Page 42 of King of Violence

He doesn’t ask where we’re going. He just gets in the car, his presence grounding me even as the tension hums between us.

The drive is quiet. Felix doesn’t push, but I can feel his gaze flick to me occasionally, waiting. Testing the waters. The silence stretches until it feels like the inside of the car might crack from it, but I don’t speak. Not yet.

When we reach the safe house, I park and gesture for him to follow me inside. The place is small and nondescript—bare walls, threadbare furniture, the faint smell of bleach lingering in the air. It’s functional, meant for laying low when things go sideways, and right now, it feels like the safest place in the world to have this conversation.

“This is...cozy,” Felix says, his voice laced with dry humor as he surveys the room.

I close the door behind us and turn to face him, searching for the right words. “I brought you here because it’s safe. And because there are things you need to know before this gets out of hand.”

He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, his sharp gaze pinning me in place. “Out of hand how?”

I hesitate, then sit on the edge of the worn couch and gesture for him to join me. He doesn’t move. His eyes stay locked on mine, demanding answers.

“People are talking,” I finally admit. “About you. About me. About what they think you are to me.”

His expression hardens, his voice steady but cold. “And what do they think I am?”

I let out a frustrated breath and run a hand through my hair. “They think you’re a liability. Or a threat. Either way, it’s bad.”

“Because of your connection to the Greco family,” he says, his voice low, but I catch the flicker of anger beneath it.

“Yeah,” I say, meeting his eyes. “But I’m not like the rest of them, Felix. I need you to understand that. I’m not looking to pull you into this world, but it’s not easy to step out of it, either.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and the silence feels heavier than any fight I’ve been in.

“Have I ever told you how my father died?” he says, his tone steady but charged.

“No.”

But I already know how he died.

His eyes don’t meet mine. “The mafia killed him.”

Someone beat him to death.

“Felix...” I reach for him, but he steps out of my reach.

“He borrowed money from a rival group, thinking he could repay it. But when he couldn’t, they killed him.”

Felix was there when they killed him. He was only ten years old.

My heart shudders in my chest. My split knuckles suddenly sting. The weight of his confession hangs heavy in the air, and I feel a pang of guilt for the world I’m a part of—a world that has caused him so much pain.

He pulls away slightly, his gaze hardening. “So I’m already fucking involved, Julian.”

I swallow as the reality of our situation crashes down around me. Panic grips me, whispering how Felix will eventually leave me.

“I don’t want to be a part of this life anymore,” I whisper. “I want out, Felix. For both of us.”

His eyes search mine, looking for any sign of deceit. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “I brought you here to show you that I’m serious. I want to find a way out, for us to be free from all of this.”

For a moment, he says nothing, the tension between us palpable. Then, slowly, he nods, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Let’s find a way out together.”

His words cut deeper than I expected. There’s something raw in his voice that makes my chest ache.

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