Malachi stood in the warehouse bathroom, washing his hands under scalding water. The soap turned pink, then clear. He dried them carefully, methodically, then checked his reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink.
No blood on his face. No visible marks on his knuckles—he'd been careful about that. His shirt was pristine, his expression composed. Just a man heading home after a long afternoon.
Just a man heading home to his family.
The thought made something warm bloom in his chest despite the violence he'd just committed. His family. Salome and Kai. Two people who'd somehow become the center of his entire world in the span of a few weeks.
He'd built an empire. Commanded respect and fear across the entire city. Had more money and power than most men could dream of.
But he'd never
