Bound by Honor *2ND DRAFT*

IX

June 10

Malakai POV

The city's noise doesn't reach here. That's why I keep this place—silence doesn't ask questions. The penthouse sits on the edge of nowhere, wrapped in glass and quiet. When I'm here, I can think. When I'm here, I can breathe.

Her things are in the next room—clothes in the closet, her favorite mug beside the coffee maker, that stupid lavender candle she swears smells like calm. I told her she could come whenever she wanted. She hasn't yet, but I keep it ready.

I sit at the head of the marble table. Easton's on my left—his jaw tight, hands clasped, trying to look like this world doesn't rattle him. The rest of the men fill the room with smoke and fear, pretending to relax but watching me too closely.

I made Easton part of this after the wedding. It wasn't a choice—it was necessity. If something ever touches her, he's the one I trust to handle it. Even if it means dirtying his hands like mine.

"Distribution's delayed again," one of the men says, nervous. "The port's claiming—" "Handle it," I interrupt. My voice doesn't rise; it doesn't need to. "If they don't cooperate, remind them who they work for." Another man shifts in his seat. "Boss, with respect, that might push them too far—" I look at him once. Just once. He shuts his mouth and looks down.

The sound that follows is silence—clean, sharp, obedient. I lean back, fingers brushing against the edge of my glass. "If they're smart, they'll know when to stop testing limits. If they're not, they'll learn the hard way." My tone is cold because it has to be. Kindness doesn't buy loyalty—it gets you buried beside it.

The meeting drags through talks of shipments, routes, and whispers about a rival family stepping too close. The kind of problem that usually ends with blood. I hate that word, hate how familiar it's become. But in this life, understanding violence means surviving it.

Easton catches my glance once. There's something in his eyes—hesitation, maybe. He still doesn't like the way I do things, but he follows. Because he knows who I'm protecting and he will do anything to protect her. I shouldn't have brought him into this, but I needed someone loyal to her, not just to me.

I don't enjoy blood. I just understand it better than most. When it's over, I give the orders—short, final, no space for argument. The men nod, stand, and leave in silence. The echo of their steps fades down the hall. I stay seated, eyes fixed on the dark window, the reflection of a man who's built an empire out of fear.

The same man who keeps a room ready for her—just in case she ever decides to see this side of me. But I hope she never does. Because if she saw me like this, she might finally realize how much of the devil she married.

The room's still humming with the echo of the last man's footsteps when my phone vibrates on the table. One glance at the screen and I know it's not good news. It never is, not at this hour. "Talk," I say, already standing.

The voice on the other end trembles. "Boss, it's Mason—shipment's gone. One of our partners... he took the money. Moved it before anyone noticed." My jaw tightens. Of course he did.

I don't hang up before I motion for Easton. He doesn't ask questions—just grabs his coat and follows. That's why I brought him in. Loyalty first, words second. The drive is quiet. The world outside blurs into black glass and headlights. I can feel Easton's unease, the way he grips the wheel too tight. He's still new to this part of my life—the part that bleeds. "Stay behind me when we get there," I say flatly. "I'll handle it." He nods, no argument. Smart.

The docks are a graveyard at night — cranes hanging like crosses, water whispering secrets no one wants repeated. We find the traitor in one of the storage bays, a cheap lightbulb swaying above his head. He's sweating, shaking, whispering excuses before I even open my mouth.