Chapter 4

"There is a very handsome man walking towards me," Felix muttered the words to himself, a cigarette trembling slightly between his fingers. He was standing under the stone archway of the Han Mansion’s side corridor, sheltering from the miserable, relentless drizzle that had turned the afternoon grey.

He wished the man would come at him with the force of a freight train, unstoppable, overwhelming, and he’d only hope he never slows down.

He took a long, desperate drag of the cigarette, the nicotine hitting his bloodstream like a lover’s kiss. He needed it. He needed about five more. He needed it and the man who was now approaching from the driveway. The air in the mansion was too thin, too expensive, and too full of ghosts.

Felix exhaled a plume of smoke, narrowing his eyes as the figure was now close enough for him to make out the outline of his face.

It was the man from earlier. The "No Neck" man.

He was walking through the rain without an umbrella, because apparently, when you were that wide, rain was afraid to touch you. He moved with a predatory grace that shouldn't belong to a man of his size. He was wearing a fresh suit, black, tactical, cut to hide weapons, and his shaved head glistened with water.

"Mr. Hernandez," the No Neck man said as he stepped under the archway. His voice sounded like gravel grinding in a cement mixer.

"Please, call me Felix," Felix said, flashing his best I'm-harmless-but-charming smile. He leaned against the stone pillar, trying to project a casualness he didn't feel. "‘Mr. Hernandez’ is my father, and he’s currently in Florida complaining about the humidity. You, on the other hand, look like you’re on a mission to assassinate someone. Should I be worried?"

The man didn't smile. He didn't even blink. He wiped the rain from his face with a hand the size of a catcher's mitt.

Unfazed, Felix asked, “And you are?”

"I am Baek Do-hyun. Call me Baek. The lawyer, Mr. Song, is ten minutes out," Baek stated, ignoring the banter entirely. "Min-jae wants everyone in the Library Study. Now."

"Min-jae," Felix repeated, testing the name. "The Prince of Darkness. The man who kidnapped my best friend and fed him soup. Is he still in the car brooding? I saw the SUV pull up."

Baek stepped closer, ignoring Felix, and Felix had to crane his neck to look up. Up close, the man was devastating. The scar on his neck, peeking out from his collar, hinted at violence, but his face was surprisingly smooth, almost boyish if you ignored the dead eyes. "I need to set the room. You’re coming with me."

"I am?" Felix raised an eyebrow. "I haven't finished my smoke."

"Now."

Baek turned and marched toward the side entrance.

Felix sighed, took one last, mournful drag, and crushed the cigarette under his Gucci loafer. "Bossy. I kind of like it."

He followed Baek into the mansion. The transition was jarring, from the damp cold of the outside to the hermetically sealed silence of the Han estate. They walked through corridors lined with portraits of people who looked like they had never laughed in their lives.

They arrived at the Library Study.

It was different from the main office Jun had described from his childhood. This room was a cavern of dark walnut wood and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes that Felix was certain no one had opened in fifty years. The air smelled of beeswax and old paper.

In the center of the room was a massive, rectangular table. To the side, arranged near the fireplace, was a seating area with a plush velvet sofa and several high-backed armchairs.

Baek immediately went to work. He arranged the couches and chairs scattered around the large space, to make sure everything was now facing and surrounding the table at the head of the room.

"Min asked you to do this?" Felix asked, leaning against the doorframe, watching Baek move around the table. "That’s incredibly anal-retentive. Even for a CEO."

"Order prevents chaos," Baek muttered. He placed a card at the head of the table. Mr. Song.

Making sure nobody sits there.

Then, he moved to the seating area near the side. He placed a card on the small, two-seater couch. Han Jun-woo. The only card apart from Mr. Song that was made.

Then, strangely, he sat down on the chair right next to it, angled so it was practically guarding the couch. He didn't put any card anywhere else. He just sat down on it.

"That's for you?" Felix guessed, his curiosity piqued.

Baek nodded. "Yup, I sit beside Jun-woo."

Felix felt a prickle of something inconvenient. It wasn't quite jealousy—he loved Jun, but he wasn't in love with Jun—but it was possessiveness. Jun was his best friend. Jun was the fragile bird Felix had spent college protecting from bad decisions and worse boyfriends. And now, this mountain of muscle has appointed himself as the royal guard?

"Why?" Felix asked, crossing his arms. "Is Jun in danger? Or are you just a control freak like Min?"

"Both," Baek said. He pointed to a chair behind the couch, slightly removed from the inner circle. "You can sit there. Behind Jun-woo. I see you care."

"Relegated to the cheap seats," Felix tutted, walking over to inspect his assigned spot. "Fine. But if I can't hear the drama, I'm moving closer."

Felix sat down, crossing his legs and adjusting the hem of his silk trousers. The fabric was light, breathable, perfect for a summer in the Hamptons, but here in this mausoleum of a house, it felt flimsy. He felt underdressed, and he was wearing Prada.

The room was heavy. Not just with the smell of old money and dust, but with something kinetic. The air felt charged, like the moments before a thunderstorm breaks. Baek sat perfectly still in front of him, a boulder in a suit. He didn't check his phone. He didn't fidget. He just watched the door.

"You know," Felix whispered, leaning forward slightly, "you have the bedside manner of a gargoyle."

Baek didn't turn around. "Quiet. They're coming."

The heavy oak doors creaked open.

First to enter the arena was Jun-woo.

Felix's heart squeezed a little. God, he was beautiful, but he looked like a porcelain doll that had been glued back together in the dark. He was wearing a black suit, his own, thank the lord, because the oversized boyfriend-shirt look from earlier was a little too "Walk of Shame" for a will reading. The suit was sharp, tailored, but Jun looked small inside it. His skin, which usually reminded Felix of caramel chocolate, was pale, translucent almost, and the dark circles under his eyes were bruised smudges of exhaustion.

He stopped at the threshold, his eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal. He saw the empty table. He saw the looming bookshelves. Then, he saw them.

"Felix," he breathed out, the tension in his shoulders dropping an inch.

He walked over, his steps silent on the thick Persian rug. He saw the card with his name on the small two-seater couch. He looked at it, then he looked at Baek sitting guard right next to it.

For a second, Jun hesitated. He looked at Baek’s massive frame, then at the empty space on the couch. It was intimate. Too intimate. But Baek just nodded once, a sharp dip of his chin, indicating the seat.

Jun sat. He curled into the corner of the small sofa, as far away from Baek as the furniture allowed, but the distance was negligible. Baek was practically in his lap.

"Hey, honey," Felix whispered from behind them. "You okay?"

Jun turned slightly, giving him a weak, tremulous smile. "I feel like I'm about to throw up."

"Don't," Felix advised. "This rug looks like it costs more than my life. I love you, but I can’t pay for this. So just breathe, my love."

The door opened again.

Han Mi-ran. Jun’s mother.

Felix had to hand it to her; the woman knew how to dress for tragedy. She glided into the room like a spectre of high fashion. She was wearing a structured black dress that hit just below the knee, modest but expensive, with a string of pearls that probably cost enough to feed a small country. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, not a strand out of place, but her face... her face was a map of grief. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her lips pale.

She spotted Jun immediately. Her instinct was to go to him, her body leaned forward. But then she saw Baek. The Wall.

She paused. She looked at Baek, then at the seating arrangement. There was no card for her. She scanned the room, her eyes calculating, intelligent. She realized the hierarchy instantly. Jun was the protected asset. Everyone else was orbiting.

She walked over with dignity, her heels clicking softly. She didn't try to squeeze onto the couch with Jun. Instead, she chose a high-backed armchair directly behind Baek, to Felix's left.

"Mother," Jun whispered.

"Jun-woo," she replied softly, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder over the back of the couch. "Sit up straight. Do not let them see you slouch."

Steel, Felix thought. She’s made of steel and silk.

Then, the atmosphere in the room changed. It didn't just get quiet; the silence developed teeth.

The temperature dropped. The shadows seemed to stretch.

Han Min-jae entered.

Felix stopped breathing. Just for a second.

Felix leaned over to Jun and whispered, “Okay, listen. I’m a gay man with functioning eyes. I can appreciate art. And Han Min-jae is art. Terrifying, dangerous, likely-to-kill-you art, but art nonetheless. I see why you are weary of him, I would be too.”

When he got no reply, he looked more closely and saw that Jun was also looking at Min and likely heard nothing of what he said.

He adjusted back into his chair to continue observing Min.

Min walked in like he owned the oxygen they were breathing. He was wearing a charcoal three-piece suit that fit him so perfectly it was almost obscene. The vest hugged a torso that Felix knew, thanks to Jun’s drunken descriptions, was covered in tattoos. Felix found himself straining, trying to see if a hint of ink peeked out from his cuffs or collar, but he was buttoned up.

His face was a mask of cold indifference. The scar cutting through his eyebrow gave him a rakish, villainous edge that made Felix's stomach do a traitorous little flip.

He didn't look at his stepmother. He didn't look at the empty table.

His eyes swept the room with the precision of a laser sight. They landed on Jun.

From Felix's vantage point in the cheap seats, he saw the way Min’s gaze faltered for a microsecond.

Then, his eyes flicked to Baek.

Baek didn't move, but their eyes met. A silent conversation passed between them in the span of a heartbeat.

Min turned away. He walked to the back of the room, to the long, dark leather Chesterfield sofa that sat in the shadows against the back wall of bookshelves. It was the throne. The seat of power.

He crossed one leg over the other, ankle on knee, and rested his arm along the back of the sofa. He looked isolated. He looked lonely. He looked like a king who had executed everyone in his court and was now waiting for the ghosts to come for him.

And come they did.

The door swung open with a little more force this time.

The Vultures.

Felix recognized him immediately from the photos Jun had shown him. Han Seok-hoon. The eldest step-brother. The Greedy One.

He was... disappointing. He was a man of about forty, but he carried himself like a petulant toddler. He was sweating, his hairline receding in a desperate retreat from his forehead. His suit was expensive—Italian, flashy—but it pulled tight across a midsection that spoke of too many business lunches and not enough gym time.

He strode in with a bluster that felt fake. He looked ready to shout, ready to demand the best seat.

Then, he saw Min.

Min didn't move. He just looked at Seok-hoon from the shadows of the back couch. He didn't blink. He didn't speak. He just stared with that unnerving, reptilian stillness.

Seok-hoon froze mid-step. His mouth snapped shut. The bluster evaporated like mist. Felix watched the color drain from his face. He looked at the empty chairs near Min, then looked at the chairs on the opposite side of the room.

He practically scrambled to the far side, sitting in a chair that put the maximum amount of distance between him and Min-jae. He sat down heavily, pulling a handkerchief to wipe his forehead.

Coward, Felix thought, suppressing a smirk.

Next came Han Seok-jin. The Second Brother. The Crazy One.

He was thinner, wiry, with a nervous energy that made him twitch. He looked like he’d had five espressos and a line of something illegal for breakfast. He walked in with a sneer, his hands shoved in his pockets. He had the vibe of a guy who kicked dogs for fun.

He scanned the room, his eyes landing on Jun. He opened his mouth, a cruel smirk forming…

From the back of the room, Min shifted. It was just a shifting of weight, the leather creaking softly.

Seok-jin’s head snapped toward the sound. He met Min’s gaze.

Whatever insult he was about to hurl at Jun died in his throat. Seok-jin swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He looked terrified. He quickly averted his gaze and walked to the chair next to his brother, sitting down and immediately starting to pick at his fingernails.

They were terrified of him. Viscerally, physically terrified. It made Felix wonder what kind of monster Min had been to them over the years to earn that kind of obedience.

Finally, Madam Choi. The Vulture Mother.

She was a piece of work. She entered last of the Vulture clan. She was an older woman, severe and sharp. Her hair was pulled back so tight it looked painful. She wore a traditional hanbok, black silk, but she wore it like battle armor.

She walked in with her nose in the air. She didn't look at Min. She acted as if he didn't exist. She didn't look at Jun, either; she looked through him, as if he were a stain on the upholstery that she planned to have removed later.

She scanned the seating. She saw her sons huddled on the far side. She saw Jun and Baek. She saw Mi-ran.

She chose the chair right next to Felix. Behind Jun.

“Great,” Felix muttered, he was sitting next to the Wicked Witch of the West.

She sat down, smoothing her silk skirt. A waft of perfume hit him—mothballs and something floral and cloying, like funeral lilies. She pulled a fan from her sleeve and snapped it open, fanning herself with short, angry movements.

The room was full. Almost.

Felix then looked at the layout. It was a battlefield. On one side, the Vultures, huddled together in their fear and greed. On our side, Jun, protected by the mountain that was Baek, flanked by his mother and Felix.

And in the back, alone in the dark, sat Min.

The silence was excruciating. The only sound was the snap-snap of Madam Choi’s fan and the drumming of the rain against the glass.

Felix was about to make a joke about the tension just to stop his own brain from imploding, when the heavy doors creaked open once again.

And Mr Song wasn't who entered.

A woman stood there. She looked soft, like none of the Mafia world had touched her. High cheekbones, dark eyes.

Han Ji-yoon. Min’s sister.

He remembered Jun mentioning her. The one who escaped. The one who married a dentist or something and tried to pretend her last name wasn't Han.

She looked so good. Her hair was in a cute bun, strands escaping to frame her face. She was holding the hands of two small whirlwinds.

Twin girls. Maybe five years old. Identical.

They were dressed in matching black velvet dresses with little white lace collars, looking like creepy-cute dolls from a horror movie. But their energy was pure chaos. They were tugging at their mother’s hands, looking around the gloomy room with wide, curious eyes.

"I'm sorry," Ji-yoon whispered, her voice breathless. "Traffic was a nightmare. And the girls... they refused to put on their shoes..."

She stepped into the room. The atmosphere was so thick you could choke on it. Seok-hoon sneered at her. Madam Choi snapped her fan shut loudly, a clear signal of disapproval.

Ji-yoon shrank back, pulling the twins closer. She looked for a place to sit, her eyes darting nervously.

Then, one of the twins, the one with a red ribbon in her hair, let go of her mother’s hand.

She spotted the dark figure on the couch in the back.

"Uncle Min!"

The squeal pierced the silence like a firework.

Everyone froze.

Oh god, kid, no. Don't run at the serial killer.

The little girl took off running. Her patent leather shoes slapped against the wood floor as she sprinted past the Vultures, past us, straight toward the back of the room.

Everyone watched, holding their breath. Felix from the corner of his eyes could see Jun tense up in front of him.

The girl reached the couch and scrambled up, her little legs kicking as she climbed onto the leather cushions.

Min didn't push her away. He didn't scold her. He didn't look annoyed.

The transformation was instantaneous. It was like watching a glitch in the matrix.

The ice in Min’s face melted. The tension in his shoulders, that perpetual, coiled readiness for violence, evaporated. He reached out with those large, lethal hands and effortlessly lifted the child, settling her onto his lap.

"Hello, Hana," Min said.

His voice... god, his voice. It wasn't the gravel-filled growl he used with us. It was warm. It was human. It was soft.

The little girl buried her face in his expensive charcoal suit jacket, clutching his lapels with her tiny fists. "It’s scary here, Uncle. Everyone looks mad."

"I know," Min murmured. He rested his chin lightly on the top of her head. He wrapped one arm around her, forming a protective cage against the rest of the room. "I’ve got you. You're safe here."

Ji-yoon walked over, leading the other twin, who was shyly sucking her thumb. She winked at her brother as she sat down on the edge of the long couch next to Min, pulling the second twin onto her own lap.

Min looked up at his sister. He didn't smile, but his eyes were gentle. He gave her a small nod.

Felix stared, he couldn't help it. Jun had always said Min hated his sister and everyone knew it; this didn’t look like hate.

The tableau at the back of the room, the scarred mafia boss, the cute sister, and the children, was the only thing in this room that felt real. It was jarring. It was confusing. It made Min ten times more dangerous, because a monster who can love is a monster with something to lose.

Felix leaned forward and whispered to Jun's ear. "Did you know he could do that? Like... emote?"

Jun didn't answer. He was staring at Min and the niece. His eyes were wide, glassy. There was a longing in his expression that was painful to witness. A jealousy, maybe? Or just a profound sadness that he had never been that close to Min.

The Vultures were huddled together, they seemed not to notice anything after the little girl sat on Min’s lap and were oblivious to Min humanized. Madam Choi was oblivious to everything except toying with the fan she gripped so hard the wood might snap.

Suddenly, the side door near the fireplace opened.

The air shifted again. The domestic moment was over.

A man in a grey suit walked in. He carried a heavy, battered leather briefcase that looked like it contained the secrets of the universe. He was older, with silver hair combed back severely and wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of a beak-like nose.

Mr. Song. The family lawyer.

"Good afternoon," Mr. Song said. His voice was dry as parchment, devoid of any warmth.

He walked to the head of the table. He didn't sit immediately. He placed the briefcase on the polished mahogany surface. He placed his hands on the latches.

Click. Click.

The sound echoed like gunshots in the silence.

Min didn't move, his hand still absently stroking his niece’s hair. Baek didn't blink. Jun stopped breathing.

Mr. Song looked around the room, peering over his glasses. He counted heads. He saw the factions. He saw the war lines drawn in the seating chart.

"We are all here," the lawyer said. He pulled out a chair and sat down. "Except for the Chairman."

He opened the briefcase.

"Let us begin."

Felix reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing the outline of his cigarette case. He had a feeling he was going to need the whole pack, and maybe a bottle of vodka, by the time this was over.

He looked at Baek’s broad back, guarding Jun. He looked at Jun’s trembling hands. And finally, he looked at Min, the dark king holding court with a child in his arms.

Buckle up, Felix, he told himself.

The circus is in town, and the lions are hungry.