The lights from the party faded into the background as Taehyung guided me along the path toward a quieter section of the property, his hand remaining firmly at my waist. Each step closer seemed to pull me deeper into a shadowed world that I didn’t fully understand, a legacy I was now a part of but never chose.

When we reached the far end of the terrace, an imposing figure awaited us in the dim glow of the garden lights. Kim Daehyun. The legendary former Capo dei Capi of the Cosa Nostra, Taehyung’s grandfather. He exuded a presence that was colder and more intimidating than any I'd felt before. Even from a distance, his posture was one of absolute authority, his gaze a keen, calculating sharpness that cut through the air.

"Nonno," Taehyung greeted, his tone clipped, but respectful. It was rare to see him with even a hint of deference, and somehow, that made the older man seem even more fearsome.

Daehyun’s gaze shifted to me, his eyes studying me with a level of scrutiny that made my spine straighten involuntarily. I felt as though he could see through every layer of my soul, past the facade I wore, down to every secret and insecurity I tried to hide.

“So this is the girl,” Daehyun said, his voice low and weighted with disdain. His Italian accent was still strong, and every word seemed to carry an unspoken threat. “The Min family’s precious daughter, offered up like a sacrificial lamb to keep the peace.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry, but I refused to look away. I’d grown up in a world where intimidation was second nature, where showing weakness could lead to consequences. I wouldn’t cower now, not here, not in front of Taehyung or his grandfather.

Taehyung’s hand tightened slightly at my waist, grounding me. I could feel the silent message in his touch—a warning, a reassurance, or maybe a reminder of my place. “Nonno, Miso is now part of our family. Whatever past alliances she had, they don’t matter now.”

Daehyun’s expression didn’t soften; if anything, it grew colder. “Family?” He scoffed, shifting his gaze from Taehyung to me. “A Min will never truly be family to us. Your father has handed you over, but that doesn’t make you one of us. It merely makes you… a necessary addition.”

His words sliced through the air like a blade, but I forced myself to keep my face neutral, though my fists clenched behind my back. I was used to being seen as a pawn, but something about Daehyun’s dismissal cut deeper, as though I was nothing more than a convenience, an accessory to their empire.

“I understand my role,” I replied, my voice steady though my heart pounded. “But I won’t be merely an accessory. I was raised to contribute, to be more than just a ‘necessary addition.’”

Daehyun’s gaze flickered with a hint of surprise before settling back into its frigid calm. “Bold words as a Min,” he murmured, as though the very notion of my family speaking up in his presence was unheard of. “Let's  hope, for your sake, that you can back them up. The Cosa Nostra is not kind to those who disappoint.”

I felt Taehyung’s hand shift slightly, his fingers pressing firmly against my side as he watched his grandfather, tension etched into every line of his face. This wasn’t just about me; there was something deeper between Taehyung and Daehyun, a power struggle of some kind, and I was merely a piece in their game.

“With all due respect, Nonno,” Taehyung said, his voice icy, “Miso is my fiancée, and her loyalty will be to me. She doesn’t need your approval.”

Daehyun’s eyes hardened, a flicker of amusement breaking through the steely surface. “Your fiancée, yes. But I am the reason you hold that title, Taehyung.” He leaned back, folding his hands behind him as if daring Taehyung to contradict him. “Do not forget who put you in this position, boy.”

The tension crackled like static electricity between them, both men locked in an unspoken battle of wills. I felt the intensity radiating from Taehyung as he kept his eyes on his grandfather, his jaw clenched in defiance.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Taehyung replied, a dangerous edge to his voice. “But remember, I didn’t ask for it. I only agreed because you left me no other choice.”

Daehyun’s cold smile was like ice. “You agreed because you understood the consequences, Taehyung. A Cosa Nostra boss must act with strength and control, and nothing displays power like a marriage forged between empires.”

The weight of Daehyun’s words settled heavily on me. In their world, marriage wasn’t about love or companionship—it was about control, power, and legacy. I was just another piece of that legacy, bound to Taehyung by circumstances neither of us could fully defy.

After a long pause, Daehyun shifted his gaze back to me, his expression unreadable. “Remember, girl,” he said, voice laced with a quiet menace, “there are expectations upon you now. And failure is not an option.”

I nodded, steeling myself as I held his gaze. “I understand, Mr. Kim.”

Taehyung’s grip on my waist tightened again, a silent message that he was done with this conversation. Without another word, he turned, guiding me away from his grandfather, leaving Daehyun behind with that cold, detached gaze that watched our every step.

Once we were a few steps away, Taehyung’s fingers released my waist, and he took a sharp breath. The tension seemed to roll off him, though he still kept his eyes forward.

“Is he always like that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Taehyung’s expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed somewhere ahead, lost in thought. He doesn't replied to me.

I looked up at him, feeling a pang of sympathy, though I quickly buried it. Taehyung had his own burdens, ones I couldn’t fully understand. But perhaps, in that moment, I caught a glimpse of the weight he bore, the expectations and pressure he faced as the grandson of a man like Daehyun.

“What did he mean when he said he was the reason you hold this title?” I ventured cautiously.

Taehyung’s gaze darkened, and he shook his head slightly. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, Miso. All you need to understand is that in our world, loyalty isn’t a choice—it’s an obligation.”

He looked down at me, his face softening just a fraction, though his eyes still held that same guarded look. “And from now on, your loyalty is to me. Only me.”

The weight of his words settled over me, heavy and unyielding. My life had been steered onto this path, one where I was bound to Taehyung in ways I hadn’t yet begun to comprehend. As I looked into his dark, intense gaze, I realized this was just the beginning.

The beach was bathed in the warm glow of twinkling lights and the soft hum of conversation as the families gathered around the tables set up on the sand. The sound of the ocean was a steady rhythm beneath the chatter, a calming presence that almost made the tension dissipate. Almost.

Taehyung and I sat side by side, close enough that his arm brushed against mine each time I shifted. His presence was overwhelming, as usual, yet comforting in an odd way. Across from us, at the head of the table, sat his father, Kim Do-hwan, the orchestrator of this entire evening. The laughter and the murmurs stilled as he rose to his feet, lifting his wine glass high, and every gaze turned towards him.

Clearing his throat, he looked around, a proud smile tugging at his lips as he spoke, his voice resonant and filled with authority. "I would just like to congratulate my son, Taehyung, and Miso." His words carried a weight that wasn’t lost on me. My heart began to beat faster under the scrutiny of so many eyes.

Do-hwan’s gaze found me, and I felt myself shrink, caught in the steel of his assessing eyes. "Tomorrow, you will become a Kim," he continued. "I wish you a long and happy marriage…and hopefully, a few bambini in the coming year." His words were playful, but there was a sharp edge beneath, an expectation he clearly held for me.

A ripple of laughter passed through the table, and my cheeks burned in embarrassment. The thought of becoming part of this family, of bearing the weight of their expectations, seemed daunting. A forced smile curved my lips, but my thoughts were far from cheerful.

Do-hwan raised his glass higher, his voice steady, yet laced with an unsettling finality. "To Taehyung and Miso. Per cent'anni."

A hundred years.

The Italian phrase echoed in my mind, resounding like a sentence. A hundred years. An awfully long time to be bound to someone under these circumstances. I forced myself to take a sip of wine, hoping it would mask the turmoil churning within me.

The toast completed, the clinking of glasses filled the air, and soon everyone began to eat, settling back into their conversations. Across the table, Yoongi turned to Angelo, pulling him into an animated discussion, while Moeum sat beside the father, looking as withdrawn as I felt.

Beside me, Beomgyu, the youngest of the Kim cousins, nudged me playfully, his tone warm and familiar. "The food’s delicious, isn’t it?" he said, casting a grin my way, trying to pull me into the light-heartedness of the evening.

"It is," I replied, letting out a sigh as I took a long sip of my wine, hoping it would ease the tension in my shoulders. I prodded at the pasta on my plate, barely able to muster an appetite despite the delightful aroma.

Beomgyu’s eyes flickered with curiosity as he leaned closer. "What's wrong?"

I hesitated, my eyes focused on the untouched meal before me, my appetite entirely gone. Instead of responding, I leaned in, letting the faint warmth of his presence ease my nerves as I whispered, "Why…" But before I could finish, I felt a familiar arm drape over my shoulder, the solid weight of Taehyung's presence pressing against my back.

I turned slightly, and there he was, his expression unreadable, his gaze locked onto me with a quiet intensity. One eyebrow arched, as if daring me to continue speaking.

"Are you not hungry?" Taehyung's voice was low, a rough timbre that sent a shiver down my spine. His gaze dropped to my full plate, and I instinctively picked up my fork, spearing a small bite of pasta if only to appease him.

He didn’t remove his arm, nor did his eyes drift away, and I was hyper-aware of his hand resting possessively on my shoulder, as if silently declaring ownership to anyone who might dare approach. Trapped against his solid frame, I found myself playing the role of a young, enamored fiancée, though the truth was far from that image.

The night continued, laughter ringing out as more bottles of wine and crates of prosecco were passed around. Near the end of the meal, a familiar voice, slurred with drink, called out from across the table.

“So, Miso,” the voice drawled. It was one of Taehyung’s cousins, a man whose name I couldn’t quite recall. His eyes were glassy, his grin a little too wide as he leaned forward, lifting his glass. “What is a gorgeous girl like you doing with such a recluse like my cugino here? You should have been with someone like me!”

He laughed, a boisterous sound that was echoed by a few others at the table, their faces alight with amusement at his audacity. Taehyung’s gaze grew cold, his jaw tightening as he stared down his cousin.

I felt a flicker of defiance rise within me, and I turned to face the drunken cousin, a sweet, polite smile gracing my lips. “Well, I find I much prefer the company of well-mannered men than the more flamboyant characters.” My words were sharp yet laced with a teasing sweetness, and the cousin’s face flushed in surprise.

Across the table, Do-hwan gave me a subtle nod of approval, his gaze softening ever so slightly. Despite myself, a thrill of pride sparked within me. Earning the approval of the Kim patriarch, even in this small way, felt like an accomplishment, as twisted as it was. A part of me hated that I felt this way, fearing that this thirst for validation could slowly strip me of my own values. But tonight, in the face of all the pressure, it felt satisfying.

I glanced at Taehyung, catching a glint of amusement in his eyes. He leaned close, surprising me with a quick wink, and I nearly choked on my own breath, averting my gaze as my cheeks flared. The simple gesture felt both unexpected and strangely intimate, like he was in on the joke with me. It made my pulse race in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

More laughter erupted around us, a sense of camaraderie filling the air as someone thumped Taehyung’s cousin on the back, everyone enjoying the moment at his expense. The night wore on, and though the laughter and conversations continued, I couldn’t shake the awareness of Taehyung beside me, his hand still occasionally brushing against mine under the table, his gaze lingering every so often.

The weight of his family’s expectations loomed over me, but in this brief, stolen moment, I felt… connected. Not to the Kims as a whole, not to this life I was being forced into, but to the man beside me—the man who, for better or worse, would soon become my husband.

And as I looked across the table at Do-hwan’s approving nod, I found myself wondering if, despite the fear and resentment I held, I could find a way to survive in this world… as Miso Kim.

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Author's Note

Well, Miso’s journey into the lion’s den just keeps getting spicier, doesn’t it? Between terrifying grandpas and possessive fiancés, who needs soap operas? Let me know if you think she’ll survive as Mrs. Kim or if the wine will get her first. Stay tuned—things are about to get even messier.

THANK YOU for picking up BENEATH HIS DESIRE. I hope you love and enjoy it as much as I did while writing it.

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Love,
lavendermiso <333