Page 66 of King of Violence

“You’re supposed to be at school,” I say, my voice rough from disuse.

“I am,” Felix answers without looking up, his tone light but deflective. “This is me studying. Don’t you recognize the dedication?”

I snort, which immediately turns into a wince as pain flares through my ribs. Felix’s head snaps up and panic flashes in his eyes, and before I can tell him I’m fine, he’s at my side.

“You okay?” he asks, leaning over me like I might fall apart at any second.

“I’m fine,” I say, trying not to let the pain seep into my voice. “Relax.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he sits back in the chair next to my bed, still watching me like a hawk. His hand hovers near mine on the blanket, not quite touching. I know he wants to. Hell, I want him to. But we’ve both been dancing around this line we created after that night of “I love yous” in the hospital. It’s like we’re shy again.

“Did Elijah assign your shadow yet?” I ask, changing the subject.

Felix rolls his eyes. “Yeah, he’s outside right now, probably pacing like a guard dog. You know, because I’m so dangerous.”

“It’s not about you being dangerous,” I say, my tone sharper than I intended. “It’s about keeping you safe. The Vitales?—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupts, waving a hand. “The Vitales are still out there, and I’ve got a big target on my back. I get it.”

He doesn’t, not fully. But I don’t press him on it. I don’t want to fight with him—not now, not when I’m barely holding everything together as it is.

“Elijah’s been handling things,” I say instead. “Keeping our father off my back, keeping you out of the crossfire. It won’t last forever, but...for now, he’s got it under control.”

Felix leans back in his chair, his expression softening. “Elijah’s...not what I expected.”

“He’s the only reason we’re still here,” I admit. “He’s soft for a mafia right-hand man.”

Felix doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at me like he’s trying to figure me out. Like he’s trying to understand whyI’d risk everything for him. He doesn’t see it, not yet, but I know he will.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he says quietly, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t mean to,” I say softly. “But I’d do it again if it meant keeping you safe.”

His lips twitch like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches out and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine.

“You don’t have to keep doing this alone,” he says, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “You’ve got me now, Julian. Whether you like it or not.”

I squeeze his hand, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the ache in my chest. “I like it,” I admit.

The room is quiet again, the air between us thick with unspoken things. Felix is still holding my hand, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles, and the warmth of it spreads through me like a drug. For a moment, I just let myself enjoy it—the closeness, the way his presence feels like a balm for everything raw and broken inside me.

But then my eyes drift to the curve of his neck, the way his lips press together when he’s concentrating, and a familiar heat stirs in my gut. Pain or no pain, I’m still very much alive, and Felix is making it incredibly difficult to remember why I should take it easy.

I shift slightly, leaning toward him as much as my aching body will allow. “You know,” I start, my voice low, “I’ve been stuck in this bed for two weeks. It’s getting...lonely.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. “Lonely, huh?”

“Very,” I say, my tone deliberately dramatic. “I think I might need some…personal attention. You know, to aid the healing process.”

He snorts and pulls his hand back, and the loss of his touch is almost enough to make me pout. “Pretty sure that’s not how recovery works.”

“It could be,” I counter, giving him what I hope is my most convincing smirk. “A little hands-on care. Some...intensive physical therapy.”

Felix crosses his arms and leans back in the chair with a look that’s equal parts amused and unimpressed. “Julian, you can barely sit up without wincing. What exactly do you think you’re going to do?”

I prop myself up on one elbow, ignoring the sharp protest from my ribs. “I’m very resourceful,” I say, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I’m sure I could figure something out.”

Felix’s eyes narrow, but there’s a telltale flush creeping up his neck that makes me feel like I’ve already won. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, but he doesn’t move away.

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