Chapter Text
It’s not that nobody’s ever told him no before. No, that’s not Park Jimin’s problem. If you were to ask him, he’d likely point out the fact that he’s just typically been able to turn most of the “no’s” in his life into green lights with a few simple words.
They usually sound something like, “Choose your method of reconsideration.”
Quickly followed by the arrival of his fellow mafia brethren, clad in Hollywood-esque black suits and poorly hidden firearms.
“The easy way or the slightly more difficult one.”
So, no. Park Jimin has been told no more times than he can count.
You were just the first to get away with it.
–
“Right, right!” Namjoon barks from the passenger seat, sitting low and clutching a suspicious looking package close to his chest. “Jimin, I said turn ri-”
Reaching forward and cranking the music a little louder, Jimin effectively drowns out Namjoon’s angry shouts as AC/DC’s “T.N.T.” blasts through the car. There’s a small gap in cars passing through the intersection, the green light turning yellow.
“JIMIN!” Namjoon screeches as the light turns red and cars begin to move. Jimin smiles wickedly, looking like a kid in a candy store as he floors it, throwing the car to the left and narrowly missing a FedEx truck that blares its horn at him.
Namjoon peels his face off of the passenger side window with no shortage of disgust, glaring over at a still-smiling Jimin. He opens his mouth to speak, however no words come out as Jimin maneuvers onto a side street and turns into a parking garage.
“Where-” Namjoon begins, but Jimin simply leans over the console and unbuckles Namjoon’s seatbelt.
“Take that elevator,” he points to a gleaming silver elevator less than fifteen feet away, “up to the fifth floor. Mr. Bianchi is waiting.”
Namjoon gulps audibly, making Jimin chuckle under his breath. “I- I didn’t know that he was here.”
“That’s the point, Namjoon.” Jimin goes the extra mile, reaching across the dumbstruck passenger and pushing his door open. “Out you go. Been a pleasure.”
Namjoon still clings to the package, offering Jimin a nervous looking nod of his head before stepping out of the car.
“Oh, and Namjoon?”
“Y-yeah?”
“Wipe your drool off of my window. It’s not a good look for me.”
Namjoon’s face is flushed a deep red as he sees the spit lingering on the passenger side window, no doubt a result of the crazy left turn just a couple minutes prior. Once it’s been wiped with his pristine suit jacket, Namjoon silently turns and heads to the elevator.
The second he inside and out of sight, Jimin lets out a long sigh, rolling his neck. He whistles a merry tune as he pulls the car into a stall alongside a sleek black Mercedes, which will serve as his discreet car for now. Police will come snooping sooner or later for a bright red Ferrari. They’ll find it, abandoned in the parking garage with no trace of Park Jimin.
Although they may be interested to find Kim Namjoon’s wallet inside the console.
Jimin laughs to himself as he throws the wallet inside, remembering how Namjoon was none the wiser as Jimin slipped his wallet from his pocket in the act of unbuckling his seatbelt. No, he was too scared by the idea of Mr. Bianchi to notice that Jimin was the real threat.
Leaving the Ferrari after double checking that he’s left no trace to his own identity, Jimin slips into the Mercedes and starts it up. Grinning at the sleek interior, he rolls out, heading toward the exit.
He slows to a stop at the toll booth, rolling down his window and grabbing the pay ticket.
“Ticket, please.”
A soft voice speaks to him, making Jimin blink. He’s so accustomed to the deep and rough tones typically associated with his line of work, he’d nearly forgotten what normal people sound like.
“Sir?”
Jimin starts, clearing his throat and offering a small smile. “Oh, right. Here you go,” he mumbles, passing his ticket along to the girl in the booth.
You’re pretty, Jimin notices. Not in the usual, once-over kind of pretty. Here, in the strange lighting of the parking garage, your hair falls into your face as you scan his ticket and purse your lips a little as you wait for another ticket to be printed off.
You’re…
“Aren’t you too pretty to be working down here?” Jimin drawls, leaning out of the window just enough for you to see him clearly. He knows he looks good; clad in a dark suit that matches the interior of his car. His hair is light, freshly dyed and perfectly styled. A little wind-blown, but surely nice still.
You hardly glance his way, though. Instead you’re grabbing a pen and circling something on the new ticket.
“That’ll be $24.73. Are you paying with cash or card?”
“I-” Jimin coughs, the words quite literally getting stuck in his throat. “Excuse me?” He manages, mouth falling open at your response. Did you just ignore him?
“Cash or card, sir.” You reply, finally turning in your stool enough to face him fully. When Jimin can’t seem to form a response, you lean forward with a twinkle of amusement. “Take your time, I’ve got all day. The people behind you, though…”
The way you give a pointed look behind his car has Jimin jolting a bit, afraid that the police are on his tail. Instead he notices a minivan behind him, waiting to get out. The mother at the wheel looks absolutely exhausted, resting her head against the window as her child screams in the backseat.
“Oh, ha…here, card, please.”
He all but throws his card at you, toes curling in excitement when his fingertips brush up against yours.
What has gotten into him?
Did he or did he not just assist in pulling off a major heist?
“Would you like a receipt?”
“…no?”
A smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and Jimin finds himself leaning a little further out of the car at the sight.
“You sure about that?”
Jimin completely bypasses your teasing though, taking his card back and staring up at you with furrowed brows. “Did you really not hear what I said earlier?”
Now it’s you leaning out of the window, and Jimin finds himself holding his breath as you give him a long look. Mirth sparkles in your eyes, and a hint of something else. Something harder.
“You really think I’m too pretty to be working down here?” You ask innocently. Jimin hates the way his stomach flips at the way you’re gazing down at him.
He attempts to put on his best smolder, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, most definitely.”
Your grin is so at odds with the innocent look you had just a moment before. With a perfectly manicured finger, you motion for him to come closer. Jimin complies before he even realizes it, frowning at the way his body has quickly betrayed him. He’s practically hanging out of the window now, hanging on to your every word.
“I’m too pretty for you, too.” Then, with a flourish, you punch the button that lifts the barrier. “Have a nice day, sir.”
You give him a cheery wave, and Jimin has half a mind to get out of the car right then and there, but he’s caught between asking you to marry him or demanding free parking passes for your belligerent attitude.
You notice his predicament, grinning when Jimin jumps a little as the minivan behind him honks their horn. He groans, settling down and shooting you a glare.
“I believe that’s your cue, Mr. Park,” you croon, sending him off with a wink.
It’s only when Jimin has made it several blocks and nearly combusted with annoyance at his rejection that he realizes with a sudden chill that something about that whole interaction wasn’t quite right.
He never told you his name.
–
You sit patiently in the toll booth, glancing at the watch on your wrist. Pouting slightly as you wait for the familiar black Mercedes to appear.
“I thought he’d be quicker,” you mumble to yourself. “He’d better hurry up.”
Indeed, he’d better. The actual toll-booth worker that you’d left in an unconscious state in the closet beside the elevators should be waking up soon. You were in for some trouble when he did; most people don’t take too kindly to being knocked out on a regular Wednesday afternoon.
Monday’s, though…they didn’t seem to mind as much, for some reason.
Maybe everybody just wanted an excuse to go home on Monday’s.
Another minivan rolls up to the toll booth, and you take their ticket with a smile. You’re nearly finished with the transaction when an engine revs and echoes through the parking garage. A second later, a gleaming black Mercedes appears at the entrance of the garage. In it, a glaring blond man.
Park Jimin. Infamous getaway driver for Mr. Bianchi’s sorry excuse of a gang. Just one in the seemingly endless lineup of model-like members he keeps at his disposal.
“Here’s your receipt,” you say as nonchalantly as possible. The driver of the minivan takes a second to realize that you’re even speaking to them, engrossed in the sight of the Mercedes inching forward as though it were a panther lurking in the night.
“Oh! Thank you,” the driver responds with a sheepish smile, taking the receipt and heading off. They drive slowly under the barrier, taking a good long look at Jimin.
Jimin pays them no mind, waiting on the opposite side of the booth, waiting for you to open up the first barrier. With a saccharine smile, you wait until the minivan is out of sight before pressing the button and allowing Park Jimin to creep forward with calculated precision.
As he rolls up to your entrance window, you watch with feigned disinterest as he throws the car into park and rolls down his tinted window. When it’s completely rolled down, he says nothing. Just stares up at you with those piercing eyes of his, daring you to annoy him.
You gladly oblige.
“Back so soon?” You roll on your little stool to his side of the booth, resting an elbow on the windowsill and plopping your chin in your hands. “Forget something?”
Jimin doesn’t waver in his stare, and a thrill goes through you at the way one corner of his lips turn up in a mocking smirk.
“You know I could rip you to pieces, right?”
Ah, that.
You try your best to imitate his smirk, intrigued by it. “That’s hardly romantic, Mr. Park.” Shrugging when you see his eyes flash with anger, you add, “Besides, I read the name on your card.”
“Oh, did you?”
“Of course.”
“You mean,” Jimin reaches for his wallet, popping his card out and holding it up to the light. “This one?”
It’s clear to see that the name printed on the card is not his own. No doubt it’s some other alias that he uses to keep his personal information private from the law.
Giddiness bubbles up in you as you note the look of satisfaction in Jimin’s eyes. He’s sure he’s caught you in your lie now, sure that you’re about to freak out. Maybe try to run, maybe expose who you’re working for.
Sweet, innocent boy.
“Yep,” you pop the “p”. “That’s the one, Mr. Park. Oh, but I have a question.”
“What,” he practically growls the word, furiously shoving his wallet back into his pocket.
“Since you came back to visit me, wouldn’t you say we’re on more of a ‘first-name-basis’ now?”
“If you think I’m falling for that-”
“Oh, c’mon Jimin.”
Jimin freezes, and for the first time you see his cool persona crack with a bit of insecurity. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, wondering who you are and how you know so much.
If only you had popcorn to watch the show.
“Ok,” Jimin drawls, gaining control of himself once more. “Cute. That’s cute, are you a fan or something? How long have you been waiting for me to come to your little parking garage?”
“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know,” you inspect your nails, practically preening as you can feel the way his eyes rake over you. “A while.” You purposefully play coy, curious to see just how far he’ll go.
Jimin doesn’t look all the impressed when you glance his way, and you frown. He runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “…when?”
Staring straight into his eyes, you drop your fake smile. “1,748 days ago.”
It’s like your words are magic, because it’s at that precise moment that all hell breaks loose.
You might have laughed at the way his eyes widened and his jaw dropped if you weren’t suddenly doused in red and blue lights. Instead, the two of you snap your attention to the opposite end of the of parking garage, where two police cars descend at an alarming speed.
Jimin’s hands squeeze the steering wheel, and he glares at you. “You work for the police?! You’ve got to be kidding me! To think, I tried asking you out-”
“Me? No!” You whisper angrily.
You watch on as the police box in the red Ferrari used earlier as the getaway car. Just as they get out of the car, the elevator door open nearby and Kim Namjoon steps out into the garage.
“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Jimin whispers.
“Aren’t you going to help him?”
Jimin looks appalled at the idea. “Why would I do that?”
You scoff. “So much for the brotherhood crap the mafia tries to sell.”
Meanwhile, Namjoon is attempting to walk over to the stairwell, nodding politely to the police. “Freeze!” They shout, and Namjoon does just that, bringing his hands up. “Is this your car?”
He shakes his head. “No, officer. I took the bus here.”
You chuckle quietly at his lie. There’s no way a guy wearing that nice of a suit would take the public bus anywhere in this city. The police know it, too. They converse amongst each other quickly, coming to a decision that has one officer walking over to the door of the car.
He tests the door, and finds it unlocked. You raise your brows, daring a glance at Jimin. “Woah, you forgot to lock the car? Isn’t that like getaway driving 101?”
Jimin smirks, nodding toward the officer. “Oh, just wait. This is the good part.”
Confused, you turn back to see the officer rummaging through the car while the other officer questions Namjoon.
“You’re sure this isn’t your car?” They ask, and Namjoon shakes his head.
“Positive, officer.”
“Interesting,” the other officer muses, crawling back out of the car and holding aloft a dark, square object. “The owner left their wallet. Seems kind of careless, doesn’t it? Like they forgot it in all their rush?”
Even from here, you can see the way Namjoon pales. His hands twitch as though fighting the urge to check his pockets for his wallet, and he leans forward a bit when the officer opens the wallet and takes out a card.
“Huh. Odd.” They show it to their partner, who mimics their response. “This guy’s driver’s license photo looks an awful lot like you.”
In the exact moment that Namjoon is about to make a run for it, a closet door swings open and an angry looking toll booth worker steps out.
“Oh, good!” He shouts, words a little slurred. The police gape at him as he makes his way over to their blue and red lights. “You’re here!”
Jimin tilts his head, looking at you with a half-smile. “Your handiwork, I presume?”
Slowly edging off of your stool, you chew on the inside of your cheek. “Not my finest moment, I’ll admit that much.”
Now there’s shouts echoing off of the parking garage roof and walls, finding their way over to the side where you and Jimin watch on with bated breath. The police are accusing Namjoon of harming the toll booth worker in addition to this morning’s heist in the Upper East Side.
“It wasn’t me!” He shouts. When the officers make their move, Namjoon holds his hands up, not one to put up a fight. You and Jimin both know that Mr. Bianchi will spring him out of jail within the next twenty-four hours. “Wait! I can give you names!”
At this Jimin groans, head hitting the steering wheel. You blink. “No way,” you hiss. “Is he really gonna try to drag you down with him?”
“I mean, yeah,” Jimin mumbles, head still pressed against the steering wheel. “He hates going to jail alone, and I promised him I wouldn’t sabotage him anymore-”
“What kind of circus is Mr. Bianchi running over here?” You ask, incredulous. Jimin goes to make a biting reply, however he’s cut off when Namjoon’s voice cuts through the air.
“There! That’s my driver, in the Mercedes!”
Time slows as you turn to see the police turning to look where Namjoon is pointing, and you hear Jimin curse under his breath as he places a hand on the stick. “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome,” he mumbles. “Mind opening the barrier?”
“That’s her!” Another voice rings out, and the toll booth worker you’d stuffed in the closet an hour prior is frantically pointing at you now. “She’s the one that put me in the closet!”
Locking eyes with Jimin, you share a brief moment of unspoken communication. The sounds of the police yelling and heading in your direction swirls all around you, but everything seems to quiet down at Jimin gives you a subtle nod.
The sound of his car doors unlocking tells you all you need to know.
Punching the button that controls the barrier, you throw yourself out of the toll booth and yank open the back door. Jimin is already edging forward, engine revving. By the time your door closes behind you, he’s flooring it.
You’re thrown against the leather seats at the sudden acceleration, gasping and trying to sit upright amidst the chaos. “Buckle up!” He orders from the front seat, never sparing you a glance.
“I’m trying!” You shout back, caught between being annoyed and exhilarated.
“Well, try faster!” Jimin swerves, skirting around cars and pillars. Just then the sound of sirens fill the air. “Ugh, great,” he mutters under his breath.
Finally clawing your way into an upright position, you grab the nearest seatbelt and begin trying to jam it into the buckle. “Did you seriously just tell me to ‘try faster’?”
Now he does spare you a glance, eyes flashing in the rear view. “Oh, shut up.” However, you don’t miss the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Ready?”
“For wha- Park Jimin I swear if I die today, I’ll kill you!”
Jimin cackles as he launches out of the parking garage, throwing his car into the middle of traffic and being welcomed by an onslaught of angry people laying on their horns. He pays them no mind, even going so far as to wave at a school bus filled with gaping students.
One police car bursts out of the parking garage as well, where the other is you can only assume. Probably staying behind with Namjoon.
Cars struggle to part, but Jimin doesn’t let up. “C’mon, move, move,” he mumbles as though he were simply watching a golf tournament rather than fleeing from the authorities. “Let’s go big guy,” he encourages as a huge semi-truck blocks his path. You instinctively brace yourself, a silent scream leaving your mouth.
“Jimin, I don’t think he’s gonna move!” You shout, eyes half shut.
“He will baby, don’t worry.”
“Did you seriously just-”
“Hold on!” You’re cut off as Jimin slams on his brakes, ripping the car around to a sharp right-hand turn and filling the air with the smell of burnt rubber. You wince as the car skims against the side of the semi, the shrill sound of metal on metal letting you know that Jimin will be needing a new paint job pretty soon.
Behind you, the police car skids to a stop, throwing their car into reverse before taking off after you again. Their inexperience has cost them precious seconds, because pretty soon they’re nearly a full block behind you. You let out a whoop of excitement, which makes Jimin chuckle even as he rolls his eyes.
Buildings and cars pass by in a blur as Jimin speeds down the street. He somehow manages to find all the right streets, always narrowly missing disaster with each twist and turn. You’re torn between gasping for breath and watching the way Jimin drives so methodically.
“I have a safehouse,” he ventures after a few painstaking minutes.
You raise your brows at him, noting the way he’s tapping out a tune against the steering wheel even as he checks his blind spot before swerving over to the left lane.
“Are you taking us there?”
Jimin is quiet for a moment, calculating his next move. He cracks his neck impatiently, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Hang on.”
That’s the only warning you get before he’s flooring it yet again, somehow squeezing his way through two lanes of traffic in order to get into the turning lane, shooting a gap in the intersection that has most people screaming and even one man rolling down a window to spit at you as you drive past.
Jimin makes a gagging noise at the action, which quickly turns into a boyish giggle as he notices the way you shoot the angry man a sickly sweet smile and wink.
“What?” You ask when you notice Jimin eyeing you with a crooked smile.
He just shakes his head. “Who even are you?”
“That’s a secret, Jiminie.”
He scowls at the nickname. “Furthermore, how do you know who I am?”
“Yet another secret,” you sigh, stretching a little in your seat as you notice that you’re on a residential street now. Jimin slows down substantially, matching the speed limit for the first time all day.
Unbuckling your seat belt (with reverence and gratitude, since it’s saved your life several times), you ignore Jimin’s odd look as you climb over the console and plop down in the passenger seat. Wasting no time in buckling up again, you pull the mirror down and chuckle a little at your wild-eyed state.
Fixing your hair a bit and making a show of reapplying your lip gloss, you snap the mirror back up and face Jimin. He’s a fraction of a beat too slow in turning his attention back to the road, red filling his cheeks as he realizes that he was caught staring at you.
“Aw Jiminie,” you coo. “Embarrassed, are we?”
“Yah, cut the crap,” he growls out. “Now, answers.”
You blink. “No?”
“Uhm, yes?” You’re heading down a hill now, houses quickly becoming more and more sparse. “I’ll gladly kick you out right around here, if you’d like. Dead or alive, it doesn’t matter too much to me.” He runs a hand through his hair, fluffing it up. The action is so at odds with his casual threat that it almost gives you whiplash.
You flinch as he snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Answers. Now.”
“Gah!” You shove his hand away. “What do you want?”
“Name.”
Rolling your eyes, you look out your passenger side window. “None of your business.”
Jimin snorts. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. C’mon baby-”
“See? You don’t even need my name. You seem pretty set on calling me ‘baby’ anyways.”
Jimin abruptly turns onto a dirt road, picking up speed and sending dirt flying. His grip on the steering wheel doesn’t loosen until he spots a barn not far off. You open your mouth to ask what’s going on, but he shoots you a glare that has you rolling you sighing but not saying a word.
Coming around the barn, Jimin presses a button on his keychain. Right on cue, the huge doors slide open and in you go.
“Is this your safehouse?” You venture to ask, noting the way a few lights flicker on overhead as the doors close. Jimin throws the car into park, sitting back in his seat and taking a deep breath.
“No babe, this is a barn.” He yelps as you smack his chest. “Ow!”
“Show some respect, Park, or I’ll be the last person you ever lay eyes on.”
Jimin smirk, leaning against the console that separates you. “Not a bad fate, if you ask me- yah! Would you quit hitting me?”
“Do you ever drop the act?” You quip. Jimin opens his mouth to respond but pauses, frowning. “See? You don’t even know how, do you?”
Eyes dropping their mischievous light for a darker, more dangerous tint, Jimin hisses as he flings his car door open and gets out, mumbling something about this being his halfway house. You follow suit, eyes trailing over his figure before you even realize what you’re doing.
His finely tailored suit clings to all the right edges, making you bite back a question about where he got it. His ring-studded fingers are back in his hair again, but it’s the way he’s eying you out of the corner of his eye has you fumbling for words.
“Tell me,” he mumbles, voice dangerously low. “Tell me to drop the act, love, and I will.”
He moving now, making his way around the car to your side. You instinctively clench your jaw, standing your ground, however the closer he gets the more you lose your nerve.
Jolting a little as you feel the car at your back, you blush as Jimin smiles prettily. He’s mere inches from you now, those ring-clad hands coming to rest on either side of your head.
“What wouldn’t I give to know what’s going on in that head of yours?” He whispers, head ducking down until his lips are by your ear. “Show me your demons and I might show you mine.”
Your breath catches at the proximity, and you hate how quickly Jimin notices. One of his hands comes down to rest along the curve of your waist, hesitating for a fraction of a second before bunching up the fabric of your jacket. Almost as though securing you in place, afraid that you might take off at any possible moment.
When he pulls back to say something to you, you reach up to brush your fingers through his hair. It’s Jimin’s turn to stumble in his swagger, his lips parting as his jaw slackens at the sensation. You smirk, tilting your head to one side, reveling in the way his eyes follow the movement.
“I have a proposition for you,” you whisper, pulling your hand away only for him to catch it and hold it against his chest. You can feel how rapidly his heart is beating, giving you an extra boost of confidence.
“What might that proposition be?”
Taking a steadying breath, you stand a little taller. Jimin follows suit, eyebrows furrowing as he senses something more serious in the air.
“I’ve come to recruit you, Park Jimin.”
–
Jimin wonders if you can feel how quickly his heart is beating as he presses your hand against his chest. His head is still buzzing from the past hour. Meeting you, going through a high-speed chase together, and now…
Heaven above, you’re too much for him. Not that he’ll ever let you know that. But the way you smirk, your disregard for safety, the way you carry yourself…he’s never met anyone like you.
And as you straighten up, telling him that you have a proposition for him, he knows that he’ll never meet anyone like you ever again.
“I’ve come to recruit you, Park Jimin.”
Jimin blanches, taking a half step back. “Recruit me?” And the way you said it, almost as though you planned to end up here in his halfway house the entire time has his head spinning.
You smile. “Yes.”
“Wait, wait,” he holds his hands up, stopping you even though you haven’t budged. “Does this have something to do with the whole thousand days-”
“1,748 days ago, yes. This is about that.” Jimin stares at you blankly, wondering if he should be afraid or excited. “You look like you need to sit down, do you need to sit-”
“Great idea, yeah, let’s sit.” Jimin trudges over to the corner of the barn, which doubles as a bar. Going behind the counter, he opens the fridge and pulls out a drink. “Want a drink?”
“I- is that orange juice?”
He frowns, looking back inside the fridge. “…yes.”
“One orange juice, please.”
“But…” Jimin grabs the orange juice out, scowling at it and then at you. “It’s for the rum. You want me to mix it?”
Scrunching up your nose in a way that nearly has him forgetting his own name, you shake your head. “No, just give it to me straight.”
“Again…we’re talking about the orange juice, right?”
Huffing and puffing, you rise from your stool and come around the bar to take the orange juice from his hand. Jimin is dying to wipe that smirk off of your face, but he’s too dismayed to find that his violent tendencies are withering into more romantic ones to do anything about it. Soon enough you’re back on the other side of the bar, humming in satisfaction as you take a swig of the refreshing drink.
“Ok, ready?” You ask. Jimin stares down at his own drink, a part of him dying for a bit of alcohol in his system, but he now he has an itch that he’s in desperate need to scratch. Holding up one finger, he turns back to the fridge and swaps out his bottle for another orange juice.
Ignoring your arched brow, he grabs a stool and sits opposite you, chugging his orange juice. “Ready,” he chokes out, grimacing from the slightly sour taste.
Without a moment’s hesitation, you launch into your pitch.
“1,748 days ago I came to a realization: if you can’t beat them, join them.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re not the one to coin that phrase.”
“Shut up, I’m talking. I realized that I need to take over the crime syndicate, and do it in a way that the world hasn’t seen in a while.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
You take another swig of your orange juice. “A real, genuine mafia. None of this trash you see nowadays, with no sense of loyalty or family,” you practically spit out the word. “Something that would send today’s gangs running for the hills. Or at least have them taking a second look at their inventory.”
You’ve got spirit, Jimin will give you that much. “And what makes you think that the mafia is so rundown now? You really think you can just be up and going with a fully operating gang in no time? This isn’t like opening up a bakery on the street corner, this is committing yourself into a life of crime, sweetheart. There’s no turning back from that.”
Resting your elbows on the counter, you give Jimin a small smile. “I was born into crime, Jiminie. There’s no use trying to scare me out of it now.”
He mimics you, also putting his elbows on the counter. He doesn’t return your smile, though. “Would you quit speaking in riddles and explain what’s going on here?”
“So needy,” you mumble. “Ok, Jiminie. Hear me out.”
In hindsight, Jimin wishes that he would have taken notes. The rest of your conversation looks a lot like this:
“Wait, you’re Mr. Bianchi’s daughter?”
“Yes, so-”
“Ok, yeah, but you’re my boss’s kid? I didn’t know he had a kid-”
“Jimin, pay attention,” you snap.
“Sorry, yeah, go one, Madam Bianchi.”
Your eyes flash. “Don’t call me that.”
And that’s how Jimin learns that you’re taking your father down. “I’m going to reshape the world of crime,” you explain, stars in your eyes. “I’m forming a family of my own now, Jimin. Most everyone has already been recruited.”
“Who’s ‘everyone’?” Jimin asks, apprehensive.
You shrug. “You know, the boys. Hoseok and Seokjin from Cali, Jungkook, well, he’s from the streets so you probably don’t know him…Taehyung, Yoongi-”
Jimin’s eyes are about a wide a saucers. “Wait, you got Yoongi? Like, Min Yoongi? From the Genovese family?”
You chuckle quietly. “Yes, Min Yoongi. Surprised?”
“I- yeah, actually.” Jimin takes a moment to look you over, re-assessing you. “I may have underestimated you.”
Shooting him a dazzling smile, you coo, “It’s ok baby, everyone does.”
Rolling his eyes even as he burns under your gaze, Jimin continues, “Why do you need me, then? You only need one right hand man; the others are all goons.” He pauses, glaring at you. “You don’t want me to be your goon, do you? I’m not goon material, baby.”
Snorting, you shake your head. “No, Jiminie. Remember what I said? I’m building my own family. I want you to come join us. I’m in need of someone with your particular set of…skills.”
“But you have Kim Taehyung, don’t you?” He waits for you to nod. “Then you don’t need me, per say. He’s a getaway driver, isn’t he?”
You tilt your head. “How’d you know that?”
Jimin shrugs, frowning down at his orange juice. “He’s straight from the Sicilian mafia, isn’t he? That’s kind of a big deal…”
“Ooh, are you a fan?”
Scoffing, Jimin gets up to toss his bottle. He grabs yours as well, head held high as he can feel the way your eyes follow him. “Hardly. Can’t stand the guy. He wrecked one of my cars back in the day, never apologized.”
When he turns back around, he freezes at your grin. “What? What are you so happy about?”
You shrug. “I just get the feeling that you two would be good friends, that’s all.”
“Ha! Right. Over my dead body.” He settles back down with a plop.
Reaching across the bar, you press one finger under Jimin’s chin, forcing him to look up at you. He hates the chills that run down his spine as he locks eyes with you.
Almost lazily, you drawl, “That could be arranged.”
Grabbing your hand and yanking you forward, Jimin sneers, “Give me one good reason to join your little circus.”
–
Your eyes dip down, tracing the line of his nose until they land on his ridiculously plump lips. The bar is digging into your stomach from the way Jimin practically hauled you over the counter, but you can’t bring yourself to move as you consider his question.
“Just one?” You ask breathily. “You must be more desperate than I thought. The others required more incentive than that.”
Jimin’s jaw locks, eyes flashing. “Is that so,” he grinds out. “And what did you offer them?”
The question hangs in the air, too heavy for its own good. What did you offer them? Your rack your brain for the answer, knowing that it was something good. Practical. Enough of a guarantee that even Min Yoongi was willing to betray seven generations of tradition to join your little circus.
“I’m an unusually good saleswoman,” you ramble. “My dad used to say I could sell sunshine; I was so persuasive.”
“I’m not interested in sunshine,” Jimin growls.
“It’s yours,” you suddenly speak up, the sight of Jimin’s tongue flicking out to wet his lips jolting you back into reality. “The mafia. You run your own division. Choose your own missions. Have your own goons.”
Releasing his iron-like grip on you, Jimin takes a deep breath. “What’s the catch?”
You make a show of fixing your sleeve where Jimin held onto you. His eyes practically burn you, watching every breath you make. “We work together, as a family. Present your ideas to the group, and we’ll assess them. The only thing I ask is that you report back to me, and you first assist me in my own mission.”
“Which is?”
Without blinking, you say, “Taking down my father. His territory, it’s mine now. And from there, we expand.”
Jimin hesitates for a moment, you can tell by the way he looks away that he’s weighing the pros and cons. While he’s worked for your father for years now, you know that few of his employees are truly loyal to him.
“I have conditions,” Jimin finally says, turning back to face you.
You drum your fingers against the counter, arching a brow at him. “Do you really think you’re in the position to make demands?”
“Oh, absolutely. Or are you forgetting about the fact that we’re currently being searched for by the police? That I’m your ride?”
The way you laugh has Jimin paling, which you enjoy more than you should. “Jiminie, that’s sweet. Really, I appreciate the concern.”
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re enjoying this way more than you should?”
Grabbing your phone out of your pocket, you check the time. “What makes you think you’re my only ride? Or, for that matter, what makes you think you’re so special? Did you already forget that I’ve got Taehyung? One press of a button, and he’ll be here in no time. Fancy a reunion?”
Jimin sighs angrily before shaking his head, keeping his cool. “I have three conditions. No more, no less.”
You remain silent, waiting for him to speak. Once he realizes that you’re going to hear him out, Jimin stands up and starts to round the bar.
“First, I want nicer cars than Taehyung.”
A giggle bursts out of you. “Seriously? You pick your own cars, so that’s a personal issue.”
Jimin grins almost unconsciously at the sound of your laugh, now coming to stand in front of you. You remain seated on the stool, chewing on the bottom of your lip.
“Second, I’m only joining so long as you recruit Namjoon, too.”
This has you raising your eyebrows. “I didn’t realize you liked him. Didn’t he literally just try to sell you out to the police less than an hour ago?”
Jimin just shrugs, stepping up to you. You’ve turned around to face him now, legs crossed as you lean your back against the counter. “He’s got good leadership qualities, I swear. Just a bit of training from you, Yoongi…maybe Seokjin, too, and I bet he’d be one of the best leaders the mafia has ever seen.”
You hum, considering it. Namjoon hadn’t really been on your radar, but you’d have to take a look into it. The fact that you’re considering it has you worried, knowing that it’s purely because you want Jimin to say yes.
“And third?” You ask.
Jimin takes a deep breath, stepping in closer to you until he’s towering over you. You’re trapped sitting on the stool, staring up at him with bated breath.
“Lastly,” Jimin mumbles, one hand trailing from your shoulder down to your wrist. His touch leaves flames in its wake, completely setting you aflame as his fingers intertwine with your own.
He hooks a finger under your chin, mirroring your previous action and giving you no choice but to face his eyes head on.
Those eyes are so dangerous. Perhaps you shouldn’t just have him stick to his skills as a driver. Jimin could be a deadly interrogator, if you put him to use. It’s the way his eyes meet your own that has you suppressing a shiver, instinctively chewing on your bottom lip.
Jimin tracks the movement, and a heartbeat later his thumb is on your lip, pressing down to get you to stop chewing on it.
“Nobody else touches you like this.”
Burning. You’re turning to ash under his gaze, his thumb still ghosting over your lips as he awaits your response. Sometime during this exchange, you’ve ended up clinging to the front of his shirt. The feeling of his heart pounding against your closed fist is the only thing that alerts you to this fact. Try as you might, you can’t quite let go.
This is purely business; you force yourself to remember. Don’t forget what you came for.
“That’s a steep price,” you breathe out. Jimin arches a brow, tilting his head to one side.
“One that you’re willing to pay?”
It takes everything in you to not nod in agreement. Instead, you drop your gaze from his eyes, focusing instead on your hand pressed against his chest. “One that I’m willing to consider.”
Jimin nods almost imperceptibly. “…if?”
A smile plays on your lips. “If I see you in my office, signing a contract.” Breathe, you scold yourself as Jimin dips his head, coming impossibly closer. “If I see my father behind bars.”
Jimin nods again, and suddenly his lips are pressed against your jawline, featherlike in their touch. If you didn’t feel his breath against your cheek you almost wouldn’t believe that he was actually teasing you with barely-there kisses.
Your free hand comes down to grip your seat, scared you might actually fall even as you feel like you’re flying. Jimin chuckles against your skin, the sound affecting you more than you’d like to admit.
You’ve got to get out of here. Before you make an utter fool of yourself.
“So, do we have a deal?” You press against his chest gently, marveling at how quickly he responds. Immediately pulling back, Jimin gives you a bit of space. His eyes are a little wide, and you wonder if he’s also surprised at this turn of events. You don’t dare look at him for too long, instead grabbing your phone and fiddling with it.
“I believe so,” Jimin says.
You smile. “Great. Think you can handle yourself? Maybe try not to get thrown into jail for the next week or so?”
Jimin scoffs at your question, his teasing banter back in full force. “Of course I can handle myself, baby. It’s Namjoon I worry about.”
Wincing, you get up from your seat. “Yeah, you and me both. I’ll take a look at him, I could probably use one more guy. Seven sounds like a nice number.”
Thankfully, your legs are steady as you march toward the door. Jimin follows close behind, confused.
“Wait, where are you going? We need to lay low for a while-” He stops mid-sentence as you open the door, heading outside to greet the car that’s already out there waiting for you. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
A bright green Lamborghini waits patiently outside of the barn, but that’s not what has Jimin cursing under his breath. No, it’s the dark curls and arrogant, boxy smile that sets him off.
“Jiminie! So good to see you again!”
Kim Taehyung jumps out of the car, coming around to open the passenger side for you. You giggle as Jimin grabs your elbow, stopping you from getting into the car. “No way. You’re not going with this idiot-”
“We’ll be in touch, Jimin,” you croon, peeling his hand off of your elbow. He catches it before you can step away, planting a kiss on the back of your hand while maintaining eye contact with Taehyung.
“I never pegged you for a romantic,” Taehyung observes, completely unbothered by the show of affection. “Isn’t that sweet?”
You roll your eyes, quickly stepping back to avoid Jimin seeing your red cheeks. “Yah, get in the car, Tae. Let’s go. Jimin,” you throw him a look over your shoulder. “No jail, I mean it. We’ve got bigger things to worry about than hauling your sorry butt out of an orange jumpsuit.”
Jimin nods, a little dazed as you hop in the car. Taehyung gets in beside you, smile never leaving his face as he revs the engine. Just as he puts the car into drive, Jimin shouts out.
“Wait!” He leaps forward, leaning down to the passenger side window. “I still don’t know your name!”
Reaching out to brush his hair back, you smile and then pat his cheek. “That’s something you earn, baby. Help me with this mission, and then I’ll let you call me whatever you want. Deal?”
Before Jimin even gets a chance to respond Taehyung is flooring it, leaving him behind in a cloud of dust. You sigh, annoyed, but lean up to adjust the rear view mirror just in time to see Jimin mouthing a single word.
Deal.