Page 3 of King of Violence

I quickly jump over the fence, and Felix almost runs into me. “Who says I’m not working? Being the best takes effort, you know.”

Felix doesn’t back away, but his jaw tightens. “I’ve read about you, Julian Greco. You’ve got talent, sure, but you also come from a family that pays off your debts.”

“Oh, so you’ve researched me,” I say, my tone light. “I’m flattered. I didn’t know I had a fan in the law school.”

“I’m not a fan,” Felix says sharply.

“Then what are ya, hm?” My smirk widens, masking the flicker of tension in my chest.

Is he an undercover cop? A reporter? A member of a rival family?

“A rule follower.” For a second, his words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. Most people wouldn’t dare talk to me like this—not without worrying about their reputation. But Felix isn’t like most people.

“Well, Felix,” I say, stepping back with a grin. “If you like rules, you’d better make sure to catch my next game. I promise to give you something worth writing about in that notebook of yours.”

Felix doesn’t respond. He just turns and walks away, his posture stiff, leaving me standing there with a strange mix of irritation and amusement.

I watch him go, the set of his shoulders rigid as he disappears toward the academic buildings.

“Interesting,” I mutter to myself as I head back to the locker room.

Felix Caruso might be my favorite challenge yet.

The locker room is alive with the usual post-practice chaos—guys shouting, joking, and blasting music from a speaker someone smuggled in. I’m halfway through peeling off my gear when Cole plops down on the bench next to me, a towel draped around his neck.

“Who was that guy you were talking to?” he asks, jerking his thumb toward the field.

“Just some law student,” I reply casually.

Cole raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t look like he was handing out compliments.”

I grin. “He’s just playing hard to get.”

Cole snorts. “Man, you’ve got issues.”

“Maybe,” I admit, tossing my jersey into my locker. “But at least I’m not boring.”

Later that evening,I’m back in my apartment, scrolling through my phone while some mindless reality show plays in the background.

My thoughts keep drifting back to Felix Caruso—his cool demeanor, the way he didn’t flinch under my scrutiny, the way he seemed to see right through me, the fact that he was so goddamn tall and lean...

It’s not often I meet someone who doesn’t crumble under my charm. And it’s even rarer to meet someone who looks at me like I’m the enemy.

I don’t like being underestimated—or dismissed.

Grinning to myself, I open my laptop and start typing “Felix Caruso” into the search bar.

Time to find out what makes Mr. Perfect tick.

The search results flood my screen and I lean back in my chair, skimming through the highlights. Felix Caruso, twenty-four years old. Top student in Valmont’s prestigious law program. Graduated summa cum laude from his undergrad. A few news articles, mostly from local outlets, cover academic achievements or student leadership events.

It’s all pretty standard stuff—until I find a photo buried in an older article.

Felix, younger, maybe in his late teens, stands in front of a courthouse with a somber expression. Beside him is a woman who looks like an older version of him—his mom, I’m guessing. The caption reads:Felix Caruso and family attend the sentencing hearing of alleged mafia enforcer linked to the killing of his father, Marco Caruso.

My stomach tightens.

So that’s it. His father was a victim of mafia violence. No wonder he’s so tightly wound, so eager to chase after justice. The pieces fall into place—his rigid demeanor, the chip on his shoulder, the way he looked at me like I represented everything he hated.

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