Hwang Hyunjin Mafia

!It's all made up and has nothing to do with reality!

Smoke curled in the air, drowning out the smell of blood and gunpowder. Felix stood by the window of the old warehouse, holding the pistol in his relaxed hand, as if it weren't steel but an extension of his fingers. His face was calm, his eyes blazing.

"Another clear," he chuckled, turning to Hyunjin. "Your guys missed again."

Hyunjin, tall, with a predatory gaze and restrained authority in every movement, slowly raised an eyebrow. "But you never miss, Fox." He stepped closer, dropping the empty magazine on the floor. "Sometimes I think you were born for war."

Felix chuckled. "I just don't like losing. Especially to those who think omegas are weak."

His voice was quiet but firm, sending a familiar chill down Hyunjin's spine. He remembered Felix, as a teenager, standing in front of three boys who had mocked him—and a minute later, they were lying on the ground, wiping blood from their broken lips.

"You're breaking the rules," Hyunjin said, looking at him almost with admiration. "Even the ones I wrote myself."

Felix chuckled as he clicked the safety catch.

• Then rewrite them for me, boss.

He stepped closer, the scent of metal mingling with the aroma of cigars and something wild and dangerous. Two mafiosi, two predators whose roles had long been intertwined—boss and right-hand man, alpha and omega. But neither of them was the weaker.