3. Julian
JULIAN
T he low hum of the fluorescent lights buzzes in the safe house’s basement, blending with the faint whir of the counting machine. Bundles of cash are stacked neatly on the metal table in front of me, the snap of rubber bands punctuating the silence as I finish wrapping another bundle.
The air smells of ink, paper, and the faint tang of sweat—the distinct scent of money laundering in progress. It’s a methodical job, one I’ve gotten used to over the years. The counting machine clicks as it finishes processing another batch, the total glowing on the tiny screen.
“Perfect as always,” I mutter, stuffing the stack into a black duffel bag beside me.
This isn’t exactly the glamorous image most people probably associate with the Greco name. No fancy parties or champagne glasses here—just hours of grunt work in a dingy basement making sure the numbers match up. But it’s a necessary part of the operation, and honestly, I prefer it to the more violent side of the business.
I’m lost in the rhythm of counting when a creak echoes from upstairs. My ears perk up and my hand instinctively reaches for the gun holstered under the table.
A familiar voice calls down the stairs, dripping with amusement. “Relax, Jules. It’s just me.”
I let out a breath and lean back in my chair. Of course it’s just Elijah.
My older brother saunters down the steps with all the cocky swagger of someone who’s never had to worry about consequences. Elijah is a walking cliché of a mobster: slicked-back hair, too much cologne, and a leather jacket that squeaks with every step.
“Didn’t expect to find you here,” he says, his gaze sweeping over the stacks of cash. “Figured you’d have one of the guys handling this.”
“I like to keep an eye on things,” I reply, not bothering to look up.
“Control freak, as always,” he quips as he pulls out a chair and plops down across from me.
“Did you come here for a reason, or just to annoy me?” I ask, tossing a stack of twenties into the machine.
Elijah leans back and crosses his arms. “Oh, I came for a reason, alright. Heard something interesting from one of the guys on campus today.”
I roll my eyes. “Do I even want to know?”
He grins, the kind of grin that means trouble. “You’ve got yourself a tutor now?”
The rubber band I’m holding snaps between my fingers. I toss it aside and reach for another one, keeping my voice steady. “It’s not like I asked for it. The school assigned him to me.”
“Oh, I’m sure they did. It’s not like we have someone who can hack into the school’s system and give you straight A’s,” Elijah says, his tone oozing sarcasm. “So, what’s this about? You actually struggling in class and don’t wanna use our resources for some reason? Or is this just some clever ploy to get close to a cute study buddy?”
I glare at him. “You’re an idiot.”
Elijah’s grin only widens. “Come on, Jules. You don’t exactly strike me as the ‘study group’ type. Who’s the unlucky bastard stuck babysitting you?”
I hesitate, but there’s no point in lying. Elijah will dig it out of me eventually. “Felix Caruso.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “No way. Felix Caruso? Mr. No-Bullshit himself? That guy hates everyone.”
“He doesn’t hate me,” I say, even though I’m not entirely sure that’s true.
Elijah lets out a bark of laughter. “Oh, he definitely hates you. I’ve seen the way he looks at people like us. I bet he thinks you’re just some spoiled rich kid coasting through life on Daddy’s dime.”
I don’t respond, focusing instead on the stack of cash in front of me.
Elijah leans forward, his elbows on the table. “You fuckin’ around with him for fun or what?”
“It’s not for fun,” I snap, though the edge in my voice only makes him smirk.
“Right. Because you’re the picture of academic dedication,” he says.
I glare at him, but he doesn’t back down.
“Look, I’m just saying, this seems...out of character for you,” Elijah continues. “I mean, tutoring? Really? What’s next, joining the debate team?”
I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “If you’re done making jokes, I have work to do.”
Elijah studies me for a moment, his smirk fading slightly. “You like this guy, don’t you?”
I stiffen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You can’t fool me, Jules. I know that look. You’ve got it bad.”
“I don’t have anything,” I snap. “Felix is just...interesting, that’s all.”
“Interesting,” Elijah repeats, his grin returning. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Look, he’s just my tutor, okay? That’s it. The school thinks I need help, he’s the one they picked, and I’m going along with it to keep everyone off my back. End of story.”
Elijah doesn’t look convinced, but for once, he lets it drop.
“Whatever you say, Jules,” he says, standing up and stretching. “Just don’t forget—guys like him don’t play by our rules. If you’re not careful, he could turn into a problem.”
“I can handle it,” I say, though the weight of his words lingers long after he’s gone.
As the door slams shut behind him, I let out a long breath and run a hand through my hair.
Felix Caruso.
The name sticks in my mind like a stubborn burr, tangled up with images of sharp eyes, furrowed brows, and the way he looks at me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
So what if I had the school assign Felix as my tutor? I just wanted to get to know him. I haven’t thought about getting a moment alone with him in the dark. Haven’t dreamed of what he would sound like with my lips on his throat...
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, trying to ease the heat that’s bubbling in my veins. Elijah might be right about the crush thing.
Shit.
***
The gym is almost empty, just the way I like it. Late at night, the clanging of weights and the rhythmic hum of the treadmill feel oddly calming. It’s one of the few places I can think without distractions. At least, it usually is.
Tonight, something—or rather, someone—has me completely distracted.
I spot Felix near the punching bags, his movements sharp and controlled as he delivers a series of punches. His usual buttoned-up demeanor is gone, replaced by something raw and intense. His muscle shirt clings to his body, damp with sweat. It’s one of those shirts that covers the front and the back, but the sides are open to the air. I can see his sleek pale skin and his swimmer’s physique almost perfectly.
I lean against the wall, watching for a moment longer than I probably should. Hey, maybe he’ll remove the whole shirt if I’m lucky.
Felix doesn’t notice me—he’s too focused on whatever he’s working through. His form is decent, but his punches lack the kind of power that comes with experience.
Still, there’s something captivating about the way he moves, like he’s fighting off demons only he can see.
“Didn’t take you for a night owl,” I call out, stepping into the light.
Felix freezes mid-punch, turning toward me with a glare that could melt steel. “What, are you stalking me or something?”
“Yeah, ’cause I got nothing better to do.” I smirk as I walk toward him. “I’m here to blow off some steam. What about you?”
He wipes his brow with the back of his hand and shrugs. “It’s quiet here at night. Helps me think.”
“Exactly.” I grab a pair of gloves from the rack and slide them on. “Mind if I join you?”
Felix hesitates, his eyes narrowing like he’s trying to figure out my angle. Eventually, he nods and steps back to give me space.
I step up to the bag and throw a few quick jabs to test its weight. The leather resists nicely, the satisfying smack echoing through the gym.
“You’re not bad,” I say, glancing over at him.
Felix crosses his arms, his expression unimpressed. “I’m not here for compliments.”
“Fair enough.” I grin and throw a few more punches. “You’re tense, though. You need to loosen up. Let me show you.”
“I think I’ll manage,” Felix says, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe?
I don’t press, instead moving to the side of the bag. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Felix hesitates before stepping forward. He squares his shoulders and plants his feet like he’s ready to face off against the world. His punches come faster this time, but they still lack that snap.
“Not bad,” I say, stepping up behind him. “But you’re wasting energy. Here.” I place my hands lightly on his shoulders, adjusting his stance.
Felix stiffens under my touch, his head turning slightly to look at me.
“Relax,” I say, my voice softer now. “It’s just physics. You’ve got to let your weight do the work for you.”
He mutters something under his breath, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets me guide him, his movements becoming more fluid with each punch.
“Better,” I say, stepping back. “Now don’t forget to breathe.”
Felix shoots me a glare, but follows my advice.
After a while, he stops, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. “You’re awfully chatty for someone who’s supposed to be working out.”
I shrug. “It’s called multitasking. Besides, you look like you could use a distraction.”
Felix arches an eyebrow. “And you think you’re the distraction I need?”
“Absolutely.” I grin and toss my gloves onto the bench.
He rolls his eyes, but I catch the corner of his mouth twitching, like he’s fighting a smile.
“So, what’s got you so worked up?” I ask, crossing my arms.
Felix hesitates, his expression guarded. “Nothing that concerns you.”
“Fair enough,” I say, deciding not to push. “But if you ever need to talk…”
“And what about you?” he asks, cutting me off. “Why are you here?”
The question catches me off guard. I’m not used to people asking, let alone caring.
“Same reason as you,” I say casually. “Life’s complicated.”
Felix’s eyes narrow. “That’s vague.”
I shrug. “Alright, you want the unedited version? Fine. Football’s a full-time job, and my family…” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “Let’s just say they have high expectations.”
“High expectations,” Felix repeats skeptically.
“Yeah.” I run a hand through my hair, glancing at the floor. “It’s not as glamorous as it looks, trust me. Everyone thinks being the star quarterback means I’ve got it all figured out, but half the time, I’m just trying to keep my head above water.”
Felix studies me for a moment, his expression softening slightly. “Must be tough,” he says. The slight edge in his tone is no longer present.
“It has its moments,” I admit. “But hey, we all have our battles, right?”
He nods, his gaze drifting back to the punching bag.
An idea sparks in my mind, and before I can think better of it, I say, “How about a sparring match? Nothing serious—just for fun.”
Felix blinks, caught off guard. “What?”
“Let’s go a few rounds, Tin Man.” I make a show of jumping side to side and throwing fake punches.
“Like I’ll be able to survive against a football player.” He lifts his shirt to wipe his sweat from his face, exposing the deep V carved into his hips that dips below his gym shorts.
Fuck.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing a pair of mitts. “You’ll never get better if you don’t practice against someone.”
“I’m not?—”
“Yeah, I bet you couldn’t win anyway,” I taunt.
His ears turn bright red.
Got him.
Felix’s jaw tightens. “Fine.”
We move to the mat and I hold up the mitts, encouraging him to throw a few punches. At first, he’s hesitant, but as the minutes pass, he starts to find his rhythm.
“Not bad,” I say, stepping back. “But let’s see how you handle a real opponent.”
Before he can protest, I move forward, throwing a mock jab. Felix dodges, his movements quick but unsure.
“You’ve got to commit,” I say, feinting to the left. “Hesitation will get you knocked out.”
Felix’s eyes flash with determination, and he counters, his fist grazing my side.
“Better,” I say, stepping closer.
The sparring turns playful, a back-and-forth dance that has both of us laughing despite ourselves.
“Quit playing with me, counselor. You scared or something?”
But then he moves too fast, closing the distance between us.
In an instant, he has me against the wall, his hands braced on either side of my head. Our faces are inches apart, his breath warm against my skin.
The laughter dies, replaced by a charged silence.
I watch as a droplet of sweat drips down his jaw and the side of his throat.
Felix’s eyes dart to mine, wide and uncertain. The normally raging tempest blue of his eyes is calm for once. For a moment, neither of us moves, and I have no smart remark to lighten the tension brewing between us. I fear if I move, I won’t be able to resist the urge to pull his lips to mine…or to tear off that ridiculous shirt that makes my cock twitch with every flash of skin.
And then he pushes away from the wall, his movements abrupt. “I think we’re done here,” he says, his voice tight.
I clear my throat as I raise my hands. “Hey, no harm, no foul.”
Felix grabs his towel and slings it over his shoulder as he walks toward the locker room.
I watch him go, a slow smile spreading across my face.
Felix Caruso is full of surprises. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’ve found someone who can actually keep up with me.