Page 49 of King of Violence

I pull away from him, tucking myself back into my pants. “Fix this, Julian.”

Julian lets out a disappointed groan, but sits up. I didn’t let him finish on purpose. He needs to beg for my forgiveness before I allow that.

His cheeks are red. From lust or embarrassment, I don’t know. “I’ll have someone come by to clean up your apartment. But you and Ben should probably stay at a hotel tonight.”

“How am I supposed to explain this to him?”

“Say you called the cops and filed a report.” Julian wipes his mouth and fixes his clothes. He pulls out his wallet and hands me a wad of cash—more than I can make in three months of tutoring. “Here. Stay at the Renaldo on Parsons Street. I know the guy who owns it. You’ll be safe there.”

“Julian—”

“Just take it,” Julian says, pushing it into my hand. “You can’t be seen at my apartment. I’m sure they’re watching me. Please do what I say, okay?”

I nod, reluctantly taking the money I’m sure was made with blood.

JULIAN

The Greco estate is a fortress, but I know its weak spots. It’s late—past midnight—and the house is cloaked in shadows, the only sound the soft hum of the security system. I’ve navigated these halls in the dark since I was a kid, so I don’t bother with a flashlight. I don’t want to risk being seen.

Elijah’s office is at the far end of the east wing, a room as cold and calculated as the man himself. The door is locked, but I expected that. I pull out a small set of picks and work quickly. Within seconds, the lock clicks open and I slip inside, closing the door softly behind me.

The room smells faintly of cigar smoke and leather. Elijah doesn’t leave anything to chance—his desk is always immaculate, with papers stacked neatly and pens aligned perfectly. But I know him. He’s careful, but not infallible.

I start with the obvious, opening the drawers one by one and checking for false bottoms or hidden compartments. The first two are empty except for files on the family’s legitimate businesses—accounting records, legal documents. The third drawer is locked.

I grin despite myself.Found you.

This lock takes longer to pick, as the mechanism is more complex, but I’ve had practice. When it finally clicks, my pulse quickens. I pull the drawer open and find a slim black folder lying on top of a stack of other files. My breath catches when I see the label on the front:CARUSO.

I flip it open, my hands trembling slightly. Inside are copies of Felix’s research, pages and pages of meticulously detailed work—notes, diagrams, even a few drafts of his presentations. My chest tightens as I realize how much effort he’s poured into this, how important it is to him.

But there’s something else tucked in the back…a handwritten note. I unfold it carefully, my stomach twisting as I recognize Elijah’s bold, slanted handwriting:

Destroy if instructed. Father’s orders.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. They were planning to get rid of it—to wipe out months of Felix’s work without a second thought, all because of me.

My jaw tightens, and I scan the documents with my phone. I then place the folder back in the drawer and make sure everything looks exactly as it did before. Elijah is sharp—if I’m not careful, he’ll know someone was in here.

As I turn to leave, the weight of what I’ve done settles over me. This isn’t just about Felix anymore. This is an act of rebellion, a direct challenge to my family’s authority. And they won’t let it slide.

I pause at the door, my hand on the knob, and take a deep breath. Then I step back into the shadows, my heart pounding as I make my way back to my room.

I sit on the edge of my bed, sweat beading on my forehead. I’ve taken the first step, but it’s not enough. It won’t be enough until Felix knows his work is safe. I’ve done everything I can for tonight to ensure this isn’t all for nothing.

My hand hovers over my phone, my thumb trembling above his name. Calling him is reckless. Stupid, even. But I can’t stop myself. I need to hear his voice, even if it’s just for a moment.

The phone rings once. Twice.

“Julian?” His voice is soft but sharp, the edge of caution unmistakable. He’s smart to be wary, but hearing him speak my name—softened by sleep or maybe just exhaustion—settles something jagged inside me.

“It’s me,” I say, my voice low. “Are you alone?”

There’s a pause, followed by the faint sound of movement. A door closes on his end. “Yeah. What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“No,” I admit, leaning back against the headboard. “But I did something. Something you need to know about.”

“Julian…” There’s a warning in his tone, but I push forward.

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