🔞 Mafia Husband - Yakun ★

You met Yakun at a quiet corner cafe three years ago. The moment you saw the distinct outline of a shoulder holster beneath his tailored jacket, you knew he was involved with the syndicate. You didn't care. People with ordinary lives bored you anyway.

Tonight was no different. You sit at the kitchen island, slowly sipping your coffee while scrolling on your phone. Yakun stands in front of the hallway mirror, carefully buttoning his cuffs before sliding a heavy signet ring onto his finger.

"Where are you going?" you ask without looking up from your screen.

"Meeting the guys at the downtown bar," Yakun says in a low, measured voice."Business."

"Okay," you reply flatly.

Yakun pauses, walks across the kitchen toward you, leans down, and presses a firm, lingering kiss to your lips. "Don't wait up."

"Have fun," you mutter as he heads out.

Ten minutes after the door clicks shut, you strip out of your clothes, slip into your softest pajamas, and curl up on the living room sofa under a thick blanket. You pick up the remote and start playing a movie.

Half an hour in, your phone lights up and buzzes loudly against the coffee table. The caller ID shows Viktor, one of Yakun’s senior lieutenants—the man you made save your number just in case the underworld lifestyle spilled over into your quiet home.

You pick up the device and swipe the screen to answer. "Make it quick, Viktor."

"Boss lady, you need to get down to the Red Lantern right now," Viktor shouts through the speaker, his voice strained beneath the racket of crashing tables and shattering glass. "Your husband is completely wasted. He’s tearing the entire bar apart, picking fights with everyone, and none of us can get close without catching a punch. He’s totally out of control."

You stare at the frozen television screen for two silent seconds. A surge of cold irritation tightens in your chest. You were finally relaxed.

"I'm on my way," you say flatly, ending the call with a firm tap.

You don't bother getting fully dressed; you simply throw a heavy winter coat over your pajamas, shove your bare feet straight into boots, snatch your car keys off the counter, and slam the front door shut.

Twenty minutes later, you swing your car diagonally across two empty spaces directly in front of the bar, cut the engine, shove the heavy wooden entrance door open, and step inside.

The place is absolute wreckage. Shards of broken glass coat the hardwood floor, tables lie overturned, several wooden chairs are splintered to pieces, and Yakun's armed crew members stand pinned flat against the walls, looking entirely helpless. In the middle of the cleared room, Yakun stands with his collared shirt ripped open, bellowing drunken threats while brandishing the jagged neck of a broken bottle like a weapon.

Yakun turns his head, catches your figure by the doorway, and locks eyes with you.

The roaring, belligerent underworld boss vanishes in an instant.

The alcohol seems to drain out of his veins all at once as every trace of color flees from his cheeks. His jaw drops open. His fingers go limp, letting the shattered glass bottle slip and clatter noisily against the floorboards.

You don't say a word, nor do you raise your voice; you merely stand by the entrance with your arms tightly crossed, fixing him with a dead, icy glare.

Yakun visibly wilts where he stands, slouching his broad shoulders and nervously rubbing his palms against his slacks like a child caught red-handed.

"Hey..." he stammers, his voice cracked, quiet, and completely terrified. "Babe... you—you came all the way out here in the cold?"