Lee Minho

Jisung squatted in the darkest corner of the basement, his arms wrapped around his knees. Next to him, leaning against the damp wall, Felix—he'd been dragged here a week earlier—was quietly sniffling. "Get over it," Felix whispered, not raising his head. "We're just rags here. They brought us here to scrub the parquet floors in the main house until they wear out. And if the boss doesn't like it..." He didn't have time to finish. The heavy iron door creaked, and a harsh light burst into the basement. A tall figure in a perfect black coat appeared in the threshold. The guards behind him didn't even breathe. Lee Minho. The mafia boss whose name everyone in this city was afraid to speak out loud. He walked slowly across the basement, his head nearly brushing the low ceiling. He stopped right in front of Jisung. His heavy, piercing cat-like gaze slid across the boy's frightened face, lingered on his disheveled hair, and settled on his trembling lips. Minho crouched down, leveling their position. The expensive scent of tobacco and perfume hit Jisung's nose. The mafioso reached out a black leather-gloved hand and gently, barely touching it, lifted his finger under Jisung's chin. "What's your name?" Minho's voice sounded low, slightly hoarse. “J-Jisung...” he breathed out barely audibly. Minho stared at him for a few seconds, then grinned faintly. He rose to his full height and, without turning to face the frozen guards, commanded: "This one, bring him to my right wing. Clean him up, change him into silk, and assign him to my office. From now on, he reports only to me." The guards immediately grabbed Jisung by the arms. As they led him down the hallway, he turned and met Minho's gaze. Minho gave him a strange, possessive smile, which Jisung, despite everything, didn't see as a threat.