Malachi's POV

★MALACHI★

The moment I saw her hand on the front door handle, something inside me snapped.

I’d been in my office, staring at the same spreadsheet for twenty minutes without seeing a single number. The house had gone quiet after Lila’s bedtime story—too quiet. I’d told myself it was fine. Nina was probably in her room, reading or sleeping off the wine from last night. I’d told myself a lot of things in the last few hours to keep from walking upstairs and knocking on her door just to see her face.

Then I heard the faint creak of the third step from the top, and I was out of my chair before the sound finished echoing.

By the time I reached the foyer, she was already halfway out the door—old sneakers, tote bag slung over her shoulder, navy dress fluttering in the night breeze like she was trying to disappear into it.

“Where do you think you’re going at 10 PM?”

My voice came out louder than I intended. Low, controlled fury that filled the entire entryway.

She froze. One foot on the threshold, the other still inside. Her shoulders went rigid, like she’d been caught stealing.

Slowly, she turned.

Her face was pale under the security lights. Eyes wide. Lips parted in shock.

“Mr. Malachi--”

“Don’t.” I stepped forward, closing the distance in three strides. The door was still open behind her; cold air rushed in, but I didn’t feel it. All I felt was the burn in my chest. “Don’t lie to me, Nina.”

She swallowed hard. “I—I was just--”

“Going somewhere.” I cut her off again. “At ten o’clock. Without telling anyone. Without asking. Dressed like you’re trying not to be noticed.”

Her hand tightened on the strap of her tote bag. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then tell me what it is.” I reached past her and pushed the door shut with a soft click that sounded final. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re sneaking out to meet someone.”

Her eyes flared—shock, then hurt, then something close to anger.

“You think I’m--” She laughed once, short and bitter. “You think I’m going to see a man?”

The question hung between us like smoke.

I didn’t answer right away. I studied her face instead—the way her lower lip trembled just enough to betray her, the way her fingers kept flexing around the bag strap like she wanted to hold on to something solid.

“I don’t know what to think,” I said finally. “You’ve been jumpy all day. You barely looked at me at dinner. And now you’re slipping out like a thief in the night. What am I supposed to assume, Nina?”

She flinched at her name, like it hurt coming from me.

“I’m not meeting anyone,” she whispered. “I swear.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

Silence.

Her eyes filled. She blinked fast, trying to hold it back. Failed.

“I have to go,” she said, voice cracking. “Someone… someone from before. He found me. He knows I’m here, enough to make trouble. He’s threatening to call the police. To say I stole from him. To ruin everything.”

My blood turned cold.

“Who.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I just need to talk to him. Pay him something. Make him go away.”

“Who, Nina.”

She looked up at me then—really looked. Tears spilled over, tracking down her cheeks.

“My old landlord. Colorado Smith.”

The name landed like a punch.

I knew that name. I’d seen it in her background check—listed as the last known address before she vanished into the bar job. A sleazy building in a part of the city even the rats avoided.

I took another step closer. “What does he want?”

She wrapped her arms around herself like she was trying to disappear. “Money. Double what I owed. Twelve months’ rent in cash. Tonight. Or he calls the cops tomorrow. Says I stole or... something worse.”

“Worse how.”

She looked away. “He wanted… six nights. With me. Instead of the rent. I spat in his face and left. That’s why he’s doing this now. Revenge. Or money. Or both.”

The air left my lungs.

Six nights?

I saw red at the edges of my vision. My hands flexed at my sides, knuckles cracking.

He’d propositioned her, threatened her.

And now he was trying to drag her back into that life.

I didn’t yell, I didn’t need to.

Nina was shaking now—full-body tremors. “I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want you to think I was trouble. I didn’t want you to fire me. Lila—she needs me. I need this job. I need—”

She broke off on a sob.

I reached out before I could think better of it. Cupped her face in both hands. Forced her to look at me.

“You think I’d fire you over this?”

She tried to pull away. I didn’t let her.

“You think I’d let some piece of shit landlord blackmail you out of my house? Out of Lila’s life? Out of—” I stopped myself. Swallowed the rest.

Her tears kept coming. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You come to me,” I said, voice low and deadly calm. “That’s what you do. From now on. You come to me.”

She stared at me like she didn’t believe the words were real.

I let go of her face—reluctantly—and pulled my phone from my pocket.

One tap, and Julian answered on the first ring.

“Boss.”

“Find Colorado Smith,” I said. “The landlord. Last known address in the file you pulled on Nina. Track him. Find out where he is right now. Who he talks to. What he owns. Everything.”

Julian didn’t hesitate. “On it. Timeline?”

“Yesterday.”

“Consider him found.”

I ended the call.

Nina was watching me with wide eyes. “What are you going to do?” she whispered.

I looked down at her. At the tear tracks. At the fear still lingering in her blue eyes. At the way she stood there, small and fierce and trying so hard not to break completely.

“I’m going to destroy him,” I said simply.

Her breath caught.

I stepped closer. Close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet my gaze.

“Go upstairs,” I murmured. “Get some sleep. I’ll handle this.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at me. Mascara smudged. Eyes red. Beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.

“You’re not going to fire me?”

I almost laughed—dark, humorless.

“No, Nina. I’m not going to fire you.”

She nodded. Then she turned and walked up the stairs.

When the door to her room clicked shut, I pulled my phone back out.

Julian had already texted: Target located. Apartment in Brooklyn. Alone. No visible weapons. Waiting on your word.

I typed one reply: Do it.

Then I locked the phone and leaned my forehead against the closed front door.

Colorado Smith had no idea what he’d just started.

But he would. Soon.