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jimxnslight · 8 months ago

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Fool's Gold || Part III

Summary: Sweet Y/N, with her fluffy pastel dresses, soft makeup, and ditzy mannerisms. She’s seen as a fool in a world where there is no place for such things, but little do they know, the only fools are them.

Pairing: mafia leader!Jungkook x mafia leader's daughter!reader

Genre: mafia au, arranged marriage au

Word Count: 15.5k

Warnings: most warnings associated with mafia fics (e.g. gun/physical violence, blood, dead bodies, etc), additional warnings might be added as the story progresses

A/N: it's finally here! Sorry for the wait, things have just been really busy lately... but I hope you enjoy!

<< previous part || masterlist || next part >>

Living with you has been an absolute nightmare.

Obviously Jungkook had known that dropping poison in his champagne and whiskey wouldn’t be the end of your little assassination attempt; he’d expected you to continue doing whatever was in your power to make good on your threat. He may have been a little cocky about it too, teasing you over the fact that he was standing before you unscathed, but the logical part of him still knew to keep his guard up constantly.

What he hadn’t realised was how exhausting it would all be.

You’d been here only four days and Jungkook had already had to evade poison in his toothpaste, a suspicious looking pin wedged into the insole of his shoe, and garlic juice in his cologne- the last one seeming far from a homicide attempt and closer to just pissing him off.

Dealing with that alone was one thing, because it wasn’t something he couldn’t handle. But on top of it all, Jungkook hadn’t slept properly in days. He’d found himself dozing off for a few minutes here and there while holed up in his office at night occasionally, but he had mostly just stuck to spending his nights working, especially on the Park issue. He couldn’t risk actually sleeping in his office considering he knew that you had the ability to bypass the lock. And besides, as much as he would appreciate a few extra hours of sleep, Jungkook still had to be ready for if Jimin decided to attack again, even if he’d been quiet so far.

One of those preparations involved speaking with your father, which was why you and Jungkook were seated in one of the guest houses at 8:00 AM in the morning while your father was sat casually on the creme-coloured settee across from the mahogany coffee table before you both. The guest house was situated near the gates of Jungkook’s estate, still within its borders, but far enough that it had its own entrance and ensured guests wouldn’t end up too close to his house, just how he liked it.

The initial meeting with your father had been awkward, though Jungkook may have been the only one to catch onto it. Your father hadn’t embraced you or kissed your cheek or told you how much he missed you, instead he had sent a formal nod in your direction before giving Jungkook a firm handshake. After that your father had barely spared you a glance, addressing Jungkook as if he were the only one in the room. You didn’t seem very offended by this either, your gaze instead drifting around the space looking almost bored as the two men conversed casually for a few minutes.

It was an interesting detail, one Jungkook tucked into the back of his sleep-deprived mind.

“The differences between the North and South have surprised me a ton,” Mr. Lee commented, taking a sip from the teacup in his hand. His accent was rough, no doubt a product of his upbringing in the South, “you guys do things a lot more softly here in the North.”

It was a jab, Jungkook wasn’t stupid enough not to know that, especially knowing how rough things were in the South. That comment was enough for him to know that your father was the type of man that liked to put others down to make himself seem superior. It only amused Jungkook though, because as per the culture, your father already had a bit of an upper hand since he was older, and yet he still felt the need to talk down to him.

Distantly, he wondered if your father’s personality had something to do with why you decided to hide your true personality even from him.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Jungkook decided to reply dryly, not bothering to bite back. If he had learned anything, it was how to choose his battles, and an ego trip was not worth it in his books.

Instead his gaze drifted towards your seemingly aloof form. It was a bit unnerving to see you look so quiet and proper, almost like he was being shown a third side of you. Your facade was still definitely up though, no one could miss the slight widening of your eyes and faint pout of your lips to feign an innocent look, but this version of your act was definitely more placid.

Jungkook’s gaze travelled back to your father as he smiled, a sudden urge to get you to react overtaking him, “it’s definitely been an adjustment for your daughter.”

At your mention, your wandering eyes were reeled back to meet the gazes of the two men before you once again, but, unlike during the dinner with Taehyung and Chaewon, that was the extent of your reaction to the obvious dig. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed in your direction as you continued to sit silently beside him, an innocent expression still painting your already heavily painted features.

Despite the topic, Mr. Lee’s gaze stayed fixed on Jungkook, “hope she hasn’t been too much trouble. She used to be quite the spitfire growing up, but thankfully I fixed her right up before she could bring that attitude into adulthood. Can’t imagine how I would’ve gotten her married if I hadn’t.”

The room became quiet as Jungkook shifted uncomfortably in his place, your father’s words, which sounded so casual on his tongue, unable to settle comfortably within him. Jungkook wasn’t so naive as to believe that “fixed her up” alluded to gentle parenting and stern lectures. And if his guesses as to how your father might have disciplined you growing up were correct, then you had his sympathies. Jungkook’s childhood wasn’t exactly filled with rainbows and butterflies, the son of a mafia leader’s childhood never is, but everything his father had done was for the betterment of the Jeons, not so Jungkook could be a good slave to a spouse.

“No,” he finally decided to answer, “she hasn’t been any trouble at all.”

If your father’s comment had bothered you, you didn’t show it. But Jungkook was still eager to change the subject.

Before he could, however, he was surprised when he felt you straighten up beside him and beat him to it.

“How is Hannah doing, father?”

Despite all his research, Jungkook had no clue who Hannah was. He’d never even heard of the name before, which he found surprising considering how well he made sure to research the Lees before his marriage. Nevertheless it was clear to him that whoever this Hannah was, she was important. You’d asked the question with your usual soft voice, a casual hint in your tone, but Jungkook had known you long enough at this point to see past your act. He could see the way your gaze had turned calculating, taking in each and every expression that flitted across your father’s face as he took a sip from his teacup before he finally allowed himself to take you in.

“She's doing fine,” he answered after a moment, voice void of any emotion, “very fine actually.”

Jungkook didn’t miss the subtle jump in your eyebrows at his words, so subtle that he doubted your father would notice it even though he was finally acknowledging your presence.

“But you should start worrying more about this place, Y/N. This is your home now after all.”

Your gaze immediately dropped at his words as you gave him a timid nod, ditzy Y/N clearly back in full swing. Most would have witnessed this interaction and seen a loving daughter being rejected by her cold, heartless father. But looking past your act of innocence, Jungkook couldn’t help but feel that there was more to this interaction than that. The relationship you had with your father was weird. If Jungkook hadn’t known either of you, he wouldn’t have guessed that you were more than mere acquaintances with how distant you both seemed. No love, no animosity, just… impassive.

And yet, despite this clearly uncommunicative relationship, you’d spoken up only once in this entire conversation to ask about a person named Hannah - or rather you had wanted confirmation about something regarding Hannah, and judging from the way your expression had returned to that naively bored look, you had gotten the confirmation you were seeking. Neither of you had offered to identify who Hannah was to Jungkook either, so he doubted asking would prove to be very useful.

If only Jungkook had the mind to figure everything out on his own at this moment. He’d already had to stifle three yawns since the beginning of the conversation, all of which he was able to hide only because your father had initially seemed very interested in scanning the contents of the guest house. Hopefully he’d get better at hiding his exhaustion as the day progressed, he had a long day ahead of him after all.

Your father caught Jungkook’s attention once again when he leaned forward to place his empty teacup on the mahogany coffee table in front of him. The teacup clinked against the wood before he leaned back into the settee, giving Jungkook a questioning look.

“So, now that we’ve got the chit chat out of the way, why’d you need to see me so desperately?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Jungkook ignored the arrogant structuring of his words once again, gaze instead drifting to you, who was keenly scanning the front page of a newspaper that had been haphazardly placed on the coffee table to give the room a more homey feel.

He wasn’t entirely sure whether you knew anything about Jimin’s attack on the West Docks. Yes, you had broken into his office once, but Jungkook didn’t leave important stuff like that just lying around so technically you didn’t have any way of knowing about it. Jungkook preferred if you didn’t, because obviously the less you knew the better. You were trying to kill him after all, and as much as he liked to make a joke out of it, he wasn’t dumb enough not to at least partially take it seriously.

So Jungkook shifted in his seat to face you, the action catching your previously wandering attention, before he placed a hand on your knee. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t hesitant, but thankfully you didn’t flinch at the contact.

“Why don’t you go freshen up, princess? Your father and I have some business to discuss, and then after that you and I have somewhere to be.”

Jungkook watched your eyebrows twitch, though whether it was from the nickname or in question of where the two of you would be heading he didn’t know. But then your gaze flickered to your father’s direction for a moment before you quietly nodded.

You stood from the settee, ignoring the way Jungkook’s hand, which had been resting on your knee, brushed against your skin as it fell. When you faced your father, hands clutched before you, he was already looking up at you with a familiarly indifferent expression.

“It was nice seeing you again, father,” you said formally, keeping your voice light and soft as you offered him a small bow. You were returned a formal nod, another familiar action, before you turned away from the two men and pushed through the double doors of the guest house.

A deep sigh escaped your lips the moment you heard the door shut behind you, feeling as though someone had lifted an anvil off your chest. Your father’s presence had always felt suffocating, you were just glad that the two of you being in the same room has also always been a rare occurrence in itself.

You didn’t have time to dwell on that fact as the beauty of Jungkook’s estate now stood before you in all its glory. Lush green grass surrounding a stone walkway, colourful flowers popping out of strategically placed beds, and large, but maintained, Japanese Maple trees scattered here and there were all organised neatly to form a breathtaking courtyard.

This was the one thing you could unconditionally appreciate about Jungkook’s estate. Most leaders’ estates screamed money with the various marble statues of themselves and their families littering their front yards and excessive landscaping drenching the flowers and grass in stone and metal. But Jungkook’s was filled with greenery, as if you were walking through an enormous garden. You loved it.

While surveying the area your gaze dropped to the stone pathway before you, the one you and Jungkook had walked through to get to the guest house and also the one you were certain Jungkook was expecting you to take after being kicked out of said guest house. You stared at it for no more than three seconds, not even bothering to think it over, before you spun around in your spot and pressed your ear to the door you had just emerged from.

There was something wrong.

Although alliances were a very uncommon thing in the South, you were still smart enough to know that business deals between allies should be eased into slowly, not started four days after a marriage. This meeting was happening way too soon, which made you doubt it was business-related at all.

Jungkook needed something from the Lees. The only question was what?

After leaning quietly against the door for a few minutes, you were only able to pick up a few words here and there between quick stifled yawns. It would’ve disappointed you if it wasn’t for the one name you managed to catch Jungkook say as clear day.

Park Jimin.

The leader of the Parks. The man whose close friend consisted of the ruthless Min Yoongi, leader of the Mins. Both mafias were located north of Taehyung and Jungkook’s territories. Personally, you’ve never heard of any ongoing disputes between the four, but if Jungkook was mentioning Park’s name in a meeting with your father, there had to be something going on.

That would be perfect, because if you killed Jungkook while he was having a feud with Jimin, then Jungkook’s death would be more likely to be pinned on Jimin, allowing you to bear no consequences and be sent back to the Lees without a scratch.

Except… it wasn’t perfect, because killing Jungkook had proven to be a lot harder than you had anticipated.

Killing your first husband had been child’s play. Even after you’d grabbed the gun from his waistband and shot him twice in the chest, his men had taken one look at the scene and ruled you out before you had even had the chance to construct a detailed tale of an assassin that had come through the window and shot him dead. They had been complete idiots, entirely unable to see the doe-eyed girl with frilly pink dresses and a soft airy voice as anything more than that.

But this case was an entirely different challenge. You’d realised on the very night of your wedding that the people around Jungkook, as well as Jungkook himself of course, were not as stupid. You knew that if you tried to pull the same stunt again, you’d be pinned for the murder eventually. It’s why you hadn't even bothered to search for some kind of weapon in Jungkook’s mansion, nor had you tried to steal the gun you knew stayed sat on Jungkook’s waistband at every moment of the day. If you used a weapon to kill Jungkook, you’d be caught.

That’s why you had stuck to poisons as your main choice of weapon. The collection of toxins you had managed to smuggle into the mansion, all thanks to Persilla of course, was made to make kills look like nature’s fate. Yet, despite dropping toxins into anything that could possibly make contact with Jungkook’s mouth or skin for the past four days, your efforts were proving to be futile. Jungkook’s knack for catching onto small details was just a difficult barrier to overcome.

You knew H hadn’t sent you that note to pressure you into speeding up Jungkook’s murder, and you hadn’t taken it in that way at first, but now that four days had passed you were beginning to think about changing your methods. It would be more complicated, but you needed to get this done quickly.

A gun would be the best way to finish him off in your opinion; it was the one weapon you were a master of and getting a hold of one shouldn’t be too difficult with all the guards milling around the estate. Then all you’d need to do was get Jungkook alone, shoot him dead, and then plant some evidence that pointed towards the Parks. You’d need to be careful, but it was doable a-

“Now look what I’ve found.”

You snapped away from the door and whirled around, startled entirely as a male voice suddenly spoke up from behind you. You were met with the view of a man, one you’ve never seen before, standing a couple metres away from your form, his hair as light brown as his eyes. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, while the buttons of his white polo shirt were open to reveal a sliver of his neck.

“I seem to have caught a nosy little mouse.”

You wanted to ask him who he was and what he was doing here. Anyone within the gates of Jungkook’s estate had to be close to him, you’d learned that much during your stay here. Yet, Jungkook had failed to mention this man at all.

But before you could voice your questions, the man stepped forward, brown dress shoes tapping against the stone beneath you both, and held out a hand, “I’m Daehyun, Jungkook’s cousin. We haven’t formally been introduced.”

Tentatively, because you still had an act to uphold, you reached out to shake his hand, making sure to keep your grip weak, “I’m Y/N.”

Then you remembered that eavesdropping on a conversation between Jungkook and your dad may not seem like the most innocent thing to Daehyun. So you quickly mustered up a believable excuse.

“I swear I wasn’t trying to listen to their conversation! I just…”

You paused, pretending to shy away from him to give the illusion that you were embarrassed to admit the blatant lie that was about to escape your lips.

“I just wanted to know if Jungkook would talk about me,” you said, keeping your gaze on the ground as you started fidgeting with your fingers, “he’s not the most talkative man with me, so I just wanted to see if he would admit anything to my father.”

“Mhmm,” Daehyun replied, and you couldn’t help but feel that the tone of his voice gave the impression that he wasn’t paying attention. Finding that strange, you lifted your gaze from the ground hesitantly and observed him. The sight made you grimace inwardly.

Daehyun’s lack of interest could be explained by the fact that he was too busy raking his eyes across your body, taking in your bare legs and neck, almost as if he were entranced. You noticed his fingers twitch as he took in the frills of your pink dress and the silk bow holding up half your hair.

“God, you don’t look a day over 19,” he commented, as if you weren’t even there and he was simply talking to himself, “how old are you, darling?”

This was far from the first time a guy had looked at you as though you were a piece of meat. In fact, your act seemed to garner a lot more attention from the male species than it should. You liked to think that all the years of this had made you immune to moments like these, but deep down you knew it still made your skin crawl.

That being said, the implications of Daehyun’s words were beginning to register in your mind. This was Jungkook’s cousin, his family. It was customary for all male members of mafia families to have a gun with them at all times, which meant that there was a very high probability that, if Daehyun were to turn around, you would catch sight of a shiny black gun wedged into his waistband. He didn’t seem like the intelligent type to you either, which meant this would be a better opportunity to steal a gun compared to snagging one from a constantly alert guard.

All you needed to do was get him a little closer to you.

“Twenty-three,” you finally answered, keeping your voice soft and innocent-sounding. You took the opportunity to take a timid step forward, one that seemed to go unnoticed by Daehyun.

Instead he nodded, as if in approval of your answer, “Jungkook really hit the jackpot with you, didn’t he… I expect you’ll age beautifully. Lucky bastard.”

You pushed down the urge to throw up in your mouth. If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t think you had it in you to lead him on in order to steal the gun. He was just way too slimy, saying things that were way too gross.

But turns out, you didn’t really need to say anything as Daehyun took another step towards you, leaving only a hand’s length between yourself and him. You automatically felt yourself tense. If it were up to you, you’d have grabbed his shirt and kicked him where the sun doesn’t shine. But you were ditzy Y/N at the moment, and ditzy Y/N couldn’t fight back.

Instead you tried to focus on the gun. He was close enough that you could snake your arm behind him without him noticing, but he still needed to get a little closer for you to grab it.

“Relax, darling,” Daehyun soothed, and to both your distaste and relief he placed a hand on your shoulder, closing the distance you needed. Your hand crept forward slowly, stopping at his waistband, “you don’t need to be so tense-”

“Daehyun.”

Crap.

Your empty hand shot back to your side as your gaze snapped to the source of the voice, Daehyun’s following suit less quickly. Jungkook was shutting the door of the guest house behind him, dark eyes fixed on the hand on your shoulder. His voice had been low, the threat in them evident. Yet, Daehyun smiled, instead taking his time in removing his hand from your shoulder and taking a step back.

“Jungkook,” he nodded, his hands returning to his pockets, “your wife and I were just having a small chat.”

You searched the space behind Jungkook, finding no sign of your father. The guest house had two exits, one that led into Jungkook’s estate and another that led outside of it. Your father must have gone through the latter.

Jungkook gained your attention once again when he took a few steps forward, his sharp gaze fixed on Daehyun, “you can talk without touching.”

Daehyun raised his hands in mock surrender as Jungkook paused in front of you, scanning you from head to toe for a second, before he grabbed your wrist and began dragging you away from him, barely sparing him another glance as he started on the stone pathway you knew led to his mansion. There was this one patch of the pathway that you noticed hid the two of you from the attentive eyes of the guards. You took that opportunity to drop your act of innocence.

“Cousin of yours?” You asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Unfortunately.”

Your brows furrowed as you watched Jungkook spit out the word through gritted teeth, keeping his face forward. He was angry. He didn’t like Daehyun, you realised. Yet he seemed to have free access to his house? That didn’t make any sense.

You watched the patch eventually give way to a large circular driveway that laid before the front doors of Jungkook’s mansion. There was a sleek black car already parked on the grey concrete, obscured slightly by the fountain in the circle’s centre. It probably had something to do with what Jungkook was talking about earlier, about how there was somewhere the two of you would be going.

With your innocent facade back up, because you noticed guards milling around this part of the estate, you turned to Jungkook with a curious look, “where are we going?”

He paused for a moment as his gaze dropped on you, and you immediately knew he was choosing his next words carefully, making sure to pick the ones that only allowed you to know as much as he wanted you to.

“We’re going to meet some families,” he finally answered, but you’d already become distracted as you noticed a guard walk up to the window of the black car and begin speaking with the driver, the exposed gun at his hip suddenly looking very attractive to you especially after your failed attempt at snatching Daehyun’s.

“And why is that?” You asked him absentmindedly, wondering if there was any way you could grab the weapon. You’d only need to brush past the guard for a moment to grab and shove it into the holster at your thigh. You knew the frills of your dress would do an amazing job at hiding its outline as well, even from eyes like Jungkook’s.

“There was an accident at the West Docks and a few workers died. We’re going to meet with the families and pay our respects.”

Your attention snapped back to Jungkook, the reminder to keep your expression light coming just a millisecond too late. It was a practically microscopic reaction, but it was enough for Jungkook to pick up on, making him tilt his head in question.

“I’m sorry, what?” You asked without much thought, because you honestly didn’t have anything smarter to say. Why was a mafia leader paying respects to people who weren't part of the family?

You weren't an idiot; it was no coincidence that Jungkook mentioned an incident taking place at the docks around the same time he had a meeting with your father in which he was mentioning Park Jimin’s name. You’d pieced together that said “incident” was more likely some kind of attack, and the one responsible for said attack was probably Park Jimin. If Jimin had attacked Jungkook’s docks, then that meant he was testing how strong the Jeons were at the moment, which further meant that he was interested in taking over the territory. Obviously Jungkook would have wanted to ensure that he had your father’s support if things were to escalate.

People would have died in the attack at the West Docks, that’s how it always worked. Hell, people died at the borders all the time in the South since there was so much animosity between the territories there.

But that’s just how things worked, or at least that’s what you’d heard mafia leaders parrot to each other growing up. “They knew what they were signing up for.” “They’re doing it for the sake of the mafia.” It was the kind of thinking that you loathed, and that exact thinking that you hoped to dismantle bit by bit until everyone, not just you, could see the flaws behind it.

Yet… here Jungkook was, saying he wanted to value those lives lost by paying respects to their mourning families…

It was unbelievable.

However, before either of you could speak, the door of the parked car opened to reveal a man wearing a standard suit. He stepped out onto the concrete, only to turn around in his place and open the door to the backseat. He continued to stay like that, patiently waiting for the two of you.

Jungkook was the first to move, walking around the car to open the door himself and disappear behind the sleek black metal, while you eventually followed behind him, giving the man a soft thank you before sinking into the backseat beside your husband. In a matter of seconds, the doors were shut and you felt the car begin to move beneath you.

There was an unfamiliar silence as you peered through the tinted windows, watching as the car passed through the front gates before submerging into a thick forest. The four days you’ve been at Jungkook’s mansion had been full of constant bickering, that was until someone else would enter the room. Then suddenly you were clasping your hands in front of you and bowing with a soft smile, all while Jungkook hid his cocky grins.

“What? No snappy comebacks today?” Jungkook spoke, probably feeling the uncharacteristic silence as well. Despite noticing that there was a divider between the driver and you both, meaning there was no reason for you to keep your act up, you didn’t answer.

You didn’t know why his earlier words weren’t sitting well with you. Just because Jungkook dropped a few condolences here and there didn’t make him a good person. He was the leader of a mafia after all, and you’d met enough of them to know the kind of people they were: cruel, merciless, and lacking in respect for the ones outside their families. Even the level of care they had for their families was questionable.

But still… this was throwing you off.

You turned around in your seat as a sudden thought came to mind, causing Jungkook’s gaze to shift from the window to your form.

“What do you mean by paying respect?” You asked. Perhaps the phrase meant something different in the North. Perhaps instead of meeting the families and expressing empathy for their loss, he was going to lecture them on the need for martyrs and how the families owed the Jeons for letting them live in their territories. Yes, that made a lot more sense to you.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was looking at you as if you’d gone insane.

“I won’t even begin to answer that question,” he scoffed. But then he seemed to consider something for a moment, probably the fact that you would also be the one paying respects and not knowing what that was might be a hindrance to his perfect image, and spoke with an annoyed sigh, “we will be meeting with the families, relaying a few comforting words. Let them know that we will be supporting them from now on so they can focus solely on overcoming their grief rather than on how they’ll make ends meet moving forward.”

You turned back to your window with a frustrated breath, his answer doing nothing to dissipate your confusion. You might have also faced away from him to hide a stifled yawn. Car rides tended to make you sleepy, and in combination with the fact that you haven’t slept properly throughout your stay at the Jeon Mansion, it was taking a lot of willpower to keep your mind alert at the moment.

“Considering that this will be our first official public appearance, I should also repeat how crucial it will be for you to act like a good wife.”

You rolled your eyes as a huff escaped your lips, “Yeah, I get it.”

“If you getting it means you’ll act better than the way you acted in front of your father, then good,” he commented, which made you turn to him once again with a brow raised.

“What is that supposed to mean? I was fine in front of my father.”

Jungkook shrugged, “you could have been better.”

“How?”

He thought for a moment, mulling it over before he responded with an amused look, “when you were leaving the room, you stood up and just let my hand fall away to the side. Some would take that as a sign that you’re mad at me.”

“I am not going to kiss the ground you walk on just so that a few jobless people will keep their mouths shut,” you shot back. If you were having any qualms about killing him earlier they were entirely gone now. You were going to enjoy each and every moment of gutting the man at your side, not even the slightest hint of guilt.

“Not to mention how quiet you were,” he continued, but this time you could feel the weight of his gaze deepen, “you do know that we’ll have to actually speak to the families, right?”

There was a silent curiosity in his eyes that he didn’t voice, but you knew it was there, though for what exactly it was for you didn’t know. Was he questioning why you were so quiet? If that were the case, you didn’t have an answer; you hadn’t even realised you’d been so quiet during the meeting. Or was he curious about Hannah? You doubted it. With all the research he had done on the Lees and your territory, you guessed he already knew who she was.

“Relax, Jungkook,” you waved him off, “I’ve been acting as someone else for years. You’ll get your nice and loving wife.”

With that settled you turned back to the window, stifling another yawn with your hand.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the fact that you were actually waking up, meaning that at some point during the ride you had fallen asleep. The second thing you noticed as you were waking up was that whatever thing you were leaning on did not feel like the inner side of a car door. That second realisation had you sitting up in your seat instantly, eyes shooting open to understand the situation.

Outside you could see that there were no longer thick-trunked trees surrounding the road in which you drove on, instead replaced by groups of houses and small apartment buildings. You watched as kids playing in the roughened streets stopped to stare at the sleek black car, their parents no different as they tried to see through the tinted windows with unfiltered curiosity.

You turned away from the window to take in Jungkook, whose shoulder you realised you’d made your pillow while you’d fallen asleep, only to have your eyes widen.

To your surprise, Jungkook had fallen asleep as well, with his head resting back against the headrest and lips just slightly parted. Small puffs of breath rhythmically escaped from between them when he exhaled, a telltale sign that he truly was asleep and not just resting his eyes or something.

The image had you frozen for a moment. He looked so… peaceful. Not that he always looked stressed out. Despite having a killer for a wife, Jungkook seemed to be pretty relaxed most of the time, amused even. But this was a different kind of peace, one that came with a complete lack of thoughts, making him look almost innocent - not the hard leader that you knew him to be.

Without his gaze on yours preventing it, you also noticed things that you’d never really noticed about him before. Like the length of his eyelashes, or the strong dip of his jawline. His lips had a red undertone and rounded into a slight pout, while his skin was flawless - not a very common characteristic amongst leaders, though not many were as young as Jungkook - aside from the end of a faded scar peeking from behind the collar of his black shirt. The side of his hair that was facing you was slightly ruffled, as if his head had been leaning against something before it had moved to lean against the seat behind him.

God this man was fine.

You forced your gaze forward, realising that you were staring. Were you really so deprived that you were finding the man that you were supposed to kill hot? Well, in your defence, you had eyes. Also in your defence, the leaders in the South were all old and slimy dudes that should have been put down years ago. Just looking at Jungkook was like a breath of fresh air after drowning.

But then you paused, realising the weight of the situation. Jungkook was asleep, the same Jungkook who you knew had a gun wedged into his waistband at this very moment. It was risky, he’d definitely notice it missing when he woke up considering his attention to detail, but if you were to grab the gun, and then immediately get out of the car, he’d have no choice but to let you hold onto it until the two of you were out of the public’s eye. It would be more than enough time to secretly kill him and then plant evidence incriminating Jimin.

Judging from the houses outside, you deemed that you both were close enough to the destination that you could hop out of the car immediately after it stopped. So you turned around, making sure to keep your movements as slow as possible, before you snaked an arm around his torso. You could feel the soft inside of his black blazer as your hand slipped beneath it, fingers just barely ghosting over his equally black dress shirt. It was unlucky that his gun was on the side of his waist facing away from you, but thankfully after checking to make sure he was still asleep, which he was, your fingers wrapped around the metal handle.

Or at least you thought he had been asleep, because as you pulled the gun from its confines, a hand suddenly engulfing yours made you flinch.

Your gaze snapped up to him, surprised when you found him wide awake and staring back at you. In all honesty, it wasn’t the fact that you were caught that had you frozen like a deer in headlights, Jungkook was well aware of your intentions, but rather the position that you were in. You’d used your left hand to grab his gun, which left your entire front to be pressed against his chest, while your right hand was resting on his other side, practically caging him against the seat of the car. Barely a breath’s distance separated your face with his, making the intensity of his stare all the more intimidating.

You tried to pull away from him, but his hand brushed higher to wrap around your wrist and keep you in place, dark brown eyes still boring into yours.

“Put it back.”

It shouldn’t have, but the deepness of his voice sent a tiny shiver down your spine, one that you did everything in your power to make sure Jungkook couldn’t notice. You’d rather be caught dead than having Jungkook think you were into him in any way whatsoever.

A small part of you, the same one that had persuaded you to drop a good amount of garlic into his cologne just yesterday, also reasoned that you’d never be caught dead taking orders from him as well. Logically speaking, there was no way you could save this attempt at taking his gun, he’d caught you and that was that. And yet, despite that, you didn’t move, hand still clutching the gun which was now hovering over his waistband.

You felt Jungkook’s fingers tighten slightly around the soft skin of your wrist, the lack of your movement not going unnoticed by him.

“Put it back, Y/N.”

It only made you want to do the opposite, just to piss him off a bit more, but you knew you were only delaying the inevitable. So, with the tiny devil at your shoulder retreating back to wherever it had come from and with a frustrated breath escaping your lips, you slowly pushed the gun back into his waistband. The action was slow, still dragging it out for as long as possible, until you felt the trigger guard push against the edge of the cloth. Yet, even when you let the handle drop from your grasp, Jungkook’s hand didn’t drop from your wrist. Instead, the edges of his lips twitched upwards.

“So we’ve moved on from poisons now?” He asked instead, voice low as his satisfied gaze stayed fixed on yours, “is my whiskey finally free from your terror?”

Your reply was quick, though your voice was just as low and breathy as his, “I wouldn’t start trusting it just yet.”

You really meant that, considering the new bottles of whiskey Jungkook had ordered had already been spiked not even an hour after they’d been placed in his cabinet. You knew that he knew, making the action pointless, but you were weak in front of that little devil at your shoulder.

The abrupt sound of the car’s door opening made you jerk back into your seat, ripping your empty hand from Jungkook’s, as you quickly fixed the ruffles in your dress. By the time the driver’s face appeared at the doorway, you were offering him an innocent smile, making sure to keep your eyes bright and lips stuck in a perpetually delighted turn. An amused breath escaped Jungkook as he turned to open his own door. You hadn’t even realised that the car had come to a stop.

You accepted the driver’s hand as he extended it towards you, the short heel of your white shoes tapping against the grey concrete while you stepped out of the car, grateful suddenly for the fresh air.

You didn’t know what exactly you were expecting when Jungkook had said that you were going to meet with families. Mostly you had pictured a stage, one that he would stand and speak on, and then a crowd of families standing before it paying close attention to his every word. But there was no such stage in sight, in fact, as you looked around the area you noticed that there was nothing out of the ordinary; just a simple neighbourhood with kids playing in the cracked street and parents standing in their worn front porches. Everyone was staring though, curious eyes staying fixed on Jungkook, and then on you.

It was a bit daunting if you were being entirely honest with yourself. Yes, you were the daughter of a mafia leader, but you’d never actually been made to make public appearances like this, much less speak at them. Daughters of leaders were more like decoration pieces, hidden away until they were married off.

Jungkook rounded the car until he was standing at your side, an arm wrapping snuggly around your waist. The action had been hesitant, as if he expected you to push him away or flinch at the touch, but you were beyond trying to fight whatever image of perfection Jungkook was trying to sell; there were bigger issues you needed to worry about now. And maybe a tiny part of you found comfort in it as you noticed all the eyes that were on you now. It was your first public appearance in the Jeon Territory after all, everyone would be curious about the Jeon Jungkook’s new wife. You needed to appear shy for the sake of your act, but you were still able to notice the mixed reactions, some confused, some sceptical, but most were just surprised.

Jungkook also seemed to be scanning the crowd before he turned towards you, whispering the words in your ear, “let’s get going.”

You didn’t have time to notice the fuss that action had caused in a group of girls before you both began following a guard into a house on your right. He guided you through the doorway, the door already wide open, as you made your way towards what seemed like a living room. The space had a homey vibe, pictures of the family scattered across the walls and lit candles placed on the tables, but it was clear that whoever lived here was struggling: the paint was peeling off the walls, the wooden floor was littered with scuffs and dents, and the furniture looked a day away from crumbling. It pained your heart to see the kitchen barren.

It was only when you and Jungkook managed to squeeze into the small living room that you finally noticed signs of life. There was an old woman sitting on the only sofa in the room, her expression dejected while her form was hunched forward in a way that you knew was a result of grief and not old age. At the sound of your footsteps her head raised, taking in the two of you with pained eyes.

You had to mask your surprise when you watched Jungkook lower himself onto a knee before her, “hello Mrs. Hwang.”

The woman, Mrs. Hwang, ignored the greeting, instead shaking her head while keeping her gaze on the hands resting in her lap, “I don’t understand. They keep telling me he’s gone, but I just don’t understand… How could he be gone? How could my beautiful son be gone? What happened to him?”

“Mrs. Hwang,” Jungkook said slowly, his brows pulling together in sympathy, “your son and a few other workers were killed in a construction accident at the West Docks. I’m sorry.”

The tears that had been swimming in her eyes finally began to stream down her cheeks, the news coming from the leader of the Jeons finally confirming what she had seemingly been denying for a while, but you could only try to fan the flames of the anger that ignited in your chest. There was no construction accident, there had been an attack orchestrated by Jimin, and normal people who had nothing to do with the territorial feud had suffered the consequences. This poor woman, for example, had lost her son. She deserved to know the real reason he was gone, deserved to belt out her anger at the actual people responsible, not be fed a cover-up story you knew was only being promoted in order to prevent public unrest.

You watched as Jungkook tried to reassure her, his words artfully compassionate and reassuring, wondering just how much of those words he actually meant. He probably didn’t mean many of them, if any at all. Perhaps this was the method in which he maintained his power? Leaders in the South usually asserted their power by ensuring the public feared them, scaring them so much that even the thought of betrayal had them shaking in fear. But Jungkook was a smart man. Perhaps he realised that being loved by the public was a better method of manipulation, one that produced more loyalty.

You’d been so deep in thought that when you felt the tap of Jungkook’s black dress shoe on your white ones you almost flinched. He was looking up at you with a pointed look, and it was then that you realised that the woman was staring at you as well, as if she were waiting for you to speak. Jungkook’s words, genuine or not, seemed to have stopped the tears that had been flowing down her cheeks while you’d been distracted because there was almost nothing left of them except the water staining her cheeks.

Sensing your confusion, Jungkook gave Mrs. Hwang a strained smile, “you must excuse her, she’s still getting used to the North. It can be overwhelming at times.”

Mrs. Hwang nodded in understanding before she turned to face you once again.

“That’s okay dear. I was just wondering how married life has been treating you. My husband passed away so long ago yet I still find myself missing the companionship even now.”

Oh…

That was not the kind of question you hesitate at if you want people to get a good impression of your and Jungkook’s relationship, and the look on Jungkook’s face at the moment only confirmed those thoughts.

“It’s been treating me well,” you answered finally, hesitating on what the right thing to say would be in this situation, “he’s been very good to me.”

It was the wrong thing to say, you realised that at the exact moment Jungkook grimaced and tears started to stream down Mrs. Hwang’s face once again. She nodded in your direction, “my husband treated me well too. How I miss him… And now my son is gone as well, who do I have left?”

Your voice died in your throat, mind unable to come up with anything that could possibly comfort the bawling woman who had lost so much. All you could do was stand dumbly and watch her crumble before you, wishing you could crawl into a hole and stay there forever hidden.

Jungkook, on the other hand, immediately placed a hand on her knee and began to reassure her once again, comforting words falling from his lips like a gentle stream. He reminded her of how her son and husband were in a better place now, of the friends she still has in the neighbourhood, and then of her granddaughter who needed her to be strong.

At the mention of her granddaughter, the door of the living room suddenly smacked open, revealing a little girl skipping into the room. She was wearing a sparkly pink shirt and washed out jeans which were fraying at the edges, while a worn doll hung from her fingers. Despite this, there was a bright smile on her face as she walked deeper into the room.

The sight of Jungkook slowed her down in her tracks, replacing the once innocent smile with a deep blush painting her cheeks. Her gaze shifted away from him, clearly shy from her sudden crush. But then she caught sight of her grandmother and her gaze became worried. She made her way to her side quickly before gently placing the doll on her grandmother’s lap, also placing a comforting hand on her arm.

“Don’t cry grandma,” she said with a frown, using her other hand to push a few strands of her grandmother’s hair behind her ear. The girl turned in Jungkook’s direction, though the blush was back and her eyes wouldn’t meet his, “I keep telling her not to be sad, but she keeps crying.”

It was then when she caught sight of someone else in the room, making her turn to face in your direction. Her reaction was immediate, eyes lighting up in excitement as she took in your dress, then your shoes, and then your makeup. The girl quickly jumped from the side of the sofa and skipped over to you, eyes wide in childlike amazement.

“Your dress!” She squealed, continuing to skip in a circle around you as she scanned you from top to bottom, “it’s so pretty! I’m going to ask Daddy to get me one just like it when he comes back!”

The last sentence felt like a hammer to your chest, and you could see Jungkook’s expression also sadden from behind her. How long would it take this little girl to realise that her father would not be coming back? That his life had been taken from him only because of the cruel way in which this world was structured?

Before you could think much of it, you slowly lowered yourself to the ground, knees touching the cold wood as you became eye to eye with the excited girl before you. It gave her the opportunity to marvel at your hair and the light sparkles on your eyelids, her small hand brushing against the frills of your dress softly as her excitement only heightened.

“You look just like a princess!” She continued. But then a thought seemed to strike her, suddenly making her shy, “do you think I could grow up to be a princess like you one day?”

You smiled at her, using every bit of your self control not to cry for this little girl and her innocence, “I think you’ll grow up to be an even prettier princess one day.”

Her smile brightened again, her confidence restored in that quick way only a child’s confidence could. You wanted that confidence to stick though, knowing just how quickly the cruelty of this world could destroy it .

“But do you want me to tell you a little secret?” You asked, to which she nodded hastily, also desperate in that way only children were.

“You don’t need pink dresses and sparkles to be a princess.” You gently took hold of her hand, giving her tiny fingers a comforting squeeze. This new information seemed to shock her, her eyes widening as a surprised gasp escaped her lips, “what matters is your heart. Your grandmother lost someone very dear to her, and she’ll need someone to help her get through her sadness.”

The girl straightened up immediately, chin rising as if to meet the challenge head on, “don’t worry, Daddy always makes me in charge of helping grandma. I’ll always take care of her.”

“That’s very responsible of you,” you praised.

“I am! I’m very-” She struggled with the words for a moment until she finally seemed to manage the beast, “responsible!”

An amused breath escaped your lips at her childish confidence, despite the sorrow tugging at your heartstrings.

“And when you realise what you’ve lost,” you continued, this time speaking to the girl she will become when the devastating news finally hits her, “your grandma will be there to get you through it as well. You won’t be alone, okay?”

She nodded innocently, the weight of your words flying over her head. But that was okay, she’d realise their meaning when the time came. You could only hope that they would provide at least some comfort when it really mattered.

Without another thought, you reached behind your head to unravel the silky pink ribbon in your hair, making sure to smooth it out before you held it out to her. She squealed in delight, grabbing the ribbon and softly running a hand over the silk material.

But then she suddenly looked up from it and threw her arms around your neck, the spontaneity of the action causing you to flinch.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She continued to squeal, “I think you’re the best princess in the world!”

With her chin laying on your shoulder, your gaze automatically met Jungkook’s as your hands hesitantly raised to rest on her back. He was still kneeling in front of Mrs. Hwang, but his hand had dropped from her knee to his own, realising that it was unneeded as a fond smile was overtaking her expression at the sight of her happy granddaughter. Jungkook’s expression was unreadable as he watched the girl jump excitedly in your embrace.

The two of you only stayed a few minutes longer, only because the girl had insisted that you tie the ribbon in her hair, before Jungkook stood and cleared his throat, a clear sign that you both should get going. You hadn’t even realised how heavy the atmosphere had been in the house until you were walking through the doorway, finally able to take in a full breath of fresh air. A guard was already standing before the front door, turning around to lead you both to the next house when he noticed your presence.

“Well… that was interesting,” Jungkook commented, his face turning in your direction to meet your gaze.

You were quiet as you followed behind him, making sure to pull your act back up in the process. You hadn’t realised that it had sort of dropped when you began speaking to the girl, the heat of the moment enough to make you forget.

You didn’t turn to meet his gaze, instead scanning the area and people that surrounded you both as you spoke, “I’m not very good at it.”

His head tilted in question.

In hindsight, you should have told him earlier, but perhaps you were a tiny bit embarrassed of it. Now, though, the cat was out of the bag, so there was no point in trying to hide it from him now.

“The wife thing? The hugging and laughing and kissing? I can do that,” you finally admitted, “but comforting? I’m not the best at it.”

That was an understatement, but you were sure Jungkook probably knew that by now. His gaze felt heavy as he watched you for a moment, studying your expression. Then he turned away, keeping his eyes fixed before him as he spoke words you were not expecting in the slightest.

“You did alright.”

It was early in the evening when you and Jungkook finally visited the last house, the sun just barely visible above the horizon when you had crossed over the street to follow behind the guard for the last time today. You had visited at least 20 houses, all of which weighed your heart down more and more until you had felt like you were dragging it against the concrete beneath you. Some had lost their son, their brother, their husband, all of whom were important not only because they were loved, but also because they had been the sole provider of the family. You committed each grief-filled face to memory, promising that pain like that would be a thing of the past.

It only made you more determined to accomplish your goal.

Now you stood behind Jungkook as he spoke to a woman in her kitchen, listening attentively to her describe the kind man that was her late husband with a bittersweet fondness. His expression was sympathetic as she spoke, nodding every so often with a gentle smile, while the woman thanked him again and again for being here and helping them.

If your observations proved anything, people certainly respected him around here. Whenever he would pass by in the street or when he spoke with the families, you watched many bow in his presence or express their gratitude for him. But no one ever invaded his space, and they definitely didn’t try to speak to him unless spoken to. It was all in all a respectful appreciation for the man they thought was a good leader. It was such an odd sight to you, being so used to people in the South trembling in fear in the presence of a leader, that it seemed almost foreign.

Your gaze travelled around the room as you continued to stand with your hands clasped in front of yourself, casually surveying the small area while simultaneously making sure to absently follow the conversation in case you were spoken to. After your visit to the first house, you’d decided that it was best if you stayed as quiet as possible seeing as you were a trainwreck when it came to comforting people. Sure, you’d sort of saved yourself when you had spoken to the little girl, but you had clearly said the wrong things when you’d spoken to Mrs. Hwang. It was an embarrassing shortcoming on your part, but you also couldn’t really blame yourself. It’s not like you had any examples from when you were growing up to draw on.

You were pulled from your thoughts, however, when you noticed a quick shadow flit in your peripheral vision, making you discreetly turn your head in that direction. For a moment, the doorway in which your gaze had settled on was empty aside from a guard who stood still in front of it, to the point that you thought you had imagined it. But then a fluffy black tail slithered from behind the wall, making you freeze in place. The tail brushed against the wooden floor before its owner turned around, the familiar face and collar moving into view.

Persilla’s feline eyes stayed fixed on you as she sat herself down for a moment, tilting her head as she watched you meet her gaze in surprise. She was going completely unnoticed by everyone else in the room, though that part didn’t surprise you. That cat was a master of camouflage after all. She was only seen when she wanted to be.

Which was why her presence had you wondering what she was doing here.

The answer to that question came when she suddenly stood, walking dangerously close to the guard as she crossed him and made her way into the hallway slowly. She easily blended into the shadows as she paused and turned back for a moment, making sure that you were still watching her, before she finally slipped into one of the rooms which had a door that was slightly ajar.

The message was clear to you: she wanted you to follow her.

You glanced at Jungkook and the woman, who were still deep in conversation thankfully, before you silently shuffled to the doorway where the guard was standing idly.

“Excuse me?” You spoke, voice soft as a feather. The man’s firm gaze shifted to you, “is there a bathroom anywhere that I could use?”

You could feel Jungkook sneak a glance in your direction, but the woman was still speaking with him, keeping him occupied. You’d made sure to keep your voice loud enough so that he could hear the bathroom excuse though, not wanting him to suspect anything.

The guard nodded and began to guide you down the same hall Persilla had walked through. Then, to your relief, he stopped in front of the door she had disappeared behind, unknowingly making your life much easier.

“Thank you,” you smiled at him before walking into the bathroom and closing the door behind you. You immediately began to survey the small space, taking in the toilet and small sink, but your brows furrowed when you failed to find your favourite black cat.

You kneeled before the sink to open the cabinet underneath it, frowning when it also was empty.

“Persilla?” You whispered, so silently you could barely hear yourself.

That was when you took notice of the window beside the sink. It was high up and blurred, but what really made you pause was the fact that it was open. Perhaps Persilla had jumped out of it before you’d entered the room? If she was expecting you to follow her, though, she clearly underestimated your size…

You flinched backwards when she suddenly dropped from said window, paws soundlessly making contact with the tiles before she circled your form. When she was satisfied she sat in front of you, showing you her neck. Once again, wedged between her fur and collar, was a small folded piece of paper.

“He better not make a messenger out of you,” you practically mouthed with a grumble before you reached out and slipped the note from her collar, unfolding it curiously. The handwriting was familiar as your eyes scanned through the words, though there was only one person the note could be from anyway.

I heard he has a knack for detail, so I’m assuming that’s why it’s not done yet. No problem. But we really should meet soon, there’s something I need to tell you. (I would’ve let myself in now, but your husband is waiting right outside the door so I had to make good use of Persilla)

~ H

P.S. I left you a little gift in the toilet tank. I think you might like it.

Your brows furrowed at the last part, gaze immediately shifting to the toilet in the corner of the room. It was a standard two piece, one with a removable back cover that made it easier to access the tank.

You pushed yourself off the tiled floor and made your way towards it before grabbing the heavy cover and hauling it upwards with a strained huff, eyes immediately scanning the inside. There were shiny metal pipes intersecting with each other and valves protruding in some places, but it was a black handle wedged between the mess that caught your eye. You grabbed it and pulled it out of the tank, easing the cover back into place with a smile.

Finally…

Delight was all you could feel as you rotated the shiny new handgun in your hand, taking in its familiar shape. You pressed against the release button first, catching the magazine expertly in your other hand as it popped out of the handle and checked its contents. It was full of ammunition, allowing you to push it back into the gun in satisfaction. Then your attention shifted to the silencer that had been screwed into the gun’s barrel. It wouldn’t entirely silence a shot, but it was still better than nothing and it could definitely come in handy. He knew you well, didn’t he…

You unscrewed the silencer from the gun and then shoved both into the holster at your thigh, making sure to smooth over your dress quickly. One look in the mirror had you satisfied, even eyes like Jungkook’s wouldn’t be able to tell there was a gun concealed under here. He would have no clue what was coming.

You crouched down to scratch Persilla’s chin, promising her some good salmon for being such a good girl, before she jumped out the window and scurried off. Unable to contain your own curiosity you walked over to the window and gave it a quick glance, but there was no one in sight.

Just as you had been told, Jungkook was standing right outside the door when you opened it after flushing the toilet and washing your hands to give the illusion that you’d really used the bathroom. You weren’t surprised when you watched his eyes dart behind you to carefully scan the bathroom, but you knew there was nothing to see. Everything that mattered was now strapped to your thigh discreetly hidden underneath your dress.

“Checking the bathroom after a lady uses it is a bit much, don’t you think?” You couldn’t help but comment, keeping your expression innocent as you noticed the guard standing patiently at the end of the hallway.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed in your direction, but there was an amused turn to his lips. You maintained your expression as you felt his arm wrap around yours and pull you closer, whispering the words into your ear as he began to guide you out of the house, “and trying to kill your husband isn’t?”

“A woman can’t have hobbies?”

He steered you along the street, passing by crowds of people who stood at a distance around the neighbourhood, as you both made your way back to the car. Because of that you had to keep a smile on your face as you spoke, despite the nature of your words.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow to pair with his smile, aware of the crowd’s eyes on you both. There was no doubt that, through their eyes, you both looked like a nice couple speaking about nice things, far from the truth of course, “there are many husbands that wouldn’t be so understanding about your particular hobby. I think I deserve some credit.”

“Dead men don’t get credit.”

“Good thing I’m not dead yet, princess.”

You wished you could shoot him a nasty glare to wipe the cocky grin off his face, but you could only watch him innocently as he opened the door of the black car and waited for you to get in, an arm resting on the top of the car’s door nonchalantly. Taking the opportunity, you placed a hand on his shoulder, giving the impression that you were thanking him for the gesture, but instead said, “I wouldn’t count on that for long.”

Jungkook shut the door behind you in amusement after you sat in the car, ready to join you in the backseat until he felt his phone vibrate suddenly against his thigh. He stayed standing on your side of the car, resting a hand over its top as his other hand went to grab the phone out of his pocket and bring it to his ear.

“What have you got for me?” He asked, casually surveying the area as he waited for a response. His brows furrowed when he heard the person on the other end of the line hesitate before he spoke.

“Hello sir,” he finally said, to which Jungkook huffed, knowing whatever was about to be said wasn’t going to please him.

“Out with it, I don’t have all day.”

The man on the other end of the line sighed, “I was just contacted by the informant who has been working on what you ordered him to do…”

Jungkook frowned, remembering how he’d asked the informant to investigate your room and the man you’d been having hushed phone calls with before your marriage. He had wondered why it was taking the informant so long to get back to him, but Jungkook trusted the informant with his life, that’s why he had placed him in the Lee mansion in the first place. If things were being delayed, there was a reason.

One that was about to be explained to him right now.

“The informant just told me that he wasn’t able to identify the man.”

Jungkook’s grip on his phone tightened at the news, brows furrowing even further, “what?”

“He said he searched through Mrs. Y/N’s room from top to bottom, but was unable to find anything out of the ordinary, nor anything related to the mystery man. Then he traced her prior phone calls, but none led to anywhere significant. The only thing the informant was able to figure out was that the man goes by the letter H.”

Jungkook mulled over the information for a moment, tapping his finger against the hood of the car while deep in thought. H… that was practically nothing to go by. Why were you talking to a man that seemed so untraceable? What did he have to hide? What did you have to hide?

Jungkook’s jaw ticked.

“What do you mean tracing the phone calls led to nowhere significant?”

“He explained that the locations were all scattered. Some were in the South, some were in the North, some were in the western and eastern regions, and a couple were even outside the country altogether,” he explained, then seemed to hesitate on his next words, “the informant mentioned that there were a couple locations that may seem slightly promising, but he admitted that he doubts they would prove to be very useful.”

“Tell him to send you the locations, and then send some men to check them out,” Jungkook said immediately.

His gaze dropped on you, who was already staring back at him from your seat.

“That man is not a ghost. We’ll find him, whether he likes it or not.”

Unlike earlier, you nor Jungkook slept as the car raced through the highway, nothing but the darkness of night visible from outside of the window aside from the occasional streetlamp. You’d already been on the road for about an hour or two, the entirety of the trip drenched in silence.

Jungkook clearly had something on his mind, you could tell from the way his eyes were clouded over in thought as they stayed glued to the window. You hadn’t been able to hear what he’d talked about on the phone, so you’d settled for deciphering his expressions. He’d seemed frustrated by something he’d been told, that was as much as you could make out.

The weight of the gun on your thigh felt heavy, the need to grab it and use it itching against your fingers. Technically speaking, you had an opportunity right at this very moment. You could shoot Jungkook dead, bang on the divider to get the driver to stop the car, and then shoot him dead too before he put two and two together. It would be simple, and you’d also be able to run to the nearest sign of life and dramatically explain how a man associated with Park Jimin had hijacked the car and killed Jungkook and the driver, leaving you alive to relay the message. They’d buy that in a second. It would be perfect.

The only thing holding you back was the fact that you would have to kill the driver. Jungkook was a mafia leader, and mafia leaders were cruel and merciless. He deserved what was coming. But this driver… he was just a guy doing his job. He might even have a family waiting for him at home, and after the day you’d had, the thought of another family losing someone dear to them made you squirm in your seat.

Realistically, you knew your goal couldn’t be complete without the deaths of a few innocents. But even that thought wasn’t enough to get your fingers to grab the gun at your thigh. A frustrated breath escaped your lips at the lack of your action, one that of course, didn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook.

“Someone seems frustrated,” he commented, the first time either of you have spoken after entering the car. You rolled your eyes, refusing to face him. But Jungkook continued to observe you intensely, giving you the impression that he wasn’t ready to let the conversation end so easily this time.

“You know, you seem so adamant on killing me,” he said slowly, “if I’m going to have my wife perpetually working on my death, I think I at least deserve to know why she’s so passionate for the cause.”

It didn’t go over your head that he was suddenly so interested in your intentions after that ominous phone call, and you had no problem calling him out on it, “I heard you had an interesting phone call earlier. Maybe you should focus on that instead.”

“I am. I’m trying to find a pesky man that goes by the letter H, you wouldn’t happen to know him would you?”

You froze, surprise freezing your limbs as you wondered where Jungkook had gotten that name from. Had you messed up somewhere? You’d burned the first note you received and flushed the second down the toilet, so there was no way he could have gotten hold of them. Besides that, you’d never uttered his name out loud since marrying Jungkook. No, there was no way he could have found out from you.

Jungkook smiled, as if reading your thoughts, “it seems you do.”

You shrugged, trying to collect yourself, “H knows everyone and no one.”

“But you know him better than others. Tell me, is he the reason you want me dead?”

You turned to meet his gaze, the taunt in your voice evident, “maybe you should find him and ask him yourself.”

“I will. He won’t be able to hide from me forever.”

You chuckled, answer instant, “doubtful.”

That made Jungkook tilt his head at you, an evident question.

“He’s only found when he wants to be found. Otherwise, he’ll have you running in circles like a clueless pet.”

For some reason your words seemed to irritate Jungkook as you noticed his gaze narrow.

“You seem pretty fond of him.”

You didn’t answer, your gaze instead drifting back to the window. Up until now you’d been driving through a thick forest, the concrete road surrounded by enormous trees that seemed to extend into the sky. But the window on Jungkook’s side showcased the trees starting to dwindle, empty patches emerging in the thicket occasionally until they finally gave way to a grand view of the ocean. If you squinted your eyes enough you could make out a large docks system in the distance, full of enormous ships and warehouses.

The view had caught your eye though, distracting you from the sorry excuse of a conversation you were having with Jungkook. It was the light that had initially caught your attention, more specifically the sheer intensity of it. The docks were lined with the same street lamps that were brightening the road you were currency driving on, yet it looked like someone dropped the sun into one of the warehouses.

At first you thought perhaps you were overthinking it, but then Jungkook followed your line of sight, peering critically through the window for a moment before he suddenly sat up straight. It was then that you saw it as well; at the edge of one of the warehouses, a roaring fire was beginning to destroy everything in its vicinity. It was only visible now because it had moved on from behind the warehouse, engulfing the structure itself at an alarming rate.

A sudden explosion shook the docks, so powerful that you could feel the vibrations of the shock despite your distance from the area. At that moment you felt the car screech to a stop, the momentum pushing both you and Jungkook painfully against your seatbelts for a split second, before Jungkook’s phone suddenly started to ring.

He picked it up on the first bell, not bothering to hide the call from you this time. You could hear loud sounds erupt from the phone the second the line was accepted, a man’s voice barely audible above the chaos.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asked hastily, eyes glued to the wreck. He looked as if he wanted to jump out of the car and run to it, but the distance was far too large for him to get there at any reasonable time.

The man on the other line grunted for a moment, yelling orders to another before he shouted, “sir! There’s been a few explosions at the West Docks! Three of our warehouses have been destroyed, we’re trying to staunch the flames in the fourth one at the moment!”

“Forget it,” Jungkook shook his head immediately, “order thirty guards to the area to make sure there aren’t any actual threats around and to help out with the flames. And take anyone who’s injured to the hospital right away.”

“Of course, sir!” The man on the other line shouted instantly, but then he hesitated before he spoke again, “but sir… who could have done this?”

Jungkook was silent, and you knew you both were thinking of the same man’s name.

“Just do as I’ve said. I want the least amount of casualties possible.”

There was an incoherent sound on the other end of the line that resembled a “yes sir” before it went dead. Jungkook’s hand instantly went to brush through his hair, the gears in his head clearly working overtime as he seemed to be deep in thought. Before you could say anything though, his phone rang again and this time your eyes widened as you got a clear view of the caller ID. It was the man that you both were thinking of not even a full minute ago.

Park Jimin.

This time Jungkook did wait to pick up the call, instead staring at the screen for a few seconds longer than he should have. The silence in the car stretched, nothing but the sound of his ringtone reverberating throughout the small space, as you noticed his muscles tense under his black suit and the grip on his phone tighten to a point that you were sure it would snap the thing in half. This was probably the most tense you’d ever seen him look.

Jungkook finally grabbed the handle of the door and threw it open, stepping out of the car without so much as a sound. You watched him close the door behind him, only pausing for a moment to say something to the driver before you watched him disappear into the thick forest on your side of the road, leaving you and the driver alone in a dark and empty road.

Wow… he really did not want you to hear that conversation.

Jungkook cut through the trees of the forest, the sound of his ringtone practically mocking him as he continued to walk way deeper than he knew was necessary. He couldn’t help it. Park Jimin’s mere name angered him, and cutting through the trees of the forest was helping him direct that anger onto something unimportant. Because he wouldn’t be able to let it out on Jimin. He had to be calm, collected, and even amused in front of that bastard, nothing that could give away just how well Jimin managed to get under Jungkook’s skin.

But he eventually came to a stop, realising that he couldn’t go traipsing through the forest forever. The phone still vibrated against his hand as he relaxed his muscles, slipping into the Jeon Jungkook that was unbothered and coolheaded. The one that wouldn’t allow Jimin to have the upper hand because of his practically ancient anger.

Jungkook brought the phone to his ear and, finally, accepted the call.

The line was quiet for a second, as if Jimin expected Jungkook to say the first greeting, but he was just as quiet, forcing Jimin to be the conversation initiator.

“Hello Jungkook, I was just calling to confirm if you received my gift or not.”

His voice was just as melodically taunting as Jungkook remembered it from years ago, the words instantly causing him to clench his jaw. But he relaxed it once again, knowing that he needed to stay clear headed.

“All that just for me? I must say you flatter me, Jimin.”

“How can I not flatter an old friend?” And Jungkook could practically hear the smile in his voice, knowing how much the mention of old friend would make his blood boil. It did, but Jungkook pushed down the feeling of strangling him through the phone.

“But to what do I owe the pleasure of this sudden gift?” He asked, knowing full well what the attack meant. But he was interested in how Jimin would explain it, whether he would put it plainly or jump around the topic like a coward.

The line was silent for a second, as if Jimin were choosing which angle he wanted to go by, before he finally spoke again.

“Why don’t we speak about it over dinner?“

Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise, the words catching him off guard. How could Jimin be inviting him over to his territory so easily, after years of silent animosity? Sure, Taehyung and Yoongi have been at each other’s throats the past few years, Taehyung constantly having to fight off the Mins at his border, but the border between the Parks and Jeons have been silent, much like their leaders.

Jungkook’s brows furrowed, “you’re inviting me to the Park Territory?”

“Yes, I believe it’s time we settle a couple things, don’t you think?”

Settle a couple things was much too ambiguous of a phrase for Jungkook to decipher. Did he want to sort out the terms for a war? Or was Jimin beyond morality now and instead going straight to setting a trap? Jungkook wasn’t really sure what Jimin was capable of after the warehouse of bodies he’d witnessed a week ago.

His doubts kept him from speaking, allowing nothing but the serene sounds of the dark forest around him to fill the silence. Jimin seemed to sense his hesitance, letting the silence stretch for only a few moments before he chuckled into the line.

“Come on, Jungkook. What will it be?”

This was an opportunity.

Currently, your husband was alone, surrounded solely by trees, in an environment dark enough that you could very much get away with shooting him dead and not being blamed for it. You wouldn’t even need to shoot the driver to cover up your tracks, lessening your guilty conscience to a decent amount. It was perfect. The only issue now, was how you were going to get into the forest without arousing suspicion.

You tapped on the divider, waiting only a couple seconds before you pulled the panel down to reveal the professionally dressed driver.

“Excuse me? I need to use the bathroom,” you announced, trying to sound as urgent as possible while simultaneously keeping your voice naive.

The driver, on the other hand, looked as though you’d slammed him in the stomach with a sledgehammer.

“Ma’am…” He spoke hesitantly, “you’ll have to wait.”

“But I need to go nowww,” you whined, trying to put every bit of spoiled brat into your voice as you could. Then you turned your face towards the forest Jungkook had disappeared into, widening your eyes to give the impression that an idea had suddenly popped into your head, before turning back to face him, “I know! I’ll just go in the forest very quickly.”

Without a response, you pushed the door open and stepped out, causing the driver to scramble out of the car as well, pure panic washing over his expression at your determination.

“Please ma’am! I can’t let you go out there in the dead of night.”

“Why?” You asked, sporting a confused, and very much dumb, look, “it’s fine! I’ll just go towards my husband. He’ll protect me.”

The mention of Jungkook seemed to visibly calm the man, though there was still a lingering hesitance in his expression, “let me walk you to him.”

You waved him off, praying that he let you go without a fuss. You didn’t want things to get more complicated than they needed to be, or it wouldn’t end well for the man before you, “he’s right at the edge, don’t worry! I saw him and everything!”

You turned around and began walking towards the thicket of trees and, to your utmost relief, you didn’t hear the sounds of the driver following.

It took you about a minute of walking through the forest to realise that Jungkook was, in fact, not at its very edge, which left you trekking deeper into the thicket of trees, squinting as your eyes adjusted to the surrounding darkness. You could hear the occasional sound of a bird, that strange humm that always seemed to be present in the wilderness, and the skittering of small animals against fallen branches, but there was no sound of your own expert footsteps to your satisfaction. Jungkook wouldn’t be able to hear what was coming.

Once you’d created a considerable distance between yourself and the driver, to the point that you were certain he would no longer be able to catch sight of you, your innocent smile dropped, replaced immediately by a look of focus as you reached for the gun at your thigh.

Your gaze wasted no time in surveying the darkened wilderness around you, flickering down only briefly to double check the magazine once again. Your surroundings were still empty of human life, no signs of Jungkook anywhere near you for the time being. Your brows couldn’t help but furrow, wondering why he’d decided to go hiking to take one phone call, even if it was from Jimin.

You grabbed the silencer from your holster and began to screw it onto the barrel, strolling until you caught the faint sight of a dark silhouette in the distance. The sight had you crouching instantly, fingers still twisting the silencer into the barrel as you began inching closer to the figure, using the thick trunks of the trees to hide yourself from view. The closer you got, the more the silhouette began to shape into Jungkook, his black hair falling into his eyes as his gaze was directed downwards while one hand held his phone up to his ear.

You finally hid yourself behind a tree that was directly to his right, letting go of the now fully attached silencer to instead rest your finger against the trigger guard. You were close enough that you could hear his end of the conversation now, one that seemed to have just begun.

“All that just for me? I must say you flatter me, Jimin,” he said, voice cool and collected, but you could see the fist his other hand had become.

Something about Jimin got under Jungkook’s skin, that was clear enough to you by now. But you wondered, why? Jungkook seemed like a man that was unmoved by a challenge, enjoyed them even, according to your observations these past four days and also according to his reaction to your presence. And yet, small attacks and calls from Jimin were enough to move him? No… there was something deeper to this reaction, something personal between Jimin and Jungkook that you didn’t know about. Some sort of history perhaps?

“But to what do I owe the pleasure of this sudden gift?”

You shook your head, ridding yourself of the thoughts. It didn’t matter anymore. You were about to shoot Jungkook dead, making the answers to these questions useless for you. This little mission of yours was over.

You watched a squirrel scurry down the trunk of a tree to your left, the small animal cloaked in the shadows of the darkness. Eager to get this over with, you placed your hand on the top of the gun, slowly pulling the slide backwards. At the exact moment you heard a click sound from your gun, the squirrel crashed into a pile of leaves, muffling the racking of your slide. Still, your gaze stayed fixed on Jungkook’s expression just in case as both your hands went to hold the handle. His brows were furrowed, but his eyes were still turned downwards, giving the impression that perhaps Jimin had said something he wasn’t expecting.

Distantly you wondered what it could have been, but physically you brought your gun up from the side of the trunk, pushing the thought out of your mind.

You felt all thoughts flow out of your head like they always did whenever you were aiming, this time your barrel pointing straight in the direction of Jungkook’s temple. When you saw a lack of any reaction from him, you knew it was over.

Your finger finally pressed against the trigger.

Goodbye, Jungkook.

“You’re inviting me to the Park Territory?”

You froze, your finger stalling as it pushed the trigger by about a third of its pathway, the words making your eyes widen in surprise. It had to be a misunderstanding, your luck couldn’t be so good - or would it be bad in this case? - that Park Jimin was inviting Jeon Jungkook over to his territory?

You strained your ears, desperately trying to hear Jimin’s answer to the question. You even dangerously pushed your head forward a bit, risking being detected by Jungkook, but he was much too busy staring at the ground with slightly widened eyes to notice your form, clearly just as surprised as you.

You pulled back behind the trunk when you managed to make out a yes from Jimin’s end of the line, causing you to suck in a breath.

This changed things.

If Jungkook were to be killed in the Park Territory it wouldn’t just cause tensions between the northern territories, it would instantly cause all out war. Killing a leader while he was visiting another territory was a huge no no, no matter what region of the country you were from. It signified at least some form of ethics in a world that was so unethical, and surprisingly you’d never met a territory that didn’t honour that rule. To the point that when leaders broke that rule, it was instant chaos. All it would take was for Jungkook to die on Park soil for both the Jeons and Kims to retaliate with full force, no room for negotiations or apologies.

And the best part was that, if Jungkook were to go, he would have to take you. Leaders always took their wives whenever they travelled or visited other territories to assert their power. If Jungkook ended up going to the Park Territory without you, he would give off the impression that he was scared he wouldn't be able to protect you should something go wrong, making him look weak. Mr. Perfect Image would never have that, especially in the face of the one person clearly trying to take over his territory.

Now it all depended on his answer.

Your handgun continued to stay pinned on Jungkook’s head, finger still pressing against the trigger as you watched him stare into the ground before him. You could practically see the gears turning in his brain, going over the advantages and disadvantages of his options while his lips were pressed into a firm line. Whether he survived or not tonight was all dependent on the answer he gave now.

You could feel your muscles tensing in anticipation, the natural sounds of the forest blurring into the background as you focused on the man before you.

Jungkook’s head suddenly lifted, staring straight ahead of him as the chaos of his thoughts seemed to subside. You automatically adjusted your aim, preparing yourself before he finally spoke.

“Fine.”

Your finger instantly lifted off the trigger to let it bounce back into place, pairing with the sound of Jungkook ending the phone call. Your arm dropped to your side as the realisation washed over you.

The decision had been made, you were going to visit the Parks.

But one thing had become more clear to you at this very moment. You had just given up a good opportunity to end this man, one that may not show itself again, which meant you could not let it be in vain. No matter what happened there, no matter how you had to do it, Jungkook was dying in the Park Territory. There was no room for failure now, only the end of what needed to be done.

You’d do anything to make sure of it.

A/N: Things are about to get very physical 😏 Also comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated!

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jtargaryen18 · 12 days ago

Text

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 11

Series Masterlist

Words: 8k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: More misogynist insults, veiled threats, a looming war between gangs, threats of violence, explicit v sex, a little domination, oral (f receiving), and jealousy.

Vicente Changretta asks to meet with Tommy about the drama with Angel, John continues to struggle with the situation, wedding plans continue. You panic a little because you can't dance and Polly has an idea to remedy that. Not everyone is on board.

It was too early in the day to be dealing with the Italians. Tommy sat at his desk, the morning light filtering through the smoke-stained windows of the betting shop. The blueprints for the new factory were spread out in front of him, meticulous lines, careful math, and projections for something solid and forward-moving.

He hadn’t absorbed a single word of it. Not since he found out.

Angel Changretta, fucking coward that he was, had cornered her in town. Grabbed her arm, put his hands on her. Left her shaken, too shaken to even tell him until later, when it had already happened. The moment was gone, and Tommy couldn't rewind the world to be there when she needed him.

He hadn’t been there. That part echoed the loudest. Now it sat inside him like a coal, burning low, but steady. He was seething. Tommy could stomach a lot of things, power plays, rival gangs, backroom deals. But this? Angel Changretta putting his hands on her? No, that was a declaration of fucking war.

And on top of the bruising insult of it was the sick, sour jealousy curling inside him. Because some part of Angel had looked at her like she could be his. That was the part Tommy couldn’t let go of, the part that made his hands shake when he lit his cigarette that morning. He was barely into his first cup of whiskey-laced tea when the door cracked open.

Liam stepped in, cautious. He knew better than to knock when Tommy was like this. “Vicente Changretta’s here,” he said. “Wants a word. He’s brought two men with him.”

Tommy didn’t look up. Of course he was here. He'd expected some kind of theatrical follow-up to Angel’s stunt. Vicente would show up with that oily smile, pretending this was about business. Pretending Angel hadn’t just crossed the one line Tommy didn’t put on the table. His knuckles whitened around the porcelain teacup.

This didn’t need to be business anymore. Tommy no longer wanted peace.

He set the cup down, the clink louder than necessary. “Did you search them?”

“Yeah,” Liam nodded. “Them and their coats. Took their blades. Left them with nothing but manners.”

Tommy stood, tugging the hem of his waistcoat straight. Composed on the outside, boiling just beneath it.

“Fine,” he said coldly. “Let him in.”

A moment later, Vicente Changretta strolled into the office like a man arriving for afternoon tea, not like the father of a son who had just laid hands on Tommy Shelby’s bride. His two men, sharply dressed and too quiet, lingered just inside the door. Watchful and arrogant.

Vicente held his hat in both hands, smiling like he’d just come to borrow a cup of sugar.

“Mr. Shelby,” he said, his voice smooth, and his chin dipped in polite greeting. “I appreciate you seeing me on short notice.”

Tommy didn’t offer him a seat. He just said, “Speak.”

Vicente raised his eyebrows, but didn’t miss a beat. He lowered himself into the chair across from Tommy’s desk with the casual grace of someone who mistook arrogance for immunity. He smoothed a crease in his trousers like he had all the time in the world. “You know, when my family first came to Birmingham, we made a point of showing respect. We believe in harmony and cooperation.”

Tommy didn’t respond.

“I remember you boys back then,” Vicente said, easing into the leather chair like he owned it. The Italian glanced around the room, letting his gaze linger briefly on Arthur near the door, then John by the window. Then his gaze settled back on Tommy. "Running around Small Heath, trying to look like men. Borrowing your dead father’s coats, sleeves too long, shoes too big.” The man's smile was faint and knowing. “Even then, you had ambition. I’ll give you that.”

Tommy just kept listening to Vicente, letting the silence stretch. Long enough to see the first flicker of doubt creep behind his eyes.

“You,” Vicente said, his gaze landing on Rory. “You’re new.” He tilted his head, tone still pleasant. “But I’ve heard about you. Cold-blooded. Black heart. Some real creativity in your work, from what I hear.”

Rory's expression was stone and shadow, gaze locked on Vicente without saying anything.

Vicente chuckled softly, as if it were all a compliment. As if they were men who shared mutual respect.

“I’ve heard there’s a celebration coming. A wedding.” Vicente leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Congratulations, Tommy. Angel told me she is a beautiful girl.”

That was the moment the energy in the room shifted. The intensity shifted, making it feel like a bomb could go off any minute. All civility vanished there. And for Tommy, that was when the planning ended... and the war began.

“You know,” Vicente went on, adjusting his cuff with idle precision, “it still eats at him. My son, Angel.”

Tommy was barely keeping his fury contained.

Vicente’s voice dipped, slick and syrupy. “That girl of yours, Lizzie, he was in love with her, you know. Thought she’d be his. Until you had her break it off like it meant nothing. Like he meant nothing.” He leaned back in the chair, smug and unhurried. “That’s the thing about boys, Mr. Shelby. They don’t forget when someone takes what they want. Especially not when the man who took her turns around and picks out another like it’s nothing.” Vicente smiled wider. “I can see why a powerful man like yourself wants that. A little wife. A mistress. One for duty. One for fun."

John exploded, shoving off the wall. His voice sliced through the room like a blade. “You greasy little fuckin’ bastard. Say that again. I fuckin' dare you.”

Arthur stepped forward, already bracing. “John, don’t.”

But John was already moving, glaring at Vicente like he was ready to put him through the floor. “You think you can come in here, insult Lizzie like she was some side piece he tossed aside? Insult my brother's fiancée like she's nothing?”

Vicente remained seated, smug and smiling. Like he’d expected this reaction.

“John.” Tommy’s voice was low and dangerous.

But John couldn’t stop now.

“You're here because Angel couldn’t keep his hands to himself? I'll cut those fuckin' hands off. You think Angel can touch her, talk about her, like she’s a fuckin’--”

“That’s enough.”

It wasn’t Tommy this time. It was Rory. He moved fast, grabbing John hard by the collar and the arm, yanking him back with a strength that surprised everyone in the room.

“Get off me!” John snarled, struggling.

“Outside,” Rory growled in his ear, dragging him toward the hall. “Now.”

“I’ll take the bastard’s fuckin’ teeth out--”

“You’ll do it out there, where he can’t twist it into an excuse to start a war,” Rory's voice was low.

John kept fighting him, his feet skidding across the rug. He spat towards the floor, towards Vicente’s shoes. “Fuckin' Italians think they own the bloody place--”

The door slammed shut behind them.

The room stilled. Arthur stood tense near the door, one hand flexing like he was holding himself back. Rory’s heavy footsteps faded into the hallway, the echo of John’s fury still lingering beyond the door.

Vicente exhaled slowly, like he’d just finished a satisfying performance. He smiled again, smug and sure of himself. “You see?” he said, almost chuckling. “That temper’s going to be a problem. Hot heads make poor husbands, don’t they?” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes glittering. “But boys will be boys, eh? Same as my Angel. Passionate. Hungry for life.”

Tommy still hadn’t moved. If Vicente really knew anything about him, he would have realized there was no patience in that stillness. Only calculation and containment.

Vicente adjusted his jacket, slow and deliberate. “All I’m saying is men like our sons walk where they want. And if the woman’s not married…” he smiled, “well, the city’s open.”

That was the moment Tommy’s patience cracked clean through. Stepping forward, he kept his voice calm, “Let him walk. But if he takes one step toward my wife... I’ll cut him down where he stands. And I’ll bury what’s left with your fucking pride.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to draw blood. Vicente just looked at Tommy, studied him carefully. And for the first time, the smile slipped. Tommy didn't sense fear in the man, but recognition.

Vicente smoothed the front of his coat, and rose slowly. “Well,” he said softly, almost amused. “I’ll be sure to pass along your… sentiments.”

Turning toward the door, he paused. His voice lingering like a bad aftertaste. “You know, Mr. Shelby… it’s always the beautiful ones. They bring out the worst in men.” He dipped his head with mock courtesy. “Give the bride my regards.”

And then he was gone, his footsteps unhurried, his men trailing after him.

The office stayed silent.

Tommy stood motionless, his chest rising and falling like he was counting each breath to stay grounded.

Across the room, Arthur shifted. Scratched his jaw. Finally muttered, “Fucking greasy bastard…”

Tommy was still staring at the door, but his eyes were far beyond it.

Arthur stepped a little closer. “You alright?”

Tommy’s voice was tight. “No.” A pause. “But I will be.”

Arthur gave a slow nod. No more questions. He already knew what was happening, that Tommy was already making plans to destroy the Changrettas. And someone wasn’t walking away.

You stood on the small platform in front of Polly's full-length mirror, holding your breath as your mother fastened the last hook at the back of the wedding gown she made for you.

It was quiet in the room, just the soft rustle of fabric, the occasional scrape of Polly's cigarette against the ashtray, and the quiet hum of approval from both women circling you like gentle storms.

The dress, your wedding dress, was perfect. You hadn’t expected it to be, not because you had any doubts in your mother's skills. You’d expected it to be tight across your belly or somehow reveal more than you wanted anyone to see. But your mother had worked wonders, a lowered waistline, flowing fabric, delicate lace sleeves that softened everything they touched.

“Christ,” Polly breathed, arms crossed as she took a seat on the chaise lounge. “You look like a princess.”

Your mother smiled, still fussing at the hem. “I wanted it to be something you could wear proudly… even with everything.”

You swallowed hard. “You mean the bump?"

“Yes. The bump.”

“I feel like it’s written across my face.”

Polly stood and walked closer, smoothing the bodice gently. “Ada was nearly due when she married Freddie. You’re glowing. That’s what people will see.”

You looked at yourself again. The soft ivory silk. The way the light caught the stitching. The faint curve of your body, mostly hidden beneath clever design and love.

The door opened gently, and one of the maids stepped in with a box. “Shoes, Miss.”

You stepped down as your mother took the box and opened it. Inside were the most beautiful shoes you’d ever seen, soft ivory satin, a delicate heel, tiny pearl buttons at the ankle. They weren't too tall. Just a simple, elegant design.

Polly lifted one like it was made of glass. “Well, they were worth all the bloody drama.”

Your mother laughed quietly. “They’ll be comfortable, too.”

Polly gave you a look, one brow raised. “They should be. You’ll need to be able to dance in them.”

The air in your chest stopped moving. “Dance?”

Polly blinked. “At the wedding. The first dance, of course. You do know how--”

“I don’t,” you said quickly, stepping back. “I never learned...”

Your mother frowned slightly, concern flickering in her eyes. “Sweetheart, it’s nothing. Just a few simple steps. You’ll pick it up.”

But you were already shaking your head.

Polly tilted her head, cigarette between her fingers. “It’s just dancing. You'll learn, get in some practice before the big day."

“No,” you said again, softer this time. “I...I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

Polly opened her mouth, probably to argue. But instead, she sighed. “All right,” she said. “We’ll figure something out.”

You turned away from the mirror, pretending to fuss with the second dress your mother had hung on the wardrobe door. The panic had passed, mostly, but a tightness still sat beneath your ribs. Dancing was such a small thing. But you felt like everything could unravel if you didn’t get it right. What if you stumbled? What if you looked foolish in front of him?

Polly crossed the room slowly and sat down again, tapping ash into the tray before speaking. “You know,” she said after a moment, “when Ada got married, her dress didn’t fit well.”

You looked at her, surprised.

“She was bigger than you,” Polly added with a half-smile. “And twice as stubborn. I had to talk her out of wearing her bloody overcoat to the ceremony.”

That pulled a small laugh from your throat. But just as quickly, you looked down at your hands. “I don’t want to mess everything up,” you whispered.

“You won’t,” Polly said.

You sat beside her, and for a moment, the room was quiet again with your mother arranging clothes for you.

“I never thought I’d have anything like this,” you said. “Not the dress or the shoes. Not him.”

Polly looked at you, her eyes sharper now. “Then don’t be afraid of it.”

You hesitated. “I think... I’m more afraid it’ll disappear. Like it was never mine to keep.”

Polly reached over and took your hand. “It’s yours,” she said. “And if anyone tries to take it from you, they’ll have to go through all of us first. Which reminds me..."

Just like that, Polly stood and left the room like she'd forgotten something.

Your mother smiled. "For a mother-in-law, you could have a lot worse."

That was true enough. She may not have been Tommy's real mother, but she was in all the ways that counted.

You sat there, still in the glow of her words. Your mother moved quietly across the room, but when she returned, her hands weren’t empty. She held a small, worn box, edges scuffed with age and corners soft from years of handling.

“I was waiting for the right moment,” she said softly, as she sat beside you.

You took the box, your fingers brushing over the lid. When you opened it, the breath caught in your throat. Inside, nestled in a piece of faded velvet, was a brooch, a flower wrought from solid gold and sapphires, each petal trimmed with smaller sapphires, still vibrant despite the years.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, barely able to look away from it.

Your mother smiled, her voice a little tight. “It belonged to Malachy’s mother. Your grandmother. She gave it to me just before she passed. Told me to keep it for you.”

You looked up, startled. “But… I’ve never seen it.”

“No,” she said, her mouth tightening. “Because I hid it.” She looked out the window, the light catching the lines in her face. “Your stepfather, he’d have pawned it. Like he did with everything else of value. Even things that weren’t his. I buried it in a tin, under the lilac bush. It stayed there for years.”

Your breath caught.

“I had it cleaned up,” she added, reaching to gently touch the brooch. “There’s a man in town who polished it. I thought… you should have something from us.”

The emotion rose so fast you almost couldn’t speak. “Thank you,” you managed, blinking hard. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said, her hand covering yours. “She'd want you to wear it. So would your father.”

You nodded, your heart squeezing in your chest. “I will.”

Your mother smiled softly, but didn’t let go of your hand right away. “There’s something else,” she said gently. “Something I thought you should know before the day comes.”

You looked at her, sensing the shift in her tone.

“Tommy,” she hesitated, then gave your hand the smallest squeeze. “He asked Rory to give you away at the wedding.”

"What?”

She nodded. “He asked for him to take your father's place. Rory didn’t even hesitate.”

Her words were soft and devastating. You remembered walking down the aisle alone in your uncle's church. This time, it was a wedding you wanted, and Rory would walk you down the aisle.

Tommy realized how much that would mean to you. Just like he knew you wouldn’t have asked.

The tears came as they did more often now, blurring the room. Your mother just pulled you in and held you close.

“He’s not perfect,” she murmured, pressing her cheek to your hair. “But he understand you well.”

He did, and it felt like another step towards putting you back together.

Another knock at the door came then, lighter this time, playful.

“Oi,” Finn’s voice called from the hall. “You decent in there? Pol says we're dancing.”

You and your mother smiled at the same time. And just like that, the quiet moment was over.

A couple of hours later, Tommy reached for the bottle. He poured a measure of whiskey into the nearest glass and tossed it back in one motion. The burn didn’t register.

Arthur had walked into his office calmly enough, but now he was lingering like a storm cloud. Rory stood still, arms crossed, silent as ever. He knew they'd given him some space to get over Changretta's visit this morning. John wasn't even there.

Tommy turned to them, voice sharp and even. “They’ve overplayed their hand.”

Arthur looked up. “They’ve underestimated you.”

“No,” Tommy said. "They’ve underestimated what’s important to me. That’s the mistake.” He looked down at the floor for a moment, the words dragging up from somewhere deeper than business. “They think this is about territory. Power and posturing.”

He glanced toward the window, then back at Arthur and Rory. His fingers curled slowly into a fist on the edge of the desk. “But it’s not. Not this time... They touched what’s mine. They looked at her like she was a move on a chessboard. Like she was some message they could send me. And now they think they’ve rattled me. That they’ve got leverage.”

Tommy looked up then, calm again. “But all they’ve done is show me exactly where to strike.”

Arthur blew out a breath, and dropped into the chair Vicente had occupied earlier. “John’s gone off the rails. We sent him home. Told him to go home to Esme and shut up.”

Tommy didn’t respond right away. Moving behind his desk again, he didn't spare the blueprints spread across his desk a single glance. He was thinking about John.

John', whose's fuse was shorter than ever lately. He’d watched their family splinter and rebuild too many times. He'd been dragged out of the room like a schoolboy because he couldn’t stomach hearing Lizzie being objectified.

Tommy wasn’t angry at him for it. He understood. That kind of rage came from somewhere close to the bone, from love. And that made John a liability right now.

He needed to keep himself in check too.

“I’ve got Rory keeping an eye on him,” Tommy said, more to himself than Arthur. “He’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

Tapping the edge of the desk with his fingers, Tommy stared down at its surface.

Still. It wasn’t just stupidity he was worried about. It was the weight John carried, the kind of pressure that cracked men from the inside. And John had always felt things deeper than he let on. Always wanted to protect something. To be someone. And when he didn’t know how to do that… He unraveled.

Tommy exhaled slowly. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

Arthur looked up. “You think he’ll listen?”

Tommy met his older brother's gaze. “No. But he’ll hear me.”

Tommy straightened slowly, the last edge of restraint smoothing into something far more dangerous. Into purpose. He moved to the sideboard and poured himself another whiskey, but he didn’t drink it. Just held it, turning the glass in his hand like he was weighing something.

“They made it personal.” His voice was quieter now. Controlled. He set the glass down untouched.

Arthur leaned forward slightly, brow furrowed. “What’re you thinking?”

Tommy stepped back to the desk, resting both hands on it. “We don’t start with Vicente. Not yet.” He looked at Rory. “Angel’s the weak link.”

Rory nodded. “Already got eyes on him.”

Tommy gave a small nod in return. “Good. Follow everyone he speaks to. Anyone he drinks with. Sleeps with. Pays. Favors. I want names, patterns, any possible leverage.”

He turned to Arthur. “And while he’s being watched, we start applying pressure around the edges. I want the Italians uncomfortable.”

Arthur smirked. “How uncomfortable?”

Tommy’s jaw ticked. “Can’t breathe. Can’t sleep. Can’t take a piss without wondering if it’s the last one.”

Arthur chuckled darkly. “Now that’s more like it.”

Tommy continued, eyes dark. “We take their money first. Disrupt routes. Spread word among their suppliers that their deals are unstable. Then we hit their runners. One by one. Not dead. Just ruined.” He paused. “And we do it without a single bullet fired directly at Vicente. Not until he realizes we’ve taken everything but the ground under his shoes. By the time we're done, Angel will have nowhere left to walk.”

Arthur rubbed his hands together, eyeing Tommy carefully. “And what about her?”

Tommy didn’t look up right away. He reached for the cigarette he'd set aside and lit it with a steady hand, the flame catching and flaring before he shook out the match. Smoke curling through the space between them. "I’m staying close.”

Arthur’s brow lifted. “You’re not coming back to the office tomorrow?”

Tommy shook his head. “No. Not for a few days.” He moved to the window, watching the street through the slats of the blinds. “They made a move on her. That changes everything.” He took a slow drag, exhaled hard. “She’s safe at the house. Rory’s been rotating the watch, and I trust who we’ve got in place. But I want to be there. I want her to see me there.”

Arthur tilted his head, arms folded. “You think they’ll come back that bold?”

Tommy didn’t answer immediately. He tapped ash into the tray, still staring out into the quiet street like he could see the future moving through the shadows.

“No. Not yet.” He paused. "But if they do… I won’t be a phone call away. I’ll be the one at the door.”

Arthur gave a slow nod.

There was a time Tommy would’ve assigned the protection, kept a distance, worked it all like another business problem. But she changed everything.

Tommy turned away from the window, the decision final in his posture. He was staying close. Not just to keep her safe, but to make sure she knew it. She’d been through enough at his own hands. And now Angel Changretta had cornered her. Vicente had spoken her name like it could be passed around.

Never again. He would make fuckin’ sure of it.

Across the room, Rory watched him carefully. He stood there, arms crossed, taking it in. “Good.”

Tommy looked up, surprised by the word.

Rory's gaze met his. “She needs to see you. Not just hear your orders. She’ll feel safer if you’re there.” Dropping his gaze, he said, “So will I.”

That last part wasn’t thrown in casually. It landed.

Tommy nodded. “Then we don’t leave anything to chance.”

Rory gave a half-smile, more like an edge of approval, and stepped back toward the door. “I’ll tighten the perimeter. Let me know where you’ll be in the house, and I’ll adjust the posts.”

Tommy almost smiled as Rory headed off to do his bidding.

Arthur watched the exchange, then huffed a quiet laugh. He shook his head like he was seeing something inevitable unfold. “Christ,” he muttered. “He’s more like you every fuckin’ day.”

Tommy didn’t react, not outwardly.

Arthur smirked, leaned back in his chair. “He's cold, loyal as hell. Only difference is, you actually talk sometimes.”

Tommy grinned at the truth in those words. But it was part of what made the lad so effective. He listened, didn't talk.

Arthur’s voice softened, more serious now. “You really have gone soft for that sister of his.”

Tommy flicked his cigarette into the tray. “She’s mine.”

They made it back to the mansion just before sunset. Arthur pulled the door shut behind them, and Tommy stepped into the quiet of the front hall.

It was early evening. The house was warm. The lamps had been lit, casting soft golden light across the polished floors and crown molding. Somewhere, music was playing on the gramophone. The sound of laughter followed. What was this?

Arthur cut him a look, shrugged.

Tommy moved in that direction, following the sounds of music, shuffling feet, then more laughter. When he turned the corner into the sitting room, there they were.

And there she was. Her dress was new, soft blue and sleeveless. It showed off the shape of her in a way that made something inside him ache. To him, she looked like she belonged in a painting with her hair done up, eyes bright. She was laughing, dancing with Finn who was almost as tall as her. His youngest brother was counting off a rhythm, his hand hovering politely at her waist. Finn was still a lad, untouched by the violence that carves lines into a man's face.

"No, you're doing it wrong," John said.

And then John stepped in, all charm and swagger. He barely paused before sliding in front of her like he belonged there. His hand went to her waist without hesitation, fingers splayed a little too familiar.

John shot Finn a grin. “Watch and learn, little brother.”

She didn’t protest. She was still laughing, eyes shining when John twirled her. Her dress swished around her knees as John pulled her back into rhythm. His movements were clumsy, like he was a step off, or half a beat too fast. It didn’t stop him. If anything, it added to his usual cocky rhythm, that barely-reigned-in energy that made him both magnetic and maddening.

She smiled, but it was tinged with nerves. Like she wasn’t quite sure how to handle him, but she didn’t want to be rude. And when she missed the next step, stumbling slightly into his chest, she caught herself on his arm and ducked her head.

John steadied her easily and flashed that crooked grin. “That’s alright, love,” he said, not missing a beat. “You’re just distracted by how handsome I am.”

She laughed again, softer now, less uncertain.

Tommy stood watching all of it from the doorway, and the warmth of the room suddenly felt suffocating. It was all innocent, harmless. He knew that. But something about the way John touched her, the way she looked up at him with that little smile, like he’d managed to make her forget whatever nerves she’d had... It burned. In that moment, she looked happy and relaxed.

And it wasn’t him who put that look on her face. It wasn’t him making her laugh like that. Tommy knew he should have been glad, grateful even, that she could relax after everything she'd been through.

Instead, he saw red. He saw John's hand low on her waist, and the way she tried to keep up with him. Vicente’s words, still echoed in his head. Men like our sons walk where they want. And if the woman’s not married, well… the city’s open.

And for a brief, dangerous moment, Tommy forgot logic. Lost all strategy and control. All he saw was something that was his, in someone else's arms.

That’s when it happened. His voice cold and sharp as a razor, "That’s enough.”

His words cut through the music, sharp and final. Finn backed away like he’d touched a hot stove. John blinked, caught mid-laugh, brow furrowing in disbelief.

She turned to Tommy, the excitement fading from her eyes, bleeding into confusion.

Tommy didn’t explain or soften. He just held out his hand to her.

She hesitated for only a second before slipping her hand into his.

Tommy didn't look back, didn't say anything else. He just marched out of the room with her beside him. Her steps were light, but unsure as she followed him.

Behind them, the music stopped and the silence cracked wide open into whispered tension. Arthur muttered something Tommy didn’t hear.

John’s voice was louder. “What the fuck was that about?”

And then Pol. “Let it go. It's between them.”

Tommy didn't slow down as he led her past the stairs. He had to remind himself not to move too fast, or drag her along. He felt her gaze on him, searching his profile as they moved down the hallway.

She didn’t say anything or fight him. Still, he felt the shift, and her fading warmth. The slight hesitation in her steps. Just a moment ago, she'd been radiant. Now she was trying to read him, like he was something dangerous that might go off without warning. It made his stomach twist.

By the time they reached his study, his thoughts were already circling. Tommy knew he shouldn’t have snapped at her like that. But watching her in someone else’s arms, even John’s, had lit something in him that refused to be reasoned with. And worse, some part of him still didn’t regret it.

Opening the door, he let her step inside before locking the door behind them.

To his knowledge, she’d never been in his study before. She paused, her eyes moving slowly across the room. It was nothing special, dark wood, heavy drapes. The smell of paper, leather, and smoke soaked into every surface. But it was his.

And now she was standing in the middle of it, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the massive oak desk as if she was touching something she wasn’t sure she had the right to.

Tommy watched her carefully. He shouldn’t have brought her here. He knew that. This wasn’t a place for softness. It was where decisions were made. Threats issued. Enemies dismantled.

And yet… he’d brought her here anyway. He needed control. Because out there, for one unbearable moment, he’d felt it slipping away... He remembered her smile, John’s hands. And now here she was, standing quietly in a room where he held every card. And he hated himself a little for it.

She didn’t say anything right away, just looking around at the shelves of books he hadn't touched in years, the unopened letters, and the half-full whiskey decanter sitting on the desk. At the framed photo of his mother tucked discreetly in the corner of a shelf.

“This is where you disappear to,” she said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

He nodded. “Sometimes.”

Her gaze returned to him and there was no anger or accusation. She was just watching him, waiting. That made it worse. She wasn’t the one who needed to apologize. He was. And yet, jealousy still clung to him like thick smoke.

“You were laughing,” he said, the words low and rough.

She blinked. “Is that a crime?”

“No.” He paused. “You looked happy.”

Her brows pulled together, like she didn’t understand what that had to do with anything. And that’s when he realized, he didn’t know how to explain it. How it felt to walk into a room and see her relaxed and beautiful, and not be the one who put that light on her face. He didn’t know how to tell her that his rage wasn’t at her.

“You looked happy.”

Your brow creased. That’s what this was about?

You watched him carefully now, trying to read past the sharp lines and silence. Why was he angry? Why had he come home, pulled you out of a perfectly ordinary moment, one of the first moments you’d felt like a real bride, and brought you in here to this heavy room? Here he could stand behind everything he was and look at you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t solved.

Your heart slowly started beating faster. “What is this, Tommy?” you asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away, so you stepped closer. “Did I do something wrong?” Your voice was a whisper now because you didn’t want it to be true.

"In three days time," Tommy's voice was low, sent a shiver down your spine, "you'll be my wife."

You nodded eagerly. "Yes."

"But I need you to understand something, love," he said, taking a step toward you. "Before you ever walk into that church, before you share my name... You already belong to me. You're mine. My property."

The intensity in his eyes, his entire demeanor, had you taking a step back. Had it bothered him that you were dancing with John?

"No one touches what's mine," he went on, taking another step toward you. He was eyeing you in a way he hadn't since the night he took you away from Arthur.

"I'm yours," you told him.

Instinctively, you took a step back. Tommy moved closer to you, until the backs of your thighs met the edge of his desk.

"Show me." Tommy moved closer, his hand moving to your outer thigh, plucking at the silky fabric of your dress. "Show me what's mine... before I have to tear your pretty new dress off you."

You had no idea what was going on in his head, but your body already moved to obey him. Reaching behind you, your fingers scrambled to undo the fasteners at the back of your dress, to loosen the garment. You were shaking now, unsure of where he was going with this. Your heart raced as you shrugged out of the dress, letting it pool at your feet.

The dress wasn't the only new thing you were wearing. Your chemise and drawers were cream silk with lace trim, the stockings that came up to your thighs were beneath that. His heated gaze moved over all of it appreciatively, his fingers sliding up the inside of your thigh now, verifying the border where the lace trim ended and your thigh began. You didn't withdraw from his touch, regardless of what had gotten into him tonight.

You trusted him.

"The rest." Tommy was so close you could feel his breath on your face.

His demanding gaze had you reaching for the hem of your chemise with shaking hands, pulling it over your head, revealing your breasts to him. And they were slightly bigger due to your pregnancy. His hand lifted from your thigh, his fingers tracing over one of your nipples. And it tightened to a hard peak beneath his touch. You saw a flash of something like triumph in his gaze at your body's response.

"Go on," he demanded without raising his voice.

And you didn't hesitate, pushing down your drawers until the only thing you were wearing were the sheer stockings that came up to your thighs and the simple shoes strapped to your feet. When you reached for the stockings, Tommy grabbed your wrist.

"Leave them," he said heatedly, his gaze moving over you. Still holding your wrist, he pulled you behind him, naked and vulnerable, around behind his desk. With his other hand, he swept everything off the top of his it. Papers scattered in all directions, the glass whiskey decanter crashed to the floor like a bomb, startling you.

Tommy released your wrist then, patting his newly cleared space. "Up you go," he said in a voice that would brook no refusal. His gaze was so intense, you dropped yours. He waited for you to take a seat on his desk, but his stillness was charged like he could spring at you any time if you didn't do what he wanted.

With your back to the desk, you planted your hands on either side, lifting yourself until sat right where he wanted you. Only then did he take a seat in his chair, right in front of you. Tommy still watched you with terrifying intensity.

"I want to see everything," Tommy said, his voice sin deep. "Show me."

You froze when you realized what he wanted you to do. But you did it without question. Slowly, you spread your thighs for him. You were mortified because now he saw everything. How swollen and slick your private flesh had become since he'd locked you in his study. The drops of your excitement dotting the strands of hair covering your mound. You were going to make a mess on his desk, and he knew that. He knew exactly what distress he was inflicting upon you. He was enjoying it.

You were ashamed to admit it, but so were you.

Tommy stood then, the front of his expensive trousers tented. You didn't realize you'd licked your lips at the sight.

But he caught you staring. "Not yet, love," he said. "Lets see how good you can be for me. How many times I can bring you off..."

Tommy captured your neck with a single hand, holding you in place for his kiss. He wasn't as careful as he normally was with you, his kiss demanding and deep. Just as quickly as he started kissing you, he ended it. The hand gripping your neck pushed you back, not with real force but enough to get his meaning across. You eased yourself back until you were lying on the top of his desk, his body between your thighs keeping them open.

Leaning down, his nose was almost touching yours. "Put your hands over your head and reach for the ege of the desk," he told you. "Grab on and don't let go until I say."

Your arms shook as you followed his instructions, finding the edge of the desk over your head and hanging onto it. Your back was arched, your breasts pushed up and on display for him. And his gaze was taking in everything.

His hand slid down from your neck to skim over your chest, cupping one of your breasts in a firm grip, all the while watching your reaction. You didn't realize your lips were parted as you held still for him, trying to be good as he wanted. You didn't know your submission was making him feral. You had no idea the scent of your arousal rose on the heat from your body, making him fight the urge to rip open his pants and fuck you into his desk right now.

When his hand slid down your body, down between your legs, your thighs tightened around him. His fingers slid on the wetness gathered there and you gasped as his mouth covered the breast his hand had just caressed. You jerked when his teeth teased your nipple, sending anxiety and desire rushing your veins. A moan escaped you when he soothed it with the lash of his tongue.

"Your body knows it's mine," he spoked around your nipple. He slid a single finger inside you, pulling a gasp from you as you started writhing beneath him on the desk. It slid so easily, back and forth, while your greedy walls worked hard to grab him. "Your pussy is soaking my hand."

Your eyes slid closed at that, and he slid a second finger inside you. Your back arched, you gripped the desk so hard your fingers hurt.

"Look at me," he whispered, but it wasn't gentle. A command.

As you always did, you opened your eyes, your gaze locking with his. Your breath was coming fast as his gaze dropped to the hand he worked you with. When he curled those fingers, your body froze at the unfamiliar sensation. When the curve of his fingers hit a specific space inside you, you sucked in a breath.

"Keep those pretty eyes on me," Tommy said, another order in a soft voice. "I want you to watch while I eat you."

When his mouth covered your pussy, your entire body shivered. He was still using his fingers inside you in a way that was going to drive you mad. Between that skillful touch and his tongue teasing your pearl with barely any pressure, your entire body was trembling, burning like he'd set you on fire. Your back arched and your legs twitched, trying to get a respite from the overwhelming sensations he was drowing you in. When you couldn't keep still, his other hand moved to cover your belly. He was careful because of the life you carried, his hand covering the slight swell. But that wasn't the reason his hand was there. He was carefully holding you down on the desk, taming you for his indecent assault.

You came on his tongue, and you didn't have the breath to cry out or scream. And Tommy didn't stop, doubling down on you as if you weren't coming apart on his desk right now. Your heart flew in your chest as he kept at you, the combination of his hands and mouth pushing you back to the edge of your limits. He was merciless, not relenting until you came again, fighting to keep your eyes open, on him.

The room was still spinning for you as he lifted his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. With an impatience you recognized, Tommy quickly worked his belt open, then his trousers. You watched as he took himself in hand, stroking his cock with a slow measured pace.

"You think you've earned this?" Tommy asked you, his voice heated but not seductive. Like he owed you nothing. "You still hanging on?"

"Please," you begged, panting like you'd just run a mile. Your body ached, craving him.

"You want me to fuck you?" He didn't make a move to touch you now, just watched as your body writhed, spread open before him and his for anything he wanted. And he knew you needed more.

"Please, Tommy." You couldn't take your eyes off him, the motion of his hand. "Please... fuck me. I'm yours."

You almost came from him just pressing the head of his cock against your opening. You shook, moving your hips and hoping to encourage him to give you what you wanted. What you both wanted.

"Who do you belong to?" he asked, not pushing deeper into you no matter how you shifted.

"You, Tommy." Your voice was breathy, hard to recognize as your own with all the desperation in it. "I'm... yours."

"No one touches what's mine," he told you. "You understand?"

So it had been you dancing with John. Desperately, you nodded. "I understand. Please..."

Tommy pushed inside you, stretching you around his cock like he belonged there. He didn't wait to start thrusting. He grabbed your wrists, prying your hands from the desk. Roughly he held them to the desk on either side of your head as he began to move faster within you. Lowering his head, he stole kisses from your lips as he fucked you harder, letting you taste yourself on him.

It only took a few seconds for you to feel orgasm riding you again. He was pounding you into his desk while your thighs trembled around his hips, your arms trying in vain to pull free of his grip. It felt amazing even as his dominance was just shy of painful. Every time you struggled in his hold, he tightened his grip, went at you harder.

When you came on his cock, he didn't slow down to acknowledge it. He kept going, so hard in you it felt like he was punching the air from your lungs. How was he holding out? You came three times, wilting beneath him as he continue to take from you.

You could barely breathe. You were just hoping you lived through it.

Impossibly, you were about to reach that plateau again, your body weak and trembling as he kept moving in you. You sucked in a breath, bracing for that final wave when Tommy pulled free of you, moving off you. And you had been right there. When a whine escaped your lips, Tommy smiled.

"You want it, get up," he ordered.

You were trembling when he pulled you up from his desk, letting him put you where he wanted. Tommy posiitioned you with a knee on his desk, protecting your tummy from how he was about to take you now. Your other leg was on the ground and the position made it easy for him to press himself into your back, slide into you from behind. Your arms were barely able to hold you up, as his thrusts gained speed and strength. Your scalp stung as his hand clutched in your hair, using it to pull your neck back and keep you upright that way. It also exposed your throat.

"You're mine," he whispered in your ear as he continued to power into you. "You're mine when I want... Where I want."

"Yes," it came out as a desperate plea but only seemed to ecourage him.

Please let me come.

"And I won't see anyone else's hands on you." Tommy's breath pelted your ear, making you shiver as he kept fucking you. "Not even my own fucking brothers. You understand?"

Tears of frustration and need were sliding from your eyes. You would do anything for him to finish you. "I understand... please, Tommy."

"Then come for me," he whispered.

As if your body was his to command, the last release hit you hard, sending you spiraling into the darkness.

You were aware that he reached his end, growling as he emptied himself into you, his hand around your throat until he was done.

But Tommy caught you before you could fall. He pulled you into his lap, cradling you against his chest. Mindlessly, you clung to him, your fingers clutching in his shirt.

"Was I good?" you tried to ask, not sure if he could understand you or not.

His lips pressed into your hair. "You're my good girl," he whispered, keeping you safe.

"M'sorry," he whispered. "I love you."

@outlanderuniverse @alyssajunelle @gothic-chinadoll @sparda1234 @mrsnms @alexakeyloveloki @theinheriteddutchess @wiseyouthingluencer @lovinglimerence @goldensunflowe-r @andydrysdalerogers @hellfirehopeless @wantedby-larry @mariaenchanted @moonbeamott @thetamtam9 @ayeeeitsmiracle

#The Arrangement #Peaky Blinders #Thomas Shelby #Tommy Shelby #Cillian Murphy #Thomas Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x you

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