Part 2
### Chapter 1: Introduction
JEON JUNGKOOK
Age: 32 , Mafia Boss
Cold, arrogant, feared by all, emotionless, possessive.The Devil in a Velvet Suit. His weakness is Taehyung's tears
Jungkook is the youngest mafia leader in Seoul, a man whose name alone makes people bow. He lives in luxury but trusts no one.Beautiful on the outside, deadly underneath. He never wanted a partner-until a trembling "girl" enters his mansion. And awakens something he thought he'd buried: a hunger to protect. A desire to possess.
KIM TAEHYUNG
Age: 22 , Orphan
Soft, innocent, emotional, fearful but brave. Grew up in an orphanage, knows hardship and loneliness. Hates Loud voices, guns.
He dresses as a girl at a festival to earn extra money.One wrong moment... one wrong outfit...And the mafia thinks he is their runaway bride.
Tae's girl look ;-
✓ Mafia AU | Agegap
✓ Angst | Slowburn
✓ Mpreg
✓ Happy Ending
--------------------------------------------------
### Chapter 2: chapter 1
Author’s Note ;- 🦋 🦋 🦋
✨ This story has been revised for improved flow, scenes, and dialogues.
✨ The main plot and twist remain the same.
✨ Chapters will be made long, there will be details of every scene.
✨ Thank you for staying with me.
--
Blood never reached Jeon Jungkook’s shoes.
It wasn’t luck. It was design.
The man kneeling on the marble floor was crying—loud, ugly sobs that echoed through the underground hall.
His hands were bound, knuckles white, eyes swollen with terror as he stared up at the figure seated on the black leather throne.
Jungkook didn’t move.
At thirty-two, he ruled like he was born with a crown carved into his skull. Dressed in black, tailored to perfection, rings heavy on his fingers, expression carved from ice. His presence alone pressed the air thinner.
Harder to breathe. Harder to beg.
“You stole from me,” Jungkook said calmly, voice low and even. Not raised. Never raised.
The man shook his head violently. “I-I swear, boss, I didn’t know—”
Bang.
The gunshot was clean. Sharp. Final.
The body slumped forward before the echo died, blood spreading slowly across the white marble like spilled wine. Jungkook lowered the gun, unfazed, not even blinking as smoke curled from the barrel.
Namjoon stepped forward first, checking the pulse out of habit. He straightened, nodding once. “Dead.”
Jungkook leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. “Dispose of him.”
“Yes,” Namjoon replied immediately.
No hesitation. No emotion.
That was the rule in Jungkook’s world—feelings got you killed faster than bullets.
From the shadows, Yoongi watched quietly, arms crossed, eyes sharp. As Jungkook’s personal bodyguard, he’d seen death in every form, but the way Jungkook delivered it—cold, surgical, almost bored—never failed to unsettle people who weren’t used to him.
Jin grimaced slightly as cleaners rushed in. “You’re ruining my floors again.”
Jungkook glanced at him. “You’ll live.”
Jin snorted. “Unlike him.”
Hoseok’s fingers flew across his tablet, already erasing digital traces. “Police scanners are quiet. We’re clean.”
Jimin leaned against the pillar near Jungkook, chewing gum, unfazed by the corpse being dragged away.
“That’s the third one this week. People really love testing you.”
“They forget,” Jungkook replied. “I don’t forgive.”
The hall fell silent again, the kind that only existed around powerful men.
This wasn’t just a mafia family.
This was an empire.
Jungkook stood, towering, his shadow swallowing the throne behind him. “Meeting’s over.”
As they moved upstairs into the mansion’s main living space, the shift was almost unsettling. Warm lights. Expensive furniture. The faint smell of food from the kitchen.
Jin was already yelling at someone for touching his knives.
Namjoon removed his gloves, heading toward the weapons room.
Hoseok flopped onto the couch, feet up. “I hate when missions happen during festivals.”
Jungkook paused. “You hate everything that involves crowds.”
“They’re messy,” Hoseok replied. “And loud. And happy. Makes my skin crawl.”
Jimin grinned. “That’s tonight, hyung. Big fair downtown.”
Jungkook’s eyes sharpened. “Details.”
Yoongi stepped closer, voice low. “Intel says a rival supplier will be present. Using the crowd as cover. We take him out quietly.”
Jungkook considered it. Crowds were unpredictable. Dangerous. But fear hid well among laughter.
“Location?” he asked.
“Old city fairgrounds,” Namjoon said. “Evening. Fireworks.”
Fireworks.
Jungkook smiled—but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Perfect,” he said. “Chaos disguises blood.”
Jin crossed his arms. “Please tell me you’re not planning a massacre.”
“No,” Jungkook replied coolly. “Just a message.”
Jimin’s grin widened. “You always send the loudest ones.”
Jungkook turned toward the window overlooking the city. Neon lights blinked in the distance, unaware they belonged to him. Everything did. People just hadn’t realized it yet.
“Tonight,” he said slowly, “we remind them why my name isn’t spoken lightly.”
Yoongi nodded once. “Understood.”
As preparations began—guns checked, earpieces tested, black cars lining the driveway—Jungkook slipped on his coat, heavy with the weight of power.
His reflection stared back at him in the glass: sharp jaw, unreadable eyes, devil dressed as a king.
Somewhere in that city, fate was already moving.
He didn’t know it yet.Didn’t know that the fair lights would illuminate more than blood.
Didn’t know that among laughter and color, something fragile would stumble into his path.
For now, all Jungkook knew was control.
And tonight—
The devil was going to the fair.
--------------------------------------------------