Chapter 4 - THE MIDNIGHT CONFESSIONThe four guards realized the tide had turned, but loyalty in the Kang syndicate was bought with fear or blood—and Park paid in both.
“Kill them,” Park screamed, drawing his pistol with blinding speed.
Before the barrel could clear leather, a deafening roar echoed through the private dining room. Glass shattered across the long mahogany table as the reinforced double doors exploded inward. Six elite shadow operatives—Min-jae’s personal personal guard, men whose faces no rival ever saw and lived to tell about it—swarmed the room.
Two of Park’s guards hit the floor before they could unholster their weapons, neutralized by precision suppressed fire. The remaining two raised their hands instantly, dropping their heavy Glock pistols onto the thick Persian rug.
Park stood frozen, his gun half-drawn, trembling as the cold barrel of Min-jae’s own custom-engraved Sig Sauer pressed gently against the bridge of his nose.
“Drop it,” Min-jae murmured.
Park let the weapon slip from his fingers, hearing it clatter against the floor like a death rattle. He fell to his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“You always were too smart for your own good, Min-jae,” Park choked out, blood pooling from a graze on his shoulder where a shadow operative’s round had clipped him. “You thought you were the king of Seoul. But you were blind. Eun-ji never loved you. She was trapped in that fortress with a monster who traded in blood and extortion.”
Min-jae didn't flinch. The words carved deep into old scars, but his hand remained rock-steady.
“Where is she?” Min-jae demanded.
“Dead,” Park laughed hysterically, blood fleaking from his lips. “I told you the truth about the fire, Min-jae. Just not which fire. Two months ago, she tried to contact you through a proxy in London. She wanted to reclaim her daughter. She wanted to expose our financial routes to Interpol to buy her freedom. So I made sure she couldn't talk.”
Nia let out a piercing cry, collapsing against the sideboard as the horrific reality washed over her. The friend she had spoken to six months ago—the woman who promised they would reunite in Africa—was already gone. Murdered by the very man kneeling before them.
Yuna buried her face in Nia’s apron, sobbing quietly, the innocence of a six-year-old shattering into a million jagged pieces.
Min-jae’s eyes went completely black. The cold, calculating mafia boss vanished, replaced by a primal, apocalyptic fury. He cocked the hammer of his pistol.
“Wait!” Nia shouted, lunging forward and grabbing Min-jae’s wrist.
Min-jae looked down at her, his vision red. “He killed her, Nia. He killed the woman who protected you in London.”
“If you kill him now, we lose everything,” Nia pleaded, her voice fierce, steadying herself through her own overwhelming grief. “Look at his phone, Min-jae. Look at the transmission logs. He didn't work alone. He called someone else right before we entered this room. Someone higher up. Someone in the syndicate who wanted Eun-ji silenced permanently.”
Park’s eyes widened in sudden panic. “Don’t listen to her—!”
With a swift, brutal strike of his pistol butt, Min-jae silenced Park, knocking the traitor unconscious with a single blow.
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Min-jae crouched down, ripped the encrypted burner phone from Park’s coat pocket, and swiped the screen. The display was lit up with a single, incoming encrypted video call from an unknown international number.
The caller ID read: THE CHAIRMAN.
