Page 46 of King of Violence

I nod, taking in his words. “You’re right. I guess I just...I don’t know where the line is yet. What I can handle and what I can’t.”

Ben smiles faintly. “That’s fair. But you’re allowed to have boundaries. Supporting him doesn’t mean losing yourself in his mess.”

I think of the way Julian pummeled his opponent into the ground. The safe house we stayed in last night. His gun sliding up my thigh.

“Yeah...” I say, exhaling a shaky breath.

“And hey,” Ben adds, his smirk returning. “If his family starts showing up at our door with pitchforks, you know where to find me.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

???

When I stepinto my apartment building, I immediately notice that my front door is ajar, the lock mangled like someone took a crowbar to it.

My pulse spikes. I freeze in the doorway, the evening sounds of the city behind me fading into a dull hum. For a second, I let myself hope that maybe I left it that way—maybe I was careless, distracted. But as I push the door open and take in the chaos inside, that hope dies an ugly, quiet death.

The place is wrecked.

Cushions have been slashed, their stuffing spilling out like entrails. My coffee table is overturned and shards of glass from the vase I kept there glitter on the hardwood floor. My desk is a mess—papers scattered, drawers ripped out and tossed aside. The small safe I kept hidden in the closet is wide open, its contents gone. And my meticulous, hard-earned research, the product of countless late nights and early mornings, is missing.

I enter the apartment, my shoes crunching against the broken glass. My stomach churns as I look around, taking in the deliberate precision of it all. This wasn’t random. This wasn’t some desperate junkie looking for quick cash.

Whoever did this knew what they were looking for, and it wasn’t money.

I glance at the empty spot on the desk where my laptop used to sit. The USB drives I kept in the drawer? Gone. Even the printed notes I’d been too paranoid to store digitally are missing. My heart sinks farther with every detail I notice.

This wasn’t a break-in. This was a fucking message.

I crouch down and pick up a few crumpled pages from the floor. They’re useless—scraps that have nothing to do with the case I’ve been working on. Everything important is gone.

The walls feel like they’re closing in, the air thick with the scent of stale sweat and fear. My breath comes in shallow gasps as I lean against the doorframe, trying to collect myself.

This has to be them.

The Greco family.Julian’sfamily.

The thought twists in my gut, a sickening cocktail of anger and betrayal. I want to believe it’s not true. I want to believe Julian wouldn’t let this happen. But the connection is impossible to ignore.

I grab my phone from my pocket, my fingers trembling as I type out a message.

Me: Meet me at the Valmont Law Building. Private office on the second floor. Now.

A few seconds later, my phone vibrates.

Julian: What’s going on? Are you okay?

I don’t bother replying. I don’t trust myself to say anything that won’t betray the storm raging inside me. I grab my coat, step over the wreckage, and leave the apartment.

The bus ride to the Valmont Law Building feels like an eternity. My mind races, running through a hundred scenarios and a thousand questions I don’t want answers to. My hands are shaking when I step into the private office.

The office is small and unremarkable—a sterile room with a desk, a couple of chairs, and the faint smell of disinfectant. Light jazz music plays from a speaker in the ceiling. It’s as far removed from my trashed apartment as possible, and yet I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve brought the chaos with me.

I pace the room, trying to steady my breathing. When I hear the door creak open, I turn sharply.

Julian steps inside, his face a mask of calm concern that only fuels the fire in my chest. He closes the door behind him, his eyes narrowing as he takes in my expression.

He takes my face into his warm hands, looking over me for any injury.

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