The heavy iron gates of the Shetty mansion groaned open, parting like a metal beast to admit the black Maybach that roared up the winding driveway. Aryaanveer Shetty gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white against the leather. The city lights of the skyline were still reflected in his cold, dark eyes—eyes that had watched a rival’s warehouse burn to ash only hours ago. Being the undisputed king of the underworld didn't come with peace; it came with a hunger that blood alone couldn't sate.

He killed the engine and stepped out, the humid night air clinging to his black silk shirt. He didn't head for the main entrance where his family would be gathered for dinner. Instead, he signaled the guard at the door of the west wing.