Mrs. Kim's hand reached for mine, soft and warm and trembling slightly from age. "I feel relieved now," she said. "At least I know she has someone who cares about her. You know when I once offered to gift her a new rice cooker, she rejected it. So stubborn too."
I looked down at her small wrinkled fingers curled over mine, and something in me clenched quietly. She meant well. She really believed it. And I almost wished it were true.
I gave her a gentle smile and nodded. "You're too kind, ma'am."
She patted my hand, eyes twinkling. "No, no. I just know a good man when I see one."
I chuckled under my breath. If only you knew, ma'am.
If only you knew what these hands have done.
What I've buried.
What I've broken.
What I might break again.
But I didn't let it show. I just smiled a little wider as I lied through my teeth and pretended to be someone's safe place.
As soon as Mrs. Kim shuffled off, mumbling something about "just a minute," Rocco leaned in from behind me, snorting.
"You should get an Oscar," he muttered under his breath. "Seriously. 'I used my savings to help her,'" he mimicked, placing a hand over his heart like I was some lovesick saint. "You're disgusting."
I didn't even look at him. "Didn't have much of a choice."
"She really bought it, though. Thought you were her future son-in-law for real."
I shot him a look that shut him up for exactly three seconds.
Then: "What are you gonna do when the girl finds out half the furniture in her house has blood money written all over it?"
"Keep lying." I smirked.
Rocco laughed quietly and was just about to make another comment when the soft shuffle of slippers returned. I straightened, slipping right back into my mask as Mrs. Kim reappeared, holding a plastic container wrapped in an old towel and another bag hanging from her wrist.
"Here, young man," she said, slightly out of breath but smiling, "you and Kina can share this."
I blinked. "Ma'am—"
She pressed it into my hands. "It's kimchi stew. With extra pork. And I made banchan, egg rolls, sweet anchovies. I know you young people don't cook much."
"I—thank you." I accepted it with both hands, bowing politely. It was still warm.
She patted my shoulder like she'd just handed me her will. "Eat it while it's hot. And feed her well. That girl's too skinny, and she barely eats properly."
I nodded again, doing my best not to grimace. "Yes, ma'am. I'll make sure she eats."
Mrs. Kim beamed before waddling off, muttering something about love being about small acts and how she's glad Kina finally found someone decent.
Rocco didn't even try to hold back this time. He burst out laughing beside me, hands on his hips like this was the funniest shit he'd seen all year.
I stared down at the food in my hands.
Kimchi stew.
Homemade.
For me and Kina.
The hell was happening to my life?
"Shut up," I muttered, turning back to the apartment.
Rocco kept laughing.
I handed one of the boys the container Mrs. Kim gave me.
"Fridge. Carefully."
He nodded and scampered off like his life depended on it, which wasn't wrong.
Rocco hadn't shut up the entire time.
"She gave you stew, bro," he said, grinning like he'd just caught me holding hands with someone in the school hallway. "Next thing we know she's planning the wedding date and asking for grandkids."
"Don't you have anything useful to say?" I muttered, fixing the collar of my hoodie and leaning against the balcony railing. "Or did you just come here to breathe in my air and act like a dumbass?"
"I'm multitasking."
I gave him the look.
The one that made men piss themselves in silence.
Rocco coughed and straightened up. "Alright, alright. I'll shut it."
I pulled out a cigarette, lit it with a flick of my thumb, and took a long drag. The smoke burned, settled. Calmed.
"Jay and Kino?" I asked, exhaling through my nose.
"Did what you asked," he said. "Got 'em patched up. Moved somewhere quiet. Off radar."
I quirked an eyebrow at him. "You think it's weird, don't you?"
"A little," he admitted, crossing his arms. "You've never cared about any of the footmen before. Usually it's slash and discard. But you wanted them alive. Quiet."
I shrugged. "Felt like it."
Rocco didn't say anything for a beat. Just looked at me like he was trying to read something I hadn't written yet.
I didn't let him.
Instead, I took another drag and muttered, "Might pay Scorpion a visit soon."
That got his attention real fast.
"Are you outta your goddamn mind?" he snapped, stepping in front of me. "You're not even healed yet, and you wanna waltz into enemy territory like this?"
I didn't reply. I just stared past him, watching the boys finishing up inside the apartment. The hum of drills, the thump of new furniture against the floor.
"He wants me dead, Rocco," I said eventually. "That kind of ambition doesn't go unpunished. Sooner I cut his wings off, the better."
"You could bleed out trying."
"Then I won't."
Before he could argue more, one of the boys knocked on the doorframe. "Boss. It's done. Everything's in place."
I nodded. "Good. Rocco—lunch and dinner. On me."
Rocco rolled his eyes but waved the boys off, muttering about spoiled little bastards as they cheered faintly and made their way downstairs. I followed behind slowly, watching each one file out the door like soldiers being dismissed.
"Tell them to vanish after this," I said. "No smoke. No noise. I don't want a single whisper coming from this building."
"Got it."
The door finally closed. Silence settled.
I stood there in the middle of a completely different apartment.
The couch was no longer embarrassing. The fridge no longer hummed like it wanted to explode. The walls weren't peeling.
It actually looked… livable. Safe.
Kina would come home to this.
And I didn't know what the hell that meant for me yet.