiffens, and you eye him warily. Half-expecting him to draw a gun right now, you continue quickly.

“He also plans to provide us with a steady income, although it would be at the cost of doing his bidding.”

“Why would you agree to that?” Yoongi seethes, hands fidgeting. “That’s a death sentence for us all!”

“I didn’t say I was going through with it,” you shrug.

Yoongi stares at you, trying desperately to see what you’re planning. “…what?” Then, his panic sets in once more. “If you go behind his back, they’ll know. Your life will be forfeit the second they realize you’re even thinking of planning something-”

“It’s already done.”

Stopping, Yoongi gapes before collecting himself. “What do you mean, it’s already done?”

Patting him on the back, you smile up at him in earnest. “I just need you to pull off the finishing touch.”

It doesn’t take long to explain to Yoongi what he needs to do. He understands everything perfectly, smiling wryly as he departs.

Lastly, Taehyung. Trying to not watch him too closely is like trying to hold your breath; eventually you give in. His normally wild hair is tamed now, a bit of product making him look prince-like. He picks a few generic items, strapping twin pistols across his chest.

�� “How’re you feeling?” You ask, watching as he fiddles with the various buckles and straps adorning his body.

“Good. Ready.” He meets your gaze, eyes swathed in shadows. “You?”

“Good.” You bare your teeth in a smile. “Great, actually.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

You give him a brief overview of the plan, even as you know deep down that there’s a high likelihood that he won’t follow any of it. Taehyung nods along, asking clarifying questions, keeping up the act. It’s impressive, to be honest. If it weren’t for the evidence you found and the way he looks at you as if he almost regrets it, you would never question his loyalty.

“All set?”

Taehyung breezes past you, heading for the stairs. “See you there, capa.” He begins up the stairs while you linger below, watching him. It’s almost as if he holds the loose thread to your heart, and each step only serves to unravel it even more.

When he stops, you hold your breath. Slowly, he turns, looking down at you with furrowed brows.

“If you need anything…” he trails off, unsure of how to finish his sentence. Because what can he do, truly, if you need his help?

Years of companionship, and this is where it ends. In a silent house, armed for battle. The history between the two of you will not prove enough to fill the void his lies have wrought.

Yet still, peering down into that void, you care.

“You’ll stay safe, won’t you?”

It’s a farewell, as close to a goodbye as you dare go. Taehyung’s expression shutters, but he nods all the same. “I will.”

And then, just as quickly as he entered your life, Kim Taehyung is gone.

--

“Rolling out in 3…2…” Hoseok’s voice crackles to life in your earpiece. “…1.”

The bright green Lamborghini peels out of the driveway, taking Hoseok and Taehyung with it. You stand on the porch, arms crossed. Once the car disappears from view, you press the small button on your belt, activating your microphone.

“Team two will follow in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes later on the dot, Jimin and Jungkook roll out in Jimin’s black Mercedes. Your heart pounds, the nerves starting to set in, but you wave goodbye with a smile.

“Team two, on the road,” Jimin says before switching off his mic. Namjoon snorts, pointing at a beaming Jimin before they disappear from view.

“He looks giddy,” Namjoon observes. “He spent a solid hour polishing his car after he saw the Lambo.”

Once an hour passes, Seokjin comes to you. “Everything’s packed up,” he says, clapping his hands. “You ready?”

Glancing back at Namjoon and Yoongi, you nod. “Don’t forget to lock the door on your way out,” you remind them, trying to force some normalcy into your voice.

“Stay safe,” Yoongi chides in return, demeanor significantly warmer now that you’ve involved him in your little plan.

Once you’ve piled into the SUV and ascertained that you do indeed have all the equipment you’ll need, you start the engine and head out.

“Team Fiery Firebird is on the loose,” Seokjin says, your earpiece echoing the phrase. You snort, rolling your eyes.

Sure enough, another voice pops up. “Wait, we can have actual team names?” Comes Jungkook’s whine, and if you close your eyes, you could picture his exact expression.

“No. We’re team three. Ignore Seokjin,” you say, ignoring Seokjin’s appalled expression.

“Jimin and Jungkook are Team Second String,” Hoseok’s voice is loud and clear. “How does it feel to be playing second fiddle, boys?”

You can hear the mock outrage in Jimin’s voice. “Do you shoot such big guns because you’re compensating for something, Jung?”

Seokjin cackles beside you. “Oh, that’s gonna sting,” he commentates lovingly. You grin, the easy banter calming your nerves. Glancing at your partner, you note how Seokjin’s eyes sparkle in the evening light with unkept mischief.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Hoseok responds coolly.

“How do I remove myself from the group chat,” Namjoon chimes in drily.

And so the banter continues, until one by one, the line falls silent. They sign off for the time being, opting for the cover of silence as they begin their work.

You park down the street from Yadiel’s home, in a neighbor’s driveway. The neighbor is gone for the week, off on vacation. They have a tendency to ask friends and family to check on their home every so often, in fear of returning to a ransacked shack rather than the luxurious mansion they left behind.

Today, you and Seokjin will be those friends they called up. It wasn’t too difficult to spy on the people that arrived yesterday, while you, Namjoon, and Jungkook were scouting out the area. They did very little to hide what code they were putting into the garage.

“Backpack me,” Seokjin says, giving you a mock salute as you pull into the garage. Filling the bag with various minor explosives and a bottle or two of gasoline, you meet Seokjin around the hood of the car and hand him the backpack. You watch him with varying levels of worry as he straps the bag onto his back as if it were filled with nothing more than his lunch he brought from home.

Double checking that your gun is strapped securely along your hip, you touch each individual throwing knife wrapped around your thigh. Seokjin watches, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“I didn’t know you had a thing for knives.”

“Just the throwing kind,” you murmur back, taking the entrance to the backyard and squinting into the fading sunlight. “They won’t do me much good if I get too close.” You check your watch. 8:32.

“Then let’s hope nobody gets too close.”

Traversing from back yard to back yard, you’re impressed as Seokjin remains nearly as silent as a cat while jumping fences and prowling around dog kennels. Hopefully there won’t be many left behind Yadiel’s estate that will hear your approach, but you know that no matter how well Hoseok does his job, there will still be a few left behind that will not hesitate to take you down.

Now, perched on the wall that separates Yadiel’s home from the rest, you watch for any sign of movement. A few shadows line the windows, you count six. “Down we go,” you whisper, just as your earpiece comes to life once more.

“The sun has already set.”

Hoseok’s coded message sends your heart to your throat, and you nearly land on your face because of it. Seokjin drops down beside you, scanning the area with sharp eyes before deigning to look down at you.

When Hoseok asked you what he should say when Taehyung finally gave him the slip, you came up with the setting sun. At this point, Taehyung would have heard the message just the same as the rest of you, but that won’t be a problem for long.

“Reconfiguring,” Yoongi’s voice comes next. “Done. See you on the other side.”

Wordlessly, you and Seokjin tap the buttons on your belts, tapping until you’ve arrived at the desired channel.

Wave number five. You were all equipped with earpieces that reached up to five channels – all save for Taehyung. He can’t listen to you here, giving you the cover you so desperately need.

“Everyone here?” Yoongi asks once a few moments have passed. “Team one, sound off.”

“Made it,” Hoseok responds. “Taehyung gave me the slip about five minutes ago. I’m still posted up across from Yadiel’s place.”

“Team two, present. Hoseok, we’re moving toward your position.” Jimin sounds off, although his voice is much quieter. He must be near enemy lines.

You take a deep breath, activating your microphone. “Team three, we just made it to the house. I can spot six guards within the house. Hoseok, how many do you have eyes on?”

“Not enough. Maybe…five? Team two already took care of the ones patrolling the grounds, so four there.”

Motioning for Seokjin to follow, you shrink down as much as possible and approach the back of the house. Once you pause, Seokjin gets straight to work.

“Roughly eleven left, then,” Namjoon says. “Although I would bet that there’s closer to fifteen, some out of view. Some in the basement. How long until the changing of the guard?”

You consult your watch, but Jungkook beats you to a response. “Twenty-four minutes. Team three should be off the premises in twenty.”

Seokjin contemplates this. “All we need is fifteen.”

Listening to the constant updates fed to you via Hoseok, you watch Seokjin’s back as he sets up explosive after explosive. They’re strong enough to take down the entire house, if placed in the right spots.

That’s why, when he frowns at the final explosive in his hands, you can’t help but mirror his expression.

“What?” You whisper, glancing up at the nearest window. The shadow there hasn’t moved an inch.

Seokjin makes sure his microphone is off before speaking. “We already know that Yadiel isn’t here. Neither is Taehyung.” Whether he notices your flinch at Taehyung’s name or not, he doesn’t show. “Who do you think he left in charge?”

You consider it for a moment, but it doesn’t take long before the answer appears. “Do you really think so?”

Nodding solemnly, Seokjin taps his fingers along the cold metal. “Victoria is the only other one he trusts from what we’ve seen. She’s here.”

Your heart falls as you consider what you’re about to do. You’ve already considered the guard’s lives forfeit, but Victoria?

As much as you hate it, you know you have to ask what you’re both thinking. “What makes her worth saving?”

Seokjin’s mouth forms a hard line as he thinks. To be honest, neither of you know any concrete reason for saving Victoria. Especially not when she seemingly chose Yadiel of her own free will, leaving Namjoon for a monster.

“You were …like her, once. Weren’t you?”

“It’s been fifteen minutes. How’s it coming team three?” Jungkook can’t hide the worry in his voice, no matter how hard he tries.

You’re stuck staring into Seokjin’s golden-brown eyes and seeing yourself reflected there. You did think it strange, the way Yadiel dressed Victoria up in red, just like he wanted you to be. She was a pawn.

Just like you were, when Yadiel lauded himself over you.

“And if she’s just as bad as him?” You ask, eyes pleading for an answer you can work with. “I’ve messed up too many times to make a mistake now, Seokjin.”

He nods before placing the explosive in its designated place and straightening. “I know.” His eyes soften. “I’ll follow your lead.”

Namjoon said those same words to you earlier.

What Namjoon – your friend through many dangers – would do, if Victoria were found dead amidst the rubble you’re about to reduce this house to, is what has you nodding your head.

“I thought you were supposed to be the heartless maniac,” you chide. Seokjin’s smile does little to calm your nerves as he channels the persona you just named.

“Watch and learn, Bianchi.”

--

You had no plans to break into Yadiel’s home, but you always carry a lockpick around. What kind of person would you be if you didn’t?

It’s not easy to break, but eventually the back door does creak open.

“Team three, status update.” Yoongi’s commanding tone almost has you cowering.

“Shh,” Seokjin says in response before powering off his microphone. You wait, almost expecting a snide response, but receive nothing. For once, they took him seriously.

A long hallway is what lies ahead, the sight of it hardly encouraging. “Wait for my signal,” you whisper, creeping forward before Seokjin can say anything else.

There are muffled voices up ahead, and it doesn’t take long to locate them. An open doorway reveals a large room filled with maps, photos of various criminals, and a pool table. Around it stand two men, clearly guards.

“I don’t care what he says,” the larger one is saying, “I don’t trust her.”

“Victoria has always had that look about her…” the smaller one agrees, walking around the pool table to find the best angle for his next hit. “Like she’s planning something.”

“See? Exactly the reason why she should never be trusted!”

They don’t see you lurking just outside the door.

Nor do they see the knives, careening toward them.

The big man is struck on the side of the neck, downing him in an instant. The other sees this, and begins to turn, a yell on his lips.

He turns right into the second knife.

Hitting the floor with a thud, you wait until both lie completely still before signaling Seokjin. The arsonist hurries your way, cursing under his breath when he sees what you’ve done.

“Told you I like knives,” you whisper. Tiptoeing inside, you fish out your knives with an expression of disgust before wiping them on your pants and placing them back inside their holders.

“That was…” Seokjin shakes his head, smiling widely. “Nice. Really nice.”

You’d think he was talking about a play he just saw instead of a double homicide, the way he speaks. It makes you grin right back, despite the gory scene before you.

“C’mon.”

Continuing on, you come into a large bar area a few rooms over. It’s a central location, and completely empty for the time being. Eyeing Seokjin, you wait for his approval.

His approval comes by way of him snatching a bottle of gasoline and uncorking it with his teeth. He spits out the lid on the ground before smothering the surrounding area with the liquid.

“We’ll only have a few minutes before the fire spreads and it becomes a madhouse,” he explains. “But it should give Victoria enough of a heads-up that she makes it out before the explosion.”

“Let me guess: you want me to inform the others, now?”

Seokjin smiles sweetly. “Yes, please. For me?”

Rolling your eyes, you tap on your mic. “Team one and two, are you up for a challenge?”

A second later Jimin’s voice chimes in. “It’s about time. We’re dying for some entertainment up here.”

“Glad to hear it. Hoseok, you’ll want to take out those that you have eyes on here in a couple of minutes. Team two, pick up the spares. We’re flushing them out.”

“Flushing them out?” Hoseok asks. “What do you mean?”

“Everyone, except for Victoria, you pick off. Understand?”

Quiet. And then, Jungkook’s soft voice, as if he had foreseen this. “I know what she looks like; I’ll keep an eye open for her. Do not engage?”

You glance at Seokjin, who gives you a nod. “Probably for the best.”

“How’re you flushing them out?” Hoseok asks once more. “Wait, are you ins-”

The rest of his sentence doesn’t quite reach your ears as you notice a hint of red in your peripheral. Whirling, you immediately freeze as you realize what’s happening.

Victoria, perhaps having smelled the gasoline, has come downstairs to investigate. Now she stands, frozen just like you, in a daring red jumpsuit and with an expression of utter shock on her face.

Silvery-blue eyes jumping from you to Seokjin, she opens her mouth and for a moment you can see it. She’ll scream. Everyone will be alerted to your presence. If she’s smart, she’s carrying a gun on her. She won’t be fast enough to kill you both, not if you act quickly.

Without a second thought, you step in front of Seokjin.

He makes a small noise in the back of his throat, reading your position. Directly in front of him, making yourself a human shield. Just as his hands curl around your waist, ready to swing you out of the way, Victoria makes her move.

She…laughs.

It’s a croaky, artificial laugh, but a laugh all the same.

“Crap,” Seokjin whispers in your ear. “Maybe she’s crazy after all.”

Victoria doesn’t budge, nor does she make any move to pull a gun on you. Instead, she looks around the room, taking in the gasoline-soaked carpet with a strange smile.

“He’s not here,” she finally says. Her voice is strained, revealing hints of a carefully manufactured persona that’s trying to break free.

“Team three, you have four minutes. Evacuate the premises immediately.” It’s Namjoon.

“We’re not here for him,” Seokjin says, coming to stand beside you.

Victoria takes him in, eyes dead. “Enlighten me, then.”

Something about her seems…off. Like a beautiful shell, she stands there so still that it throws you off. As if she’s used to posing.

“I would like one reason,” you say, hand falling to your hip where you gun sits. “That I shouldn’t kill you.”

Seokjin looks at you, a little in shock, but you ignore him. Answers, you need answers for this gray-area named Victoria.

Victoria doesn’t seem phased by your threat, which is in line with living with Yadiel for years. She only gazes at you mildly before shrugging her shoulders.

“I’ve been killed a thousand times before,” she murmurs, those dead eyes locking on yours. “What’s one more?”

“Team three, if you’re not out in sixty seconds, we’re coming in after you.” Jungkook. Always worrying, always looking out for you.

Jungkook is the reason you’re not in Victoria’s place right now. He always gave you an excuse to leave, a way out. He carried you home on your worst days and came to get you on the nights when Yadiel had you under a knife.

You realize then, Yadiel’s desire for Jungkook to get out of the picture. His deep-seated hatred for the boy that began even before you knew he’d met him. Without Jungkook and perhaps, without even Taehyung, your life would have led to this.

Perhaps Victoria can find her Jungkook. Maybe, it’ll be Namjoon. But first…

“We’re burning this place to the ground in twenty seconds. There are explosives that will detonate in about three minutes. My team has agreed to hold fire when it comes to you, but only you. Get out, Victoria.” You stare at her, seeing her in a way that makes her too similar to you.

Just with better calves.

“And if he returns?”

“He won’t be,” Seokjin practically growls out.

Together, you and Seokjin watch as Victoria absorbs this information, processes it with warring emotions, and makes her decision in about three seconds.

With seventeen seconds left to spare, she does something that you know you’ll always remember.

Victoria steps forward, nearing the bar. Then, she swipes a bottle of scotch.

Nodding at you, she tucks it under her arm and walks away, not even bothering to glance back at you to ensure that you uphold your promise.

“We’ll be out in ten seconds,” you whisper, turning on the microphone feature. “Victoria is on her way out as well.”

Radio silence is your only response while the others take in this new information. You watch as Seokjin takes the antique lighter from his pocket, flicking it open and watching the lone flame that appears with untapped curiosity.

“…thank you.” Namjoon’s voice is so soft you hardly pick up on it.

“Ready?” Seokjin asks you, not looking away from the flame. You step around him, mindful of the gasoline.

“Go for it.”

A crooked grin that he reserves for occasions just like this crosses his lips before Seokjin crouches down and takes a deep breath. His shoulders drop, all the tension there disappearing as he brings the lighter down to the carpet.

Fire immediately roars to life, spreading at an impossibly fast speed. Seokjin hardly moves, only taking a cursory step back before his full attention is enraptured. “Look at it,” he whispers adoringly. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

The fire alarm begins to blare.

“Lovely. Let’s move.” You tug on his arm, and he reluctantly follows. Jogging down the hallway, you look back just in time to see that the entire living room is now engulfed in flames. Seokjin is looking back, too, a bit of a dazed look in his eyes.

“Just think of it. It won’t be long now before every terrible thing that’s ever happened in this house is turned to ash.”

Practically dragging him into the yard, you match his smile. “Now that, I like.”

--

You have no choice but to leave the SUV behind when Hoseok voices his concern that Taehyung might have left trackers on all the vehicles. That leaves only the Mercedes, which Jungkook will use to meet up with Yadiel at the church in Queen’s Wharf. It’s the only thing they’ll expect.

“We’ll meet at the rendezvous point in about thirty minutes, then,” you concede. It shouldn’t take too long of a walk to get where you need to go in Queen’s Wharf. “Hoseok, Jimin; you’re all eyes on Jungkook. I want you ready for anything.”

You ran from Yadiel’s home, only catching a glimpse of Victoria, who was heading in the opposite direction. Most of Yadiel’s remaining forces have been eliminated now, thanks to the fire and teams two and three picking them off.

“Phase one, completion pending.” Yoongi says, ever the professional. “Awaiting the big boom before initiating phase two.”

“Big boom coming up in about sixty seconds,” Seokjin pants, slowing until he’s beside you. You take a sharp corner, heading straight for Queen’s Wharf. “Second boom will follow in ten minutes.”

It was Seokjin’s idea to create two waves of explosions. To deter anyone from getting near the house until it was nothing more than a smoldering ruin. The first wave would come from the east, the second from the west.

For now, your lungs are on fire as you push yourself a little harder. You want to put as much distance as you can between yourself and Yadiel’s home. Each step carries you a bit closer to Queen’s Wharf – a little closer to where it all began.

Seokjin informs you when there’s ten seconds left, and you slow to a walk. Sure enough, you hear the explosion right on time. A moment later, you see it.

Smoke rises from above the buildings, and you can even see some of the flames that must have crawled up to the top of the house with the help of the bombs. People peek out of their homes, frantic. Chatter begins, phones are whipped out, and prayers are uttered.

“See?” Seokjin says. “Boom.”

“Beautifully done,” Hoseok says. “We’re nearing the car now. Another ten minutes and we’ll be on our way.”

Jimin had left the Mercedes at a midway point, not wanting to draw suspicion. They should be only a few streets down from where you and Seokjin are watching the plume of smoke grow taller and taller.

“That gives Jungkook about ten minutes that he’ll be on his own with Yadiel,” you surmise, gut twisting. “Let’s keep moving.”

--

Queen’s Wharf lies deathly still tonight. Like a cat glaring at you from the shadows, silently seething and waiting for a chance to swipe at your bare ankles. It makes you skittish, jumping at any little sound.

You and Seokjin have not spoken for the past fifteen minutes. Perhaps that’s why, when a familiar voice whispers in your ear, you nearly trip over the curb in surprise.

“Arriving now. There are two men out front, and we suspect about four more patrolling the surrounding area. Be on your guard when approaching from whichever direction.”

It’s Jungkook. His voice is low, and you can picture him approaching the church now, clinging to the shadows like old friends. Your stomach knots and twists at the thought of him and Jimin circling the building, creating a perimeter while they wait for you to get there.

“I’m posted up right across from him. There’s an additional six men inside. No sign of Yadiel or Taehyung.” Hoseok reports.

“And Russo?”

“He’s been here. Bugged the area, too. Let me look…” Hoseok pauses. “Yep. Eyes on Russo, in the alley behind the church. Looks like he brought about ten men.”

This is actually happening.

“Jimin?”

“Slipping in through the back,” he whispers back. “I’ll take the east, Jungkook will take the west.”

That should ease your racing heart, but it does little. Not when you know what Yadiel is capable of.

Seokjin is watching you closely, but you turn away, unable to take the scrutiny. Taking a few deep breaths, you tap in once more. “Jungkook, be careful. You know as well as I do what Yadiel can do.”

“Worried about me?”

His playful albeit quiet tone sends a pang of nostalgia through you, reminding you of all the times before when he was the one fiercely protecting you. It was usually your job to poke fun at his overzealous attitude. Now, the roles have switched. He’s too far away to reach, to pull out of harm’s way. Your fingers twitch at the thought of it.

“Never.”

Yes. Always.

You’re struck with a form of heartache that you realize you finally have a name for. The desire to tell him you love him, care for him, and wish him all the joy in the world; but the knowledge that you can’t.

Because you can see by the way Jungkook looks at you, that he loves you in a very different way.

The last thing he needs is to be sent into the enemy’s den with false hope. So instead, you remain silent. Literally shutting your mouth as you stare straight ahead, eyes unseeing. Seokjin is your shadow, keeping close behind but remaining out of sight. Allowing you this moment.

It’s only when you’ve sighed for the fifth time that he speaks, startling you with his low voice so close behind you.

“Is your mic off?”

You double check hastily, then nod. Coming up beside you, Seokjin doesn’t hold your eyes for very long. Instead, he focuses on a lamp post about a block down. The light has just come on, warding off the encroaching night.

“You and Jungkook…” he trails off, frowning slightly before any emotion is wiped from his face. “Do you have feelings for him?”

Perhaps it’s because the sentiment has been hanging off your tongue for the past five minutes, but your response is immediate. “I love him.”

Seokjin blinks, and something flits across his face that you almost recognize before it’s gone. “Oh.” Then, “Good.”

“I mean-” you stutter an explanation out, “he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love him, but I can’t – I don’t – ugh this is ridiculous.” Throwing your hands up in the air, you say, “I love Jungkook and I wish I could fall in love with him, but I don’t think that’ll ever happen. I care for him. Like a best friend whose been through hell and back with him only could. Nothing more. Well, he’s attractive and stuff. But it’s Jungkook. He’s my…”

Friend isn’t the right word for it. Jungkook is more than that.

“Did you love him, once?”

The question isn’t unwelcome – you would’ve asked yourself the same thing had Seokjin not beaten you to it.

Even the motion of shaking your head feels like a betrayal, somehow. “I…wanted him. Drowned in the wanting for a long time.” It’s odd to admit it so freely, but you shake off the awkwardness and allow the next statement to fall from your lips. “But no. It was never love.”

“For you.” Not a question.

“Or for him,” you counter, glancing sidelong at Seokjin. His jaw is set and his calm eyes are still tuck on the streetlamp down the block. “Infatuation dappled with undying dedication-”

“Undying devotion, more like.” Seokjin sighs out a laugh. “That’s about as real a love as you can hope to find these days.”

“Call it love, then,” you concede. “In love with the idea of me. And I was obsessed with the idea of him, too. Nobody’s hands are clean in this.”

Silence takes its seat between the two of you, and you make a point to ignore it. It’s far easier to flood your mind with more pressing matters, rather than diving into the mess you’ve made of your life.

You’ve made it to the streetlamp Seokjin was studying earlier when he finally speaks. His tone is soft, bordering on a whisper.

“And then what?”

Smoke tickles your nose, letting you know that time is not to be wasted. Still, you don’t move. Can’t. Because you’re staring into Seokjin’s eyes and seeing nothing but your harsh reflection. Unable to escape from the reality of yourself.

Seokjin is a mirror. He offers you no escape from yourself, no distractions.

It’s appalling and mortifying. Infuriating.

“Jungkook views me as his savior. You and I both know I’m not as saintly as he would hope me to be.”

“So you were crushed under the pressure.”

“I’m trying to do the one saintly thing I can manage,” you shoot back, still angry for some reason. “By taking myself out of the picture so that he can see me for who I really am.”

You’ve made it to the streetlamp. It only registers when you realize that you’ve stopped walking, matching Seokjin.

“Who are you?”

The question Seokjin poses as he takes a step closer gives you pause. You practically bare your teeth like a wild animal that’s being cornered. “Don’t you know by now?”

Because it’s been Seokjin who’s seen you fall apart time and time again. Seokjin, who caught you at the gala. Seokjin, holding you as you mourned your unworthy father. Seokjin, mending your ribs. Rejecting your request for a kiss, drunk on your own tears. Confessing your twisted feelings for Jungkook.

Seokjin Seokjin Seokjin.

He closes his eyes for a brief moment before they open once more, carefully composed. “Not nearly enough to satisfy my curiosity.”

He’s walking now, down the sidewalk away from the light. Pace picking up, already running from what you know is lurking just behind those hazelnut eyes. Because he’s just like you, sometimes.

Sometimes, he’s a coward, too.

You don’t budge from the streetlamp as you watch his retreating figure. The words are building up in your chest, until finally, they explode.

“I found the spare key last night.”

He freezes, so completely that you’re tempted to check your watch to see if time really has stopped.

“Looking for another distraction,” he replies dismissively.

You shake your head even though he’s still turned away. “Looking for you.”

He still doesn’t move, so you do. Slow, measured steps, as if he might startle easily. You note the way his shoulders stiffen as you approach. Preparing for the worst.

Dreading the best.

“I wanted to go find you, but-”

“Wanted? Like how you wanted Jungkook?” He questions as he spins about. It’s difficult to hold the weight of his gaze, but you straighten under it. “I don’t deal in wants and whims.”

“What, then?” You spit out, taking another step forward and feeling the way goosebumps rise on your skin when Seokjin doesn’t step back. “Don’t lie to me and say that you’re waiting for true love to knock on your door. We both know that’s not how you operate.

Nostrils flaring, Seokjin opens his mouth to no doubt bite out a response but stops. You’re panting, hardly able to see straight as your gaze keeps returning to those fiery eyes, wishing that they’d just consume you whole.

“I deal in absolute,” Seokjin grits out, taking your hand in his and placing it upon his chest. “So until you’ve figured out your wants in life, I belong only to myself, sweetheart.”

His heartbeat is a rapid thud beneath your fingertips, a testament to the fire swirling around you. “There are no absolutes,” you breathe out, chancing one last step. “Not tonight.”

“I don’t-”

“Seokjin.”

There’s a spark of light to the east, followed by the sounds of an explosion. The second wave. Neither of you so much as move an inch.

“Seokjin.” You whisper in time with the mantra in your head.

His brows furrow ever so slightly, some unseen war waging behind his eyes.

“But I…” he shakes his head, clearing an unwanted thought. “Because I…”

You’re unsure who moves first.

One moment, you’re pinned in place by his gaze, and the next, you’re nearly crumpling from the sensation of Seokjin’s lips against yours.

As if sensing your thoughts, his arms wrap around your waist to keep you upright even as he guides you back against a wall. Your breath comes in short spurts as you find the nape of his neck, hands diving into his hair while he kisses you with a dizzying combination of heartbreaking gentleness and frenzy-inducing desire.

You can’t get close enough, can’t process enough. Not as his lips press against yours in a sudden surge of desperation. His hands move to cradle your face, pulling back once but returning before you even have a chance to open his eyes and question his absence.

When he returns, his kiss is slow. His lips carry a thousand words, all of them sounding like your name. Seokjin drinks you in as if you were honey, taking his time even while your knees shake. This is the kiss you asked for the night he held you in his arms, this is the distraction to end all distractions.

This is it.

You squeeze your eyes tighter against the onslaught of emotions, gasping for air. Seokjin pulls back, breathing heavily while his hands leave your skin.

When you open your eyes, the world is on fire.

Haloed in oranges and red as a plume of smoke rises into the night sky, Seokjin regards you with eyes that have nothing left to hide. What you see is a man completely ruined by you, lips swollen and eyes soft. Your mind reels even as your heart struggles to remain in your chest. It’s as if he’s reached in and taken it out himself, and you wonder if he realizes that he holds it in his hands right now.

“It’s ok,” he whispers. “You scare me, too.”

A laugh escapes your lips, making him smile. “Holy sh-”

“Team one, what’s your ETA?”

Both of you jump at the sound of Yoongi’s voice. You wonder if they can hear your heart pounding as you respond.

“About…two blocks away. How’s it going?”

“Yadiel just walked inside.”

--

The Queen’s Wharf church is a behemoth that looms above the surrounding buildings. The very sight of it is enough to quiet the elation in your veins, replacing it with icy fear.

Russo is apparently with Namjoon, who is chatting with him in the alleyway. If all is going according to plan, Yoongi should be skulking in the shadows, holding a very important document right now.

One that might just change everything.

“I’ve got eyes on team one,” Hoseok informs the group.

“Any sign of Taehyung?” You ask, keeping your back to the wall as a couple of Yadiel’s lackey’s keep a wary eye out for any newcomers.

“Nada.”

“What about a blindspot?”

“Northeast corner. Heading back toward Russo.”

“Bingo.”

Seokjin brings up the rear as you slink around a neighboring building. Moonlight dances along the smooth doors of the church, outlining two figures that stand as sentinels. “Anybody else outside?”

“No. Just the two up front.”

“There’s only one entrance,” Namjoon chimes in. “Not much for them to guard.”

“What are my chances of being discovered if I take them out right now?”

There’s a slight hesitation, then Hoseok speaks. “I’d leave them alone for a minute. Yadiel might be using them as bait to alert him to unwanted company.”

You sigh. “I hate it when you’re right.”

Skirting around them doesn’t prove very difficult; it’s scaling the northeast wall. It’s been a few years since this church has been serviced, that much is apparent in the way the rusty ladder creaks and shifts with each step. You freeze up a couple of times, certain that someone must have heard you and will surely come to investigate, but nobody ever does.

Seokjin is waiting on the ground below, acting as your safety net should the old ladder give in. Now, he looks like an ant as you near the top.

“Almost made it.”

“I can see you,” Hoseok affirms. “Just try not to fall off, that’d be-”

His words fade from coherency as you clamber to your feet atop the roof and realize that you’re not alone.

Sitting in a patch of shadows behind a spire, Yadiel looks like a demon freshly summoned from hell as he smiles serenely at you.

“Glad you could make it.”

Hoseok curses in your earpiece when Yadiel’s figure comes into his line of sight.

“I thought you might come up here. This is, after all, a very sentimental place for you.” Yadiel takes a few steps forward before crouching down to what you recognize is the cleaner’s entrance. “Isn’t this the last place you saw your mother? Nevermind the fact that she was dead.”

“How did you-”

“I’ve always kept an eye on the things I value most.”

He heaves open the entrance in one smooth movement, grinning at the spot of light that peaks through. Crooking a finger, he gestures for you to come closer. You don’t budge. You’re paralyzed.

“Suit yourself,” he hums, straightening. He brushes his hands off on his pants before turning away. “Thought you might like to see the show.”

“Where’s he going?” Hoseok asks.

“Who?” Seokjin’s breathing is coming up short, and you can hear the ladder creaking as he makes his way up.

“No, Seokjin. Stay down there. Yadiel, he…” you shake your head but your throat seems to be constricting. “He’s on his way down.”

You can hear Jungkook’s voice drifting up and out of the church, and temptation nearly overcomes you. But it’s a trap, you know it. Yadiel wants you in there, where you’re too far away to do anything that really matters.

Scrambling to the side of the roof where Yadiel just disappeared, you curse when he’s nowhere in sight.

“Coming down,” you say. “We need to act quickly, I think. Something’s not right. Yadiel…he knew that I’d be up here.”

“Ready when you are,” Namjoon says, voice tight.

“The sooner the better,” Yoongi adds. “Russo’s getting restless.”

“I see him,” Hoseok suddenly says. “I see Yadiel.”

You pause on the ladder, nearly to the ground now. “Where is he?”

The sound of the doors opening is answer enough.

--

You’re standing outside the entrance when Russo approaches with Namjoon beside him. His ten muscly friends are close behind, looking ready for a fight. Good. They’re sure in for one. Seokjin is a few steps behind, offering you a grim smile. Yoongi is nowhere to be seen.

“Madame Bianchi.” Russo greets you with an incline of his head. You don’t bother with the niceties.

“You know what to do. Kill him, and you can have Yoongi.”

Russo faulters, baring his teeth in what he must call a smile. “I’ve been thinking…is the Min boy really worth all of this?”

Your heart stutters to a stop. “…what?”

“The Father likes to…collect things. People, if you will.” Russo’s eyes sparkle. “He thinks you would all prove to be a very valuable addition to his collection.”

You can feel Namjoon’s eyes on you, but you refuse to look. This can’t be happening. Not now. “You want all of us?”

Russo glances back at his men, shrugging. “Yes, I believe those were his instructions.”

No, no, no. Russo was supposed to take down Yadiel – possibly even die in the process. This was supposed to look like two groups, the Genovese family and Yadiel’s men, all going against each other.

They were supposed to tear the world apart. Burn the forest.

You were supposed to be the new life, sprouting from the ashes that they left behind.

“You know,” Russo whispers. “I’m smarter than I look. Do we have a deal? I take care of your little problem and you come on home with me?”

Seokjin’s voice breaks through before you can even form a coherent thought. “No!”

Russo doesn’t even bother to look at him. He merely shrugs. “Your loss.” As if on cue, all ten of his men pull their guns. “The Kim’s offered more money, anyway.”

The doors to the church are ripped open and just like that, your entire world is flipped upside down. Because Russo and Yadiel didn’t end up slaughtering each other tonight.

They joined forces.

The world turns blurry as your pushed inside. Seokjin and Namjoon are close behind, and Jimin and Jungkook are shoved in a few seconds later.

You feel oddly empty as you’re roughly pushed down the aisle, like some unwanted bride. There’s a ringing in your ears that makes it hard to hear the harsh tones coming from all around you, but you don’t mind.

“…at me.”

Blinking, you will the ringing to come back, to block out the familiar voice. But it doesn’t return, betraying you, too. Just like Russo. Just like Taehyung.

Just like your father.

“Have you gone deaf?” It’s Yadiel, standing directly in front of you. “Look at him.”

Him? Who else is there? Why does Yadiel, for once, want your focus somewhere other than himself? You’re about to ask him this when your eyes snag on something heartbreakingly familiar.

Taehyung.

He sits atop a dais, not a scratch on his pretty face. Just…looking at you. Smiling. As if this might turn out to be some elaborate joke. Like he’ll ask you if you really believed he could betray you like that. When he finally opens his mouth to speak, his voice is light. Carefree.

“I want you to look at me when I hurt you.”

Odd, you didn’t notice the way he carried himself before. He rises from his chair as if it were a throne and you, his favorite subject. The way he moves makes you feel small. Like the same child he met all those years ago in Italy, when you gave him and false name and he gave you a false friendship.

“Taehyung?” You ask, because this can’t really be him.

The man wearing Taehyung’s face smiles angelically. “I’ve always loved how you say my name. She’s so sweet, isn’t she?” He’s looking over your shoulder now, toward Jungkook. Then, holding Jungkook’s gaze, Taehyung flicks open a knife.

His attention returns to you and he steps closer, but something has him pausing.

“Jungkook!” Jimin yells, but Jungkook is already moving. He’s nothing more than a streak of light, jumping in front of you, screaming at Taehyung.

“We trusted you!” Jungkook screams. He strides toward the traitor, spit flying as he screeches. “You were my friend! I trusted you to keep her safe!”

Someone else is moving past you, trying to get to Jungkook. Jimin or Seokjin, maybe Namjoon – you can’t focus enough to tell. Because you’re watching in horror as Taehyung glances at Yadiel and gives him a composed nod.

“You liar! You filthy-”

A gunshot rings through the church, and all goes silent.

--

Jungkook’s body hits the floor with a sickening thud.

He does not get up.

And all you can do is stare. Stare and stare, that ringing back in your ears. Because that’s blood soaking the floor beneath Jungkook’s body. And he’s not getting up.

“No!” You scream the word at him, at Taehyung, at yourself. “No!” The word is a feral animal, clawing its way up your throat and careening into the, shattering everything in its wake. You lunge forward, barely managing a step before two arms entrap you in their iron-like grip. Thrashing and screaming, you try to wound whoever has trapped you with your elbows or your feet, but each blow does little to loosen the grip around you.

“Look at me, little one.” Yadiel’s voice is too soft, it grates against your skin. “Struggle all you wish, but if you attempt to harm any of us, you will have to choose which one of your comrades falls next.”

Struggling ceaselessly, you find it hard to see past the tears cascading down your cheeks. Taehyung, walking toward you with an awfully blank expression, reaches you and pauses just out of reach. He regards you as he would a wild animal, waiting for you to fall slack so he may come a little closer

“Arms,” Yadiel mumbles, and two men immediately flank you. Your arms are held out to the sides, in a position you know that could have them easily snapped. Sensing the danger as your body screams at you, your body stills.

You’ll never be able to kill Taehyung if your arms are broken.

It’s the only clear thought among many incoherent ones. You chant it to yourself over and over again, kill Taehyung, kill Taehyung.

“You,” Taehyung whispers, and it’s the tinge of adoration in his voice that makes you shy away even as he extends a hand out to you, “almost made me regret this.”

His hands are steady and warm as he wipes the tears from your eyes. He looks at you lovingly as he pushes your hair back, smiling softly even as he watches your tears begin anew. They’re for Jungkook, who remains still and lifeless on the floor; for Taehyung who you lost before you ever had him.

“So beautiful,” he says, and the way he looks at you makes you feel as if he can’t see the man at your back. The men holding your arms, prepared to shatter your bones if you make one wrong move. They might be Russo’s men or Yadiel’s, but it doesn’t matter. They’re prepared to maim you at whatever cost. “You’ve grown to be so beautiful, tesoro. And strong.” Then he gives Yadiel a wry smile over your shoulder. “I’ll miss you more than I care to admit.”

“Why?”

You can barely manage to speak above a wheeze, ribs aching as you fight to remain upright in Yadiel’s cage. Yet, Taehyung understands the question easily enough.

He does, because he’s been your – your friend, your lover, your roommate – your most loyal companion for years. Of course he’ll understand what you’re asking in your darkest moment. He’s led you down this path while you unwittingly followed, dragging six others behind you like a fool.

Moving forward with that ineffable grace you once adored, Taehyung takes you by surprise when he takes your hands from the men at your side and holds them tightly, bringing his lips up to your forehead in a slow, painstaking kiss.

When he pulls away, hands still intertwined with your own, he looks almost pained. As if he’d prefer that this was all forgotten; and he’d wake up tomorrow in your old apartment, grumpy and harmless.

In the blink of an eye, he returns to the ruthless man he’s kept hidden from you all this time. Eyes darkening and lips flattening, he speaks.

“Not that I loved Caesar less,” he whispers fervently, as if you’re the god he’s been praying to all this time, “but that I loved Rome more.”

You’re gasping for air that just won’t come. Gasping, clawing to no avail. The others are in similar situations, outnumbered and in shock.

“What a ragtag group you were,” Yadiel chuckles in your ear as Taehyung retreats to the dais. He steps over Jungkook as if he were nothing more than a discarded rag. “Look at you now.”

But you pay him no heed, tapping your belt before your arms can be withheld again. Hoping against hope, you utter two syllables that might prove to be your last hope.

“Hoseok.”

Taehyung’s eyes flash and he dives just as the stained glass shatters. Bullets fly through the air, and men drop to the ground.

All hell breaks loose.

And you’re standing in the middle of it.

“Get down!” Someone yells at you before you’re forcefully tugged to the floor. It’s Seokjin, but you hardly register his face before your attention flies elsewhere.

“Jungkook,” you croak, already reaching for his body. Jimin has beaten you there, and he drags Jungkook’s bloody body behind a pew, grimacing.

Namjoon is posted up behind the same pew, opening fire on anyone and anything. Seokjin soon joins him, shielding you with his body even as you sit gaping at the trail of blood on the floor that belongs to Jungkook.

It’s too much. Too much blood lost.

The door flies open and a bloodied Yoongi staggers in, already firing. “Yadiel! He’s getting away!”

This cuts through the gunfire like a torpedo, sending you staggering to your feet as you spy Yadiel careening through a broken window. Someone – Yoongi? Seokjin? – screams your name as you take off after him. You pay them no mind, replaying the way Yadiel shot Jungkook without a second thought so easily. Like he was nothing more than a prop.

The glass bites into the palms of your hands as you crawl out the window, cutting through your bandaged hands like butter. The pain is hardly noticeable, especially when you see Yadiel climbing the rusty service ladder up to the roof.

You fly after him, unsure if you’re screaming in your head or out loud. Yadiel has the good sense to look afraid as he glances back at you, quickening his pace.

He makes it to the roof mere seconds before you, but when you climb up, he’s waiting. Ready.

His body slams into yours at a breakneck speed, but you duck just enough to brace yourself and avoid toppling over the edge. Yadiel’s knees make a strange noise as you do, and he groans angrily before righting himself.

But you’re two steps ahead of him. Anger sharpens your senses, but fury unleashes them.

Kicking out, you watch as Yadiel’s legs go out from under him and his back hits the roof with a loud thunk. He holds his gun up, aiming it at you with decades of experience, and you laugh.

Laugh as you pull out a knife and throw it in the next heartbeat, nailing the muscles in his forearm. Yadiel howls as you repeat the movement on the other side, effectively disabling his grip and then some.

“Who is he?” You yell, the sounds of gunshots from below punctuating every word. “Tell me who he is!”

Yadiel, despite the beads of sweat forming from the pain, smiles at you. “You’ll have to be a little more specific than that, Bianchi.”

Another knife, another slash. This time, down his side. Blood immediately seeps out of him, dribbling onto the roof. Tonight, the rain gutters will flow with blood. That much you can promise yourself.

“Who.” A flick of your wrist and another blade goes flying. “Is.” Swish. “Kim.” Swish. “Taehyung.”

Yadiel’s laugh sounds more like a gasp, and you realize that he’s choking. On his own blood.

Too soon. None of your knives have pierced anything vital just yet – Yadiel should still have hours to go until death claims him. Unless, of course, he kept a cyanide pill handy.

The sight of him is almost enough to have you turning away, but you refuse. Not yet. You’ll stay here until the very end, until he’s long dead.

You’ll never make that mistake again.

Yadiel tries to speak but the words get caught. You lean down, straining to hear the words.

“My…king..”

He takes one last heaving breath before his eyes go blank. His chest stops moving.

Yadiel is dead.

You think you are, too.

--

You remain on the rooftop for a long, long time. Long enough that the sky goes from black to bruised purple – long enough that you can no longer feel your arms or legs.

Hoseok must have had eyes on you, that would explain why none of the others came looking. That, or they’re all dead, too.

You’re in the middle of entertaining this idea when a voice calls up to you, worn and thin.

“You’ll want to see this!”

Numbly, you crawl to the edge of the roof. Past Yadiel’s unseeing eyes, to where Yoongi stands on the ground below, looking skyward.

“Is he dead?” You ask in response. “Are they all dead?”

Yoongi shakes his head, and even from here, you can see the way the action pains him. “Come down.”

Descending the ladder takes eons, especially when your entire body feels numb. You brain can hardly communicate what you need to do next, but eventually, you stumble your way down to Yoongi. You look at him expectantly, sure that you look like a ghost.

“Tell me.”

And so, Yoongi tells you. He tells you of Russo finding him and nearly killing him before Yoongi slipped away, which explains why he looked so beat up by the time he made his appearance in the church. He tells you about Jungkook, bleeding out but maintaining a weak pulse that Jimin kept a close eye on until the wee hours of the morning, when the last of the enemy had fallen.

He tells you about Hoseok, raining hellfire from above. Of Namjoon, who is nursing a broken nose, a couple of bullet wounds in his legs and arms. Of Seokjin, performing CPR on Jungkook when Jimin cried out frantically.

“He’s…touch and go,” Yoongi admits. “But alive.” He glances sidelong at you, reading your dark expression. “And Yadiel?”

Your mouth is dry when you speak. “Dead.” The church is in ruins, the door hanging off the frame like a gaping maw. “Taehyung?”

“That’s what I wanted to show you.” Heading inside, Yoongi limps past the broken glass that litters the floor. Jimin sits on the front pew, head down as if he were sleeping. He jolts awake when he hears Yoongi approaching, eyes wild until he realizes who it is.

“Where are the others?” You croak, still hesitating in the doorway.

“Home. Monitoring Jungkook. Getting patched up.”

It becomes clear to you that Jimin and Yoongi remained behind in order to clear the bodies. Yoongi gestures for you to come, and you step inside. Glass crunches underfoot, but it doesn’t bother you.

Jimin’s haunted face matches your own as you slowly approach. He nods his head in greeting, but doesn’t open his mouth to speak. Instead, he turns his attention to Yoongi, who waits for you on the steps to the dais.

“What is it?” You ask. He nods to the seat that Taehyung occupied last night. The one he used as his very own throne.

Just like Yadiel said. My king.

Because it was never Yadiel behind all of this. No, he was just another pawn. One set in place years before you came into the picture. A scapegoat.

“Taehyung disappeared.” Yoongi winces, hating the words as much as you do. “But he left this behind.”

Stepping up to the dais, you see a small, rectangular card. A business card, from the looks of it. Its glossy cover bearing a coat of arms is embossed in deep gold.

It screams wealth.

“Read it,” Jimin says, voice scratchy.

Touching this thing sounds about as appealing at the plague, but you obey. You don’t have it in you to fight anymore. Picking up the card, you take a closer look at it.

“It’s the Kim family crest,” Yoongi whispers when you don’t say anything for a long moment. Of course, you’d recognize this crest anywhere. It’s the symbol of the powerful Sicilian mafia – the father of all mafia. Their founding goes back hundreds of years, making prominent families such as the Genovese family look like children in all their squabbling.

“Flip it over.” Yoongi whispers the words, but they sound like screams in the empty church.

The crest seems to pop out at you as you flip the card onto its back, breath catching. Scribbled in handwriting almost as familiar as your own, lies two words.

Taehyung’s parting gift.

Got you.

a/n: did you really think we were finished? I’ll be letting you guys in on a very special secret in one week! pls don’t kill me for lying to you all

also the tag lists will be reblogged in the morning thanks!

#bts mafia au #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts scenarios #mafia!bts #ot7 bts #htss

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