~To Chapter One ~~To Chapter Two Genres: Mafia (that's a genre, right?), Romance, Action Warnings: Rated... let's say 15+ for violence, adult themes, and language... and then 42+ for adult scenes. No worries, young internet dwellers; I will provide a trigger warning for any explicit scenes. Okay so you may have forgotten this story exists but here we are. Sorry for the long delay. Expect more frequent updates now that I've officially finished moving. Now, here goes chapter three. Please enjoy the new characters introduced!
“So,” you crossed your legs and pressed your palms into your bedspread. “What now?” He didn’t reply. He never did, and you were certain you had asked exactly twelve times at that point. You frowned and shifted to your feet, padding across the room to your record player. You knew Wang’s eyes were following you, but the annoyance that filled you because of that had dissipated after a few hours. You had grown accustomed to his sharp gaze trailing you to and fro, because it was his job to keep you safe. And as much as it pissed you off, you really weren’t in the mood for another Min in disguise to attempt to assassinate you anytime soon, so you tolerated his presence. The most he ever talked was only the first day you knew him. He seemed to socially distance himself. Day in, day out, he’d stand like a barricade until it was time for him to excuse himself to the bedroom next to yours for the few hours he slept. The officer didn’t actually speak to you unless it was regarding whether or not you’ve eaten. He didn’t answer you a lot of the time, so you were left pestering him until he spat a sly remark and you’d angrily avoid him in another corner of the spacious bedroom. Which didn’t do much justice on either end, by the way. It was horribly boring being under constant house arrest, and it had only been four days. You weren’t even sure how long your father was planning to keep it up; maybe you’d eventually forget what the outside world looked like and would finally develop a split personality disorder. Perhaps whoever that person may have been would have entertained you far more than the man guarding your bed room door. You really did feel like you were going bonkers, though. You flipped through some records and decided on some classic rock, carefully sliding the aged disc into place and adjusting the volume. A chorus of sweet, succulent electric chords ripped through the air, and you swiveled on your feet, side-glancing Jackson, then crossing over to your library with a gentle, rhythmic sway of your hips. You hummed quietly in tune, fingering the spines of the books you’ve read cover to cover time and time again. “Hmm...Hmmmhmmm...” You briefly wondered if Jackson was a fan of rock—or any music, at all. “Hey Wang,” You tossed over your shoulder before turning back to the collection of old and new texts. He didn’t answer, but you knew he heard you. You shrugged inwardly, quirking a lip before pulling a hard cover by its spine. “You like music?” No response, the vocals of the record growing mute too. The buzz of the electric and the hum of the bass died down as the song hit a break, and your fingers clenched around the nameless novel. “You like... anything?” Nothing. He was listening to you and you knew it. You bit the inside of your cheek, heaving a heavy sigh. Something overtook you, and you half-pondered if the final straw had been struck. There were hot tears boiling in your eyes, and they were so close to falling, and you had no idea why. “Do you even have feelings?” Your voice cracked, and before he would have even had the chance to reply—the bastard wouldn’t have either way—you whipped around and let the book soar from your palm, colliding with the wall next to his face. There was a crash, and your record player had finished the track, timely scratching and growing quiet as your cheeks grew wet. Huh. He didn’t even flinch. No emotion, just a stone-like gaze, and maybe a tightened lip, but you stomped on up to him and rose a fist. Easily, he caught your balled hand, and then the other as you tried again. You cried out, vision blurry. The record player kept skipping a place on the poorly spinning platter, and you fought his immense strength with your trivial power, barely beating against his chest for nearly ten seconds before he actually made any real move to still you entirely. He brought your fists to the center of your back, his torso meeting yours, and Jackson urged you to back-peddle until you had collapsed onto your bed. He caught himself above you, feet still planted sturdy on the ground, though body bending over so he could hold you still, you who kicked at him and struggled and cried like a maniac. “Why... I didn’t fucking ask for this! I didn’t fucking deserve this!” His features were dry though his eyes were hard, peering down to you with an intensity he had not ever before displayed. But you didn’t notice. “I didn’t ask to have this life! I never wanted this! Now I’m stuck with you for fuck knows how long, someone who doesn’t even know how to be a goddamn human!” You tried butting his head with your own, but he moved out of the way, somehow still managing to hold you in place. Whether it was because he was actually that capable of controlling you, or you had just grown weak and weary, you weren’t sure, but you didn’t give a shit either. “You could so easily be free and alive but you waste your time trying to push away emotions I wish I had the privilege to express. Why? Does that make you tougher? Does it fucking make you a better man?” Words were pouring from your lips and you didn’t even care if they truly made sense or not. It seemed so out of character for you, so strange, like it was a complete different being throwing a temper tantrum in your own body. Your tears were soaked into the bedspread, your hair whipping around as you gave a few final thrashes in attempt to free yourself, to no avail. Jackson wordlessly watched you as you calmed down, pants leaving your lips and fanning against his cheeks. Then you were staring into his eyes, his inhuman eyes you know have seen a lot, and he was staring into yours, those that were younger and could only imagine what lay further outside the mansion than the city slowly turning into a foggy memory. The record player stopped long ago, and your breathing settled, even if your heart was still frantic with adrenaline. His face was so goddamn handsome, his features somewhat soft and sharp all at the same time, though with no genuine feeling expressed with them. It took a few moments for you to realize his grip around your hands had loosened. At first, you tested it out, to see if he’d react and immediately hold you down again if you made any sudden movements. But he seemed to have believed your outburst had extinguished, as when you pulled a hand freely to your chest, he made no move to restrain you. You gulped, and, instead of shoving him away, like you knew you wanted to, you were too distraught to do anything consciously sane, so you brought the underside of your palm to his stomach, and he flinched. You ran your hand up the expanse of his muscular torso, dipping with his collarbone, and then trailing even further until you were cupping his cheek, a look of wonder curiously morphing your features. No reaction, none other than that initial twitch. He lips were still a straight, tight line. His eyes were still calculating and boringly sharp. His Adams apple didn’t bob with any sort of struggling thought. Your fingers lightly tapped against his cheekbone, some soft, inaudible melody. “You’re not a real human.” A final tear released itself, rolling shamefully down and nestling into the curve of your jawline. What did you want? What did you want to gain from this? Why were you so torn? Jackson gently pried your hand from his face, and you let him grasp it beside your head. He must have had something to say. He should have. But no. He didn’t even look like he wanted to speak his mind, if there really was anything on it at all. He silently pulled away from you, standing out of your line of vision so you could only burn holes into the ceiling now. He walked back across the room. He picked up the book you had thrown. He replaced it. He returned to the door. He resumed position as he had before the ordeal. His eyes were no longer focused on you. ~~~ Somewhere else in the district... “...We can only assume she was killed, sir. May I ask what your next move will be?” “You may ask. But it won’t do you any good. I don’t really care to answer.” A deep voice, sounding lax despite the context of his words. The one who answered drummed his fingertips against the railing overlooking the mansion grounds, dismissing the sideman with a single nod towards the balcony doors. He was left alone, then, the mid-afternoon sun being obscured by clouds. After a few minutes, he turned on his heel, his finely fashioned suit becoming uncomfortable in the humid air. He planned on napping for the rest of the day, his previous evening being long endured, but before he entered his sleeping quarters, he paused. Suddenly changing his mind, the young man turned down another hall. The maids bowed to him as he passed, the Family Members giving him some small acknowledgment before carrying on. The young man then stopped before a massive door. Massive, and all too familiar. His face held no expression, nothing more than lazy eyes boring straight into the carved, wooden frame. He opened the door and entered quietly, closing it behind him before stepping to the center of the room. A series of beeps filled his ears, the sight before him little to no surprise, and he moved silently to the bedside, the room that was once the chamber belonging to the dying man no more than a future tomb now. His father’s lungs sounded externally, the tubes connected to a wearily contracting mechanism that had a slight whistle with every inhale. The young man peered at the monitor that displayed drowsy numerals, faintly recalling the time spent in his father’s bedroom before the mob boss was on his death bed. And the old man himself already looked the part; his eyes were open just a fraction, but he was not even remotely conscious. He had not been for a long time. His body was wiry and loose with skin that sluggishly clung to brittle bones, hair equally silver and white and thinning to the point it would fall out with so much as a simple adjustment of the pillow beneath his head. The young man looked over his father, half tempted to grasp his palm and urge a recovery that was incredibly unlikely. He no longer felt desperate. Or sad, rather. It wasn’t so much the idea of the passing of his father that made him anxious, but the aftermath it would bring, the responsibility he’d be laced with so suddenly. He was unprepared. Or at least, he was at first. Now, he gazed down at his father with nothing in his eyes, because he had already figured it all out. He loved his father. But nothing would stop his coming death. And the young man knew what was to be done after. He left the room wordlessly, but he could hear the monitors give one long last beep all the way down the hall. “I will take back what was stolen, Father.” ~~~ Jackson sighed after he excused himself outside the room. Night fell and he left without a word, the girl having curled beneath her covers and remaining still the past few hours. He didn’t relax until he knew she couldn’t see him, but with her back facing him, he wasn’t sure she was even paying attention. The event occurring earlier that day was probably one of the least expected things he could have imagined, even more unexpected than if the mansion was ambushed by Mins. Jackson didn’t know how to react. She saw right through him; the way he pushed aside emotions and prioritized his job, though he’d never actually believed it would make him any less a human. And that idea would have never bothered him, but with the way she said it... The blonde closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, startled when Junior’s voice sounded nearly just feet away. “You seem troubled.” Jackson looked down the hall, noting they were the only two in the corridor, and then crossed his arms over his chest. “You seem too quiet to be just a right hand man.” Junior’s lip twitched, and he stood beside the bodyguard. The two were silent for a few moments before he spoke up. “I know you’re hiding yourself from her. Every time you leave the room, you become a different person.” The blonde cocked his head slightly in question, peering at the other man. Junior only strugged. “I do it too. It’s safe not to get too close to anyone in this Family. You never know what could happen.” Jackson released a soft chuckle, one hand smoothing out his black shirt. “I’m used to keeping my distance. It helps in my line of work.” “My line as well. You’re not the only one looking after her.” “You seem to care about her more than you let on.” The mobman didn’t say anything in return right away, but Jackson saw the small nod. “Maybe I do. It’d be a mess if she knew about that though. She doesn’t need to be attached to anyone who has a high chance of getting their head blown off on a daily basis.” Jackson nodded, agreeing. The girl had unique interests—and it could have been because she was holed up every day in a mafia house—but he knew if it wasn’t his job to guard her, he’d have crossed more than a few lines in their relationship. He hated to admit it, but she intrigued him, more than he decided was safe. He was always watching, not precisely because it was his job—and in no way intendedly creepy—but because she did things unlike any woman he’s seen before. He’s seen a fair share of women, too. Whether it was the way she color-coordinated her bookshelf instead of by author name, or the way she’d stick her head out the window to feed the birds visiting her window sill, she knew he was there, but didn’t let that stop her from being her usual self. Usually women tried to impress him when they knew he was looking. But Y/N... she was naturally fascinating to the eye. He was partially conflicted with her behavior that day, though. He felt... almost guilty. And something else he couldn’t quite put a finger on. He pondered it silently, then Junior shifted beside him. “She needs to leave for a bit.” Jackson, surprised, turned to face the other man. Junior put a hand against the frame of the door, eyeing the blank surface. Then, he looked back at the blonde. “Today was the first time she acted out like that. I’m sorry you had to witness it.” “You know about that?” “You’re not the only one looking after her, remember?” He repeated. “I happened to be passing by.” Jackson nodded, but he was astonished; it was impeccable timing for him to have just been passing by. And as much as Junior sided with the Boss, he could only admit the big man was to blame for all of it. Y/N was able to go outside before everything happened. Seeing as she couldn’t even do that much any longer, he didn’t blame her for feeling the way she did. “Take her out.” “What?” The bodyguard went wide-eyed, wondering if he’d heard correctly. “Take her out,” Junior said again, hands folded behind his back. “Her father is away for the evening, and he won’t be back until late. Be back before eleven.” The blonde was thinking of something to say, but his mind was bombarded with confusion. Why the sudden freedom? It definitely went against the rules the mob boss had set in stone, and as Junior turned his back and began walking down the corridor, he tried calling out to him, though the Mobman beat him to it. “I trust you’ll keep her safe.” He didn’t turn or stop to say it, but his steady voice was laced with something else. And after a brief pause, he said something close to a mutter that Jackson barely heard. “She deserves that much.” ~~~ You peered out the window of the car, rethinking everything that happened the past half hour. Officer Wang had approached you, while you were in bed, and asked if you wanted to leave. Immediately, you decided there was no better time to agree with him, but then, it confused you. He hadn’t explained yet why you were leaving so suddenly, because at the time, it didn’t matter. You just wanted to leave. “Does my dad know we’re gone?” “No.” A flash of worry filled you and you turned to face Jackson, his eyes blankly gauging the road. He peered at you, as if sensing your gaze, and said, “Junior said he’d handle it. These were his orders. Don’t worry.” It seemed nice to hear his voice, even if the tone was authoritative; it was strangely calming to hear something other than your own thoughts, and occasionally, the chef’s question of how you liked your meat cooked. You figured he was taking you out because of the fit you threw that afternoon, and you felt guilty about it. It seemed so stupid. You wanted to apologize. “We’re here.” He stated, pulling you from your thoughts. He switched the key from the ignition before you even realized you had parked. Your gaze drifted towards the windshield, and you discovered you had arrived at a café. You don’t think you ever stepped foot into a café before. Excitement bubbled within you, but you remained calm and collected, removing your seat belt with necessary haste and joining the bodyguard outside of his vehicle. “Stay close.” He said quietly, and you looked around the empty strip of a parking lot. Right; people residing somewhere in the world were still out to get you. You followed him in, the warm and sweet smell of pastries masking the muggy 9 o’clock air that disappeared behind you. It was like love at first sight; the place was nearly empty, but it was so inviting and cozy, you briefly considered packing a suitcase for an extended stay next time around; the soft lighting absorbed any features that could have made the place stoic, empty booths lined up against walls with a cream colored theme. Edison bulbs strung from pillars on either end of an open bar counter, a gentle glow radiating above the dark marble surface, with cushioned stools on one side you only assumed was for patron seating. “Jackson, hey!” Oooh, that voice was inviting too. Your head turned to see a barista waving to the officer like they were old friends. And they probably were. “Mark,” He greeted with a rare upturned lip. The so-called Mark came around the counter, hands wiping against his chocolate brown apron as he met your eye. “Who’s this?” He questioned, and you felt your cheeks grow warm. Jackson didn’t look your way to answer, instead shuffling towards the little bar area and signaling you to sit. “My new job. Y/N.” Mark nodded, a knowing ‘oh’ sounding from his lips. He smiled your way. “Welcome to the shop Y/N. I know Jackson can be a bit of a hard ass at times, but he’s a regular here, and we always welcome his company.” You stifled a giggle, the idea of the no-nonsense officer frequenting that sort of establishment being kind of absurd. You definitely hadn’t expected it. Wang threw a sharp glare at Mark, but the guy just brushed it off, like he was used to it. “Want the Wang original?” Jackson just nodded, and you gave him a questioning look, finding it hard to find a voice suddenly. “It’s just organic.” This time you let your laugh be heard, Mark looking over his shoulder with an almost angelic grin as he prepared the drink. Jackson, on the other hand, scowled. “It’s organic and the only thing he’ll actually drink here.” Another voice called, and you whipped around in your chair to see a new face appearing from a back room. He was tall and sported an apron like Mark’s, though his had streaks of white powder smeared on it. “Yugyeom, hey, get Y/N a menu.” Mark called out, and you shook your head. “Oh, no it’s okay, really—” “Nonsense. This is your first visit. You have to get something.” Yugyeom was much more attractive with every step he took, and you blessed whatever god was above for surrounding you with good looking guys. You didn’t want to argue, despite your mind claiming you didn’t really want anything—okay, maybe a taste of Mark or Yugyeom, but that wasn’t exactly on the menu. “Just get a croissant. Yugyeom bakes them himself.” Jackson muttered next to you, eyes trained on the liquid Mark was pouring into a large mug. You quirked a lip, scanning the menu the confectioner had placed before you. Maybe the croissant was a good idea. “Okay. I’ll get one.” You didn’t miss the smile Yugyeom sent your way, your heart skipping a beat. Oh how lucky you were feeling. You wished you had at least touched up on your looks. Wearing pajamas out suddenly didn’t feel so appealing. Yugyeom disappeared to dig into a display case, one your eyes glazed over with upon seeing, and you watched him reach a hand in before Mark was asking what you wanted to drink. “Ice tea?” “Anything for the pretty lady.” You blushed hotly, feeling awkward in your seat, but Jackson scoffed beside you, and the feeling was quickly replaced with annoyance. Before you could retort, though, Yugyeom had set a plate with a doughy pastry down in front of you, the scent almost intoxicating. It took your attention, and you were captivated by the flaky, gold crescent. Mark came around and placed a full glass of blended, aromatic liquid next to the plate, winking your way. God, what did you do, die suddenly and travel to heaven? You took a hesitate bite and a delicate sip, the flavors so immense it brought tears to your eyes. You forgot how food tasted outside of the mansion. “Whoa, Yugie. You made her cry.” Mark playfully hit his coworker with a handtowel, who, in turn, defensively held his hands up. “Hey—I don’t mean to make them so delicious. It just happens.” You laughed, after swallowing completely. “Excuse my language but this is fucking amazing.” You probably didn’t need to include the disclaimer, but you were really feeling a certain way. “Oooh,” Mark cooed, elbows resting on the counter before you. “I like this one.” Jackson shoved him away and you found yourself grinning widely. The rest of the time was spent making small talk with the guys. Jackson didn’t say much, but every so often someone would make a joke, and you caught him smiling. It was a beautiful sight. But you didn’t stay as long as you hoped, and the next thing you knew, you were waving a sad goodbye and trailing after the blonde towards the exit. “Thanks guys,” Jackson called out. Mark and Yugyeom stood next to one another, grinning after the two of you. “Next time won’t be on the house.” Mark voiced, then Yugyeom countered, “Just not for him.” And you were still giggling as the door closed behind you, the outside air resonating with a pleasant silence. “We should be back before your dad gets to the mansion. Junior already cleared it with the Members at the gate. There shouldn’t be any problems.” You nodded after him, settling into the unmarked BMW. You buckled up, a wave of drowsiness passing over you as you watched him start up the car and put it in reverse. A thought crossed your mind. “Hey, I’m sorry about earlier.” “Don’t be. That’s called cabin fever. It was only a matter of time.” “But still. I acted out. Like a crazy person. I shouldn’t have said all that.” He put his foot on the brake, shifting gears, though staying in place for a few seconds. “You should have. You did. I’m glad you did.” He faced you. “I want you feel comfortable under my watch. Now I know how to change so it’s easier for you to cope with having someone around almost all hours of the day.” Your chest felt warm with his words, and you didn’t say anything. You didn’t know what to say. Later on, your head had fallen against the window, and you were nearly asleep, but you whispered, “thank you”, somewhat hoping he’d heard it. And after some time, there was his voice, soft, possibly just your imagination in your delirious state, but whether or not that was the case, the words resonated in your mind shortly before you dozed off. “You’re welcome.” ~~~ The young man fought sleep another night, finding it harder and harder to remain concentrated with every tick of the grandfather clock. His desk was an array of documents that varied between police reports from the twenties and closed Family records from later on. He slid a palm down the side of his face, shoving another packet to the side. That moment, the door to the office space opened, and in walked two Members who looked more than alive in the late evening. The young man grew envious. “Boss,” one of them greeted, and they stood side-by-side before him. The so-called “boss” sighed, leaning back in his chair. “As much as I enjoy that title, save it for after my father’s funeral, Namjoon.” The tall one folded his arms over his chest, shifting on his feet with a crooked grin. “Right, my mistake... Yoongi... What an honor it is to still be so personal, isn’t it Tae?” The one next to him had a hyena smile, cackling lightly. “What are life-long friends for?” Yoongi softly shook his head, fingers tracing his temple. He wondered how he’d put up with them for so long. Namjoon crossed over to the side of the room, lounging in a loveseat while Tae sat opposite on a foot stool. “You summoned us, your majesty?” The fresh mob boss rose to his feet, fingers lacing behind his back. He took lazy steps to stand in front of a wall with newspaper clippings he’d collected in the past years, a hand coming up to mindlessly fold back a posted page as he mulled over words to say. “I have a task for you. The both of you.” He stated, finally. Namjoon and Taehyung looked to each other, wolfish grins spreading across their features, and then turned back to the young man, silently urging him to continue. Yoongi unpinned one of the articles, aged some years, and brought it to his eye level. He didn’t need to read it over entirely; he had countless times before. ‘L/Ns Claim Victory in Sudden Outbreak of War’ bolded, and seeming not a day old in his palm. The clipping featured an old print of a photograph, the image black and displaying a level of destruction that occurred before he could remember. He crumpled the paper mercilessly, crushing it into a tight ball and earning a low whistle from one of his sidemen. After a moment, he looked up, eyes trained on the rest of the articles. His eyes darkened. “Help me reclaim the Min name.”