Luca finally let him go, and Jaesung had to stop himself from crashing to the ground. The dangerous atmosphere that surrounded the young heir was gone, replaced by his usual nonchalant presence. Before him, the gangster fluctuated between hot and cold faster than his moody friend changed emotions.

He tugged at his shirt, straightening out the wrinkles, trying to hide the unmistakable quaking of his palms. With all the courage his scared ass could muster, he opened his big mouth in hopes it wouldn’t get him shot in the head.

“So, uh, wanna teach me how to shoot that thing?”

“Sure. Stand over there and I’ll show you how it’s done.” Luca motioned to the target.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Real funny, man.” No way in hell was he going to be used as target practice.

"Who said I was joking?” Luca brandished his own pistol from somewhere on his person. With his gun, he pointed at the target once again. “Go.”

Sweat trickled down his back. He wasn’t playing. If he didn’t do as he said, he assumed Luca would shoot him for real this time. Why did trouble always seem to follow him wherever he went?

The walk to the end of the room couldn’t have been over thirty seconds, but to Jaesung, it seemed like hours. Maybe that was because he was walking to his inevitable demise. Trace made him watch some dumb show once about a place called Highway 80, also known as The Highway of Death. Except, the 2,700 vehicles that were destroyed in that disaster were now to be replaced with bullets, soon to be aimed at his head.

75 feet later and he stood still as a statue right in front of what he called the apple of Luca's eye. Off to the side, Giovanni sat with arms crossed, a bored look encapsulating his face. Just another day in the life of a mafia bodyguard.

“Stand still.”

Luca didn’t need to tell him that. Jaesung was rooted in place, looking right at the barrel of the gun.

Without warning, a buzz whizzed by his ear, the sound so quick he almost thought he imagined it, followed by a ringing. Directly ahead, Luca stood with his limbs extended. A thin wisp of smoke billowed out from the pistol.

Jaesung swung around, only to see a bullet hole right next to where his head was.

“My aim was off. I must be getting a little rusty.”

Rusty, he said. Then why did he use him as target practice? He had to restrain himself from throwing down then and there. In reality, he had no say. Jaesung was a nobody.

“Your turn.” Luca held out Jaesung’s gun. He must have picked it up off the ground when he wasn’t looking. “I’m feeling nice today. Here, I’ll show you how.”

Luca nodded, as if telling him to hurry and take it.

If Jaesung wanted to become somebody, he’d have to sell his soul to the devil.

With Luca’s instructions, Jaesung aimed. Using both hands, he hovered over the mark. The pistol was unsteady in his grip, oscillating from side to side. His nerves were impossible to calm, especially with them watching his every move.

The trigger felt heavy every time he pulled it, each bullet getting farther and farther from the mark. It was hard to stand still from the recoil of each shot. His confidence now rattled.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Luca clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Like this.”

The heir put his hands over Jaesung’s, their warmth a surprise. He sometimes forgot Luca was made of flesh and blood, too. More often than not, he assumed Luca’s veins were as cold as his words.

Luca pressed up against Jaesung, his body heat radiating off of him. Right now was not the time to be thinking of how attractive the man actually was. Feng wasn’t wrong when he said Luca checked off all the boxes as being his type. Yet, as long as he stayed in the mafia, he had to keep those desires, that side of him, sealed away.

Who was he kidding? Once you joined the dark side, there’s no going back.

“Now shoot,” whispered Luca.

And just like that, he fired, the bullet going straight through the middle of the target’s forehead.

Bullseye.