✅(JINKOOK+TAEJIN)❤️ 2nd Book(completed)

mafia⛔8

The weight of the family legacy settled heavily on Jin's shoulders as Jungkook's grandmother, a formidable woman with eyes that seemed to pierce through pretense, led him to a dimly lit room. In a velvet-lined box, she revealed a magnificent navel ring, a large diamond glittering with an ancient fire.
"This," she declared, her voice resonating with authority, "has been worn by every Luna of our family for generations. It symbolizes the strength and fertility of the one who will carry the next generation."
Jin stared at the opulent jewel, a wave of unease washing over him. "But... I don't have a piercing," he stammered, a blush creeping up his neck. "And... I'm afraid of needles."
The grandmother's gaze was unwavering. "Excuses are for the weak, Jin. You are now the Luna of this world. You will bear Jungkook's children in your womb in the near future. It is your duty."
Before Jin could protest further, she clapped her hands, and a woman entered the room carrying a sterile tray. Panic flared in Jin's chest. He tried to back away, but the grandmother's grip was surprisingly strong.
"Lie down, child," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.
Jin was forced onto the bed, his heart pounding in his ears. The woman approached, her touch surprisingly gentle as she pressed her thumb into Jin's navel, exploring the smooth skin. A strange sensation, a mix of vulnerability and violation, washed over Jin as she circled the area with her finger. Then, a cold antiseptic swab was applied, the scent sharp and clinical.
The glint of the piercing needle sent a jolt of terror through Jin. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself. The needle pierced his skin, a sharp, searing pain that made him arch his back off the bed, a strangled cry escaping his lips. Tears streamed down his face as the woman swiftly inserted the heavy diamond ring into the newly formed hole. The cold metal against his raw skin was a constant reminder of this unwanted intrusion.
The woman then pressed her thumb firmly over the newly pierced and incredibly sensitive area. Jin gasped, his breath catching in his throat. The tenderness was acute, a throbbing ache that radiated outwards. He squeezed his eyes tighter, his mouth falling open in silent protest.
The woman stepped back, her gaze intense as she studied Jin. A strange look came over her face, a mixture of pity and certainty. "I can see," she declared, her voice low and grave. "You cannot carry the heir of Jungkook. It is not in your fate. You cannot become appa."
Despite his deep-seated aversion to carrying Jungkook's child, a pang of unexpected sadness struck Jin. He had always loved children, had always dreamed of becoming a father someday, in a life far removed from this dark world.
"Are you... an astrologer?" Jin asked, his voice trembling.
The woman nodded slowly. "I can see the threads of fate. And I see yours, Jin. It is a path leading to death. You are going to die soon."
"What?" Jin exclaimed, his eyes wide with terror. "What... what do I have to do to save myself?"
The woman's gaze was solemn. "Run away from here, child. Run far, and run fast. This place... this fate... it will consume you."
.
.
The astrologer's chilling prophecy echoed in Jin's mind, a death sentence hanging over his head. Run. The word was a desperate plea, a siren's call to freedom. Yet, the weight of the poison bottle hidden beneath his loose floorboard held him captive. He couldn't just flee, not with Suga's plan still hanging in the balance. The desire for self-preservation warred with the fear of Suga's potential wrath.
Days turned into a tense charade. Jin observed Jungkook's routine during meals. Every plate served to the mafia leader was first offered to his large, loyal Doberman. The realization struck Jin with a pang of unexpected conscience. He couldn't do it. He couldn't poison an innocent animal.
He contacted Suga, relaying the information with a tremor in his voice. Suga's response was immediate and pragmatic. "Then you need to gain his trust, Jin. Make him believe you are... adjusting. That you are starting to accept your new life."
The idea felt repulsive. To feign affection for the man who had stolen his freedom, who was indirectly responsible for Namjoon's death... it was a bitter pill to swallow. But Suga was insistent. "Play the part, Jin. Make him believe you are starting to care for him. It will give you more opportunities, more access. Patience. This takes time, even the acting."
The thought of acting loving towards Jungkook made Jin's stomach churn. He had never truly loved Namjoon the way he had convinced himself. It had been a deep affection, a comforting friendship, perhaps even a strong infatuation fueled by a shared desire for a life outside their current realities. But the fiery passion of true love? He now questioned if it had ever truly existed. Freedom, the chance to live without fear and control, had become his primary focus.
He longed to speak with the astrologer again, to understand more about her vision, to perhaps even have her reveal his fate to Jungkook or his grandmother. If they believed he couldn't produce an heir, maybe, just maybe, they would release him. Divorce. The word tasted like a promise of air after being submerged.
He instructed his assigned maid to summon the astrologer. The maid returned with a pallid face, delivering news that sent a fresh wave of dread through Jin. The astrologer was dead. Found lifeless in her own home. The circumstances were unclear.
A shiver ran down Jin's spine. The woman who had foreseen his death was now gone herself. It felt like a sinister omen, a confirmation of the dark fate that seemed to be closing in on him.
The hope of the astrologer revealing his infertility to Jungkook vanished. Now, he was truly alone, caught in a web of deceit and danger. The urgency to escape intensified. He had to find a way out, before Suga's plan reached its deadly conclusion, before whatever fate the astrologer had foreseen claimed him. The charade of affection, the slow, agonizing process of gaining Jungkook's trust - it all felt like a ticking clock, counting down to an unknown but certainly perilous end. His priority had shifted. Revenge was a distant echo; survival, freedom, were the only notes that mattered now.