Chapter Text
“...and that’s the state of things as it stands.”
Jimin closed the folder with a soft snap, his report complete. In the back of the limo, the man beside him nodded once.
“And our northern operation?” came a low voice—calm, lethal.
“Full capacity,” Namjoon replied. “The Chois were sniffing around. A few bullets to the head sent them packing.”
“Good.”
Namjoon and Jimin exchanged a glance, then turned to their boss.
“You seem distant, hyung,” Namjoon said. “What’s wrong?”
Yoongi sighed, the sound rumbling from his chest. “Grandmother’s birthday is this weekend. I have no idea what to get her.”
“Jewelry?” Jimin offered.
“She said she has plenty.”
“New car?” Namjoon tried.
“She hates driving. You know that.”
“When’s the last time you gave her flowers?” Jungkook asked from the driver’s seat.
Yoongi paused. “I… can’t remember.”
“Then it’s time,” Jungkook smirked.
“Brat,” Yoongi muttered fondly. “Stop at the next flower shop.”
“Yessir,” Jungkook grinned, youthful mischief in his voice.
The Bangtan Mafia.
One of the most feared syndicates in the country. You couldn’t breathe wrong without one of the seven knowing about it.
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Jungkook: Youngest. Weapons expert. If it could kill, he could wield it.
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Taehyung: Beautiful chaos. Explosives artist. Arsonist tendencies? Allegedly. Therapist’s house mysteriously burned down. No comment.
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Jimin: Middle grandchild. Poison master. Animal behaviorist. The puppy mill owner’s death? Still unsolved.
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Hoseok: Sunshine with a sting. Second cruelest. Acupuncture needles and a death glare that earned him a mythic reputation.
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Seokjin (Jin): Eldest. Hacker supreme. Vaults, systems, reputations—he cracked them all. Fake intel? Even better.
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Namjoon: Gentle Giant. Dimples and destruction. High IQ. Favorite torture method? Finger removal—with a side of forced consumption.
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Yoongi: The King. Raised in blood and strategy. Took the reins at 25 when his father retired to the Bahamas. Ruthless. Untouchable. Cross him or harm his family, and you’d vanish. One woman tried to accuse Jungkook of assault—she hasn’t left the mental institution since.
They ran the empire.
But their grandmother ran them.
Their father had offered to take her to the Bahamas. She refused. Her home was here. Her legacy was her grandchildren.
The limo slowed.
Yoongi blinked out of his thoughts as they pulled up outside a small flower shop.
“Want us to come with?” Namjoon asked.
Yoongi shook his head. “It’s a flower shop. I’ll be fine.”
He stepped out, closed the door behind him, and walked toward the entrance.
