Page 30 of Ruthless Touch

We enter the interior chamber to find most of the ranking members seated. The chamber is a large circular room with rows that rise higher as they go. In the center is a platform for the speaker to hold court.

Joon-gi and I take our seats in the fourth row where Yongsas and Seryeongs typically sit. My father is in the second row, seated right behind the Cheongryong-je himself.

It’s been long believed that he’ll succeed our emperor and take over someday. It’s what he’s always wanted; he dedicated his whole life to the syndicate, working hard to become one of the Four Horn Lieutenants.

Even at the expense of his family.

No price was too high to pay for Father. The Cheongryong always came first.

The meeting begins with another one of the Four Horns briefing everyone about last night’s assassination attempt. Ko Dong-kyu explains that Black Silk is still on the loose.

“He managed to infiltrate our lounge in Gangnam,” Ko Dong-kyu continues, his voice carrying through the chamber’s acoustics. “Our intelligence suggests he was posing as service staff. When the opportunity presented itself to strike, he missed his primary target. He didn’t anticipate the Jeokpa taking the bullet in Im’s place.”

A murmur ripples through the assembled ranks, a mixture of frustration and dark amusement at the enemy’s incompetence. Ko Dong-kyu raises his hand for silence before his expression hardens like a true predator.

“Make no mistake—this was not mercy or hesitation. This was poor execution on the part of a professional killer. It tells us that Black Silk, while dangerous, is not infallible. We will track him down like the dog he is, and when we find him, we’ll make sure his employer understands the cost of targeting the Cheongryong.”

One of the captains in my row—an ass-kisser named Park Hee-joon—raises his hand to ask a question. “Lieutenant Ko, do we have any intelligence on why this assassin is targeting us specifically? Is there a pattern to the attacks?”

“The motivation could be any number of things—a business rival looking to destabilize our operations, one of the other syndicates testing our defenses, or simply someone with deep enough pockets to afford a contract killer of this caliber. What we do know is Black Silk is exactly what the name suggests—a hired blade. Contract killers will take any job for the right price. Someone has clearly paid well for our heads.”

The rest of the meeting unfolds with a thorough briefing about search protocols, surveillance networks, and the rewards being offered for information leading to Black Silk’s capture.

I listen with half my attention while the other half churns through everything I know that they don’t—the graceful, impressive way she moved like liquid, the sweet taste of her mouth, the precision with which she’d tried to open my throat.

The fact that their mysterious male assassin is actually a beautiful woman who calls herself Jamie and kisses like she’s trying to steal souls.

I could end this manhunt in a single sentence. I could tell them about the Dalbit Hotel and how she’d slashed my ribs with a knife and even how she’d felt in my arms.

The information sits heavy on my tongue, begging to be released.

But I say nothing.

It’s information I’m going to keep for myself. I want to be the one who handles her.

When the meeting adjourns and the chamber begins to empty, I remain in my seat for a long moment, watching Father converse with Lieutenant Ko.

Joon-gi leans closer and mutters, “I’ll wait outside.”

Eventually, we’re the only two remaining in the chamber.

My father is a small man, barely scraping five seven. He’s lean and wiry but with a soldier’s hardened posture through and through. He’s balding with sparse dark hair that’s streaked with smoky gray on the sides. But his goatee is always neat and trimmed, and he takes pride in dressing well, usually donning a pressed shirt and gold watches.

He readjusts the band of the one he’s wearing today as he glares at me from across the chamber.

You’d think we were enemies and not father and son.

I rise from my seat, both hands deep in my pockets. “You wanted to talk, Appa?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Gun-woo,” he snaps impatiently. His eyes narrow to slits and he takes a step closer. “You know exactly what this is about. You’re withholding information from the syndicate. I can smell the lies on you from here. I know you had some kind of incident last night, and you’re not coming clean about it.”

I shrug with calculated indifference despite the fact that he’s right. “What I do in my private time is my business, Appa. Don’t worry about it; I’ll handle the situation myself.”

“Handle it yourself? HA!” He lets out a bark of laughter that contains no humor whatsoever. “That’s exactly the problem! You’ll handle it yourself. You’re mediocre, Gun-woo.Incapable. You’ll only mess things up further, just like you always do.”

My jaw clenches so hard my molars grind together.

What frustrates me most is the fact that—despite years of his disappointment and dismissal—a part of me still burns with the pathetic need to prove him wrong.