An armed guard swings open the heavy, engraved wooden door, his curt nod signaling me to step inside. This is only my second visit to the Kim estate, and the sprawling mansion still feels alien, its opulence laced with an undercurrent of menace. Armed men dot the grounds like shadows, their presence a constant reminder of the world I’m stepping into.

Just weeks ago, my mother announced her engagement to Kim Haesung, the retired godfather of the Korean mafia. Tonight marks our first family dinner, and the thought of meeting Haesung’s children, Ryan and Athina, sets my nerves on edge.

Haesung himself is a formidable figure. Our few conversations have left me fidgeting like a child under his piercing gaze, those severe eyebrows making him look like a hawk ready to strike. Though he’s never been unkind, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m one wrong move away from disaster.

Mom insists he’s warm and caring beneath the intimidating exterior, and I want to believe her. She deserves happiness after years of sacrifice. My father died in a skiing accident when I was eight, and Mom devoted herself to raising me, only rediscovering her social life after I enrolled at the Busan Asian Film School (AFiS). If Haesung makes her happy, I’ll support her choice—even if I want nothing to do with the mafia.

Dad was never deeply entrenched in that world, just a bookkeeper who steered clear of the violence. After his death, Mom distanced us from the mafia entirely. My plan is simple: focus on my studies, graduate, and build a career as a film producer, far from the murky underworld.

Inside the grand entrance hall, I pause, feeling like prey in a predator’s den. The glittering gold chandelier casts light over an imposing staircase, but the space feels heavy, oppressive. My last visit was with Mom, and I vaguely recall the dining room being to the right. Hesitant, I glance around, my heart thudding as I navigate this unfamiliar terrain.

The real source of my dread is Ryan . His name alone inspires whispers of fear. They say he’s brutal, merciless—the current godfather of the Korean mafia. The thought of meeting him in person sends a chill through me.

“Isabella, 나의 사랑, *naui salang*,” Mom’s voice calls, her term of endearment—*my love*—cutting through my anxiety. I turn to see her gliding toward me, radiant in a mermaid dress that shimmers like spun gold.

“Mamá,” I say, a relieved smile breaking across my face as I step into her embrace. I press a soft kiss to her cheek. “You look stunning.”

“Tonight’s important,” she replies, her eyes sweeping over my cream satin off-shoulder dress. She brushes a styled strand from my bare shoulder, her gaze lingering on the slit at my thigh. For a moment, I brace for her disapproval—I’ve always struggled with my weight, and this dress feels like a spotlight on my insecurities.

Before she can comment, Haesung descends the sweeping staircase, his presence commanding the room. “Isabelle,” he says with a warm smile. “Welcome.”

I force a polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Kim.”

“Soon, we’ll be family. Call me Haesung.” His tone is kind, but those eyebrows still make my stomach twist.

The front door swings open behind me, and a woman’s sharp voice cuts through the air. “Really, Ryan? Look at the mess!” A stunning woman in her early thirties breezes in, exuding the confidence of royalty. This must be Athina, Haesung’s daughter. Her scowl fades into a smile as she approaches her father.

“미안, 우리 늦었어, *mian, uli neuj-eoss-eo*,” she says. “Sorry, we’re late.”

A man trails behind her, chuckling. “Glad I’m not the one in trouble tonight.” I assume he’s Basil, Athina’s husband, his friendly demeanor a stark contrast to the tension in the room.

“What happened?” Haesung asks, his voice edged with concern.

My gaze shifts as another figure enters, and my breath catches. Ryan Stathoulis. Blood stains the sleeves of his unbuttoned white shirt, revealing a chest that looks sculpted from gold. He’s towering, with the dark allure of a fallen angel—sharp jaw dusted with stubble, high cheekbones, and eyes the color of a starless night. His grim expression and bloodied hands scream danger, and I instinctively edge closer to Mom.

This man—easily the most striking I’ve ever seen—is the godfather of the Korean mafia. My soon-to-be stepbrother. The thought is surreal, terrifying. Fear coils in my chest, my pulse racing as his ruthless aura fills the room.

Haesung’s brows furrow, his voice sharp. “Ryan?”

Ryan spares his father a brief, irritated glance before stalking up the stairs without a word. Haesung follows, leaving an awkward silence in his wake. I itch to flee to the safety of my apartment.

Athina turns to Mom, her expression apologetic. “I’m sorry, Helena.”

Mom waves it off as if Ryan didn’t just storm in covered in blood. She air-kisses Athina’s cheek, then gestures to me. “This is my Isabelle.”

Athina’s gaze softens as she takes in my stunned expression. “I’m Athina. Sorry about my brother. It’s not always this chaotic at family gatherings.”

I force a tight smile, unconvinced. She tugs the man beside her forward. “This is my husband, Basil.”

“Nice to meet you both,” I manage, my voice strained. Unlike Mom, a natural socialite, I’m an introvert who thrives behind a camera, not in tense family dinners. Tonight will be exhausting.

Mom nudges me toward the dining room, ignoring the pleading look I shoot her. “Seriously, Mamá?” I whisper.

“Hush,” she replies, guiding me to a round dining table—unlike the rectangular one at home. I sink into a chair, Mom settling beside me, the awkwardness from the entrance hall following us like a dark cloud. My muscles tense, braced for danger. Ryan’s bloodied entrance replays in my mind, a stark reminder of the world Mom’s marrying into. Did he kill someone just before coming here?

Mom and Athina chat about wedding plans, but my thoughts spiral. Growing up, Mom shielded me from the mafia, especially after Dad’s death. What little I know comes from school friends—mafia princesses who either swooned over Ryan or feared him like death itself. My cousin Irene was obsessed with him, but I’ve always kept my distance from that world. And I intend to keep it that way.

Athina notices my discomfort and offers a warm smile. “You’re studying film production, right?”

I nod, clearing my throat. “Yeah.”

“That’s fascinating. I’ve never met anyone in that field,” she says, her tone genuine. She’s striking, with plush lips and the same high cheekbones as Ryan. At thirty-three, she’s eleven years my senior, a mafia princess worlds apart from me.

A low, menacing voice cuts through the room. “Unless you want more bodies delivered to your doorstep, get out of my city.” My eyes snap to the entrance as Ryan strides in, ending a phone call with a growl that sends ice down my spine. He’s changed into a clean shirt, but the air around him crackles with danger.

He pauses to kiss the top of Athina’s head. “It won’t happen again.”

“Better not,” she mutters, her tone teasing but soft.

Ryan approaches Mom, air-kissing her cheek. “Sorry about the blood, Helena.”

She pats his arm dismissively, as if it’s no big deal. My jaw tightens—how can she be so calm?

Then Ryan stops beside me, and my heart lurches. I stand on shaky legs, feeling like a mouse before a lion. His dark eyes rake over me, sharp and unyielding, before locking onto mine. There’s something dangerous in those depths—not passion, but a promise of ruthlessness.

“I apologize for the first impression,” he says, his deep voice more threat than apology.

I swallow, my voice tight. “Isabelle Harper. I prefer Bella.”

He extends a hand—the same hand that was bloodied minutes ago. I stare at it, frozen, unwilling to touch the violence it represents. My gaze flicks to his, and a flash of amusement crosses his face, like a predator toying with prey.

He withdraws his hand. “Since we’ll be family, let’s skip the formalities.” Before I can react, his hands grip my bare shoulders, pulling me against his solid frame. Instead of an air kiss, his lips brush my cheek, searing my skin. His scent—rich, woody, spiked with danger—floods my senses.

His mouth hovers near my ear, his whisper low and chilling.

“That’s the last time you disrespect me. Next time, you take my hand.”

The words, velvet-wrapped steel, send a shiver of fear through me. He releases me, a menacing smirk curving his lips, and takes the seat to my left, though other chairs are free. My legs give out, and I drop back into my chair, my pulse hammering.

I glance at Mom, but she’s lost in Haesung’s gaze, oblivious to the threat. Athina’s eyes flick between Ryan and me, concerned with creasing her brow. “Everything okay, Isabelle?”

Not wanting to ruin Mom’s night, I force a smile. “Yes. Just… overwhelming, meeting everyone.”

Haesung raises his champagne glass, his tone firm. “To my new family.”

I lift my glass, my hand trembling, praying I survive this dinner—and this family—intact.

To be continued ...