13. Julian
JULIAN
T he 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.
“I sent you something,” I say. “Check your email. It’s encrypted—layers of it. Nobody’s getting through without the codes, and you’ll have those soon. But it’s all there, Felix. Everything. Every file, every note. Your research is safe.”
The silence stretches, and I imagine him standing there, phone pressed to his ear, his sharp mind already piecing together what I’ve done.
“How?” he asks finally, his voice careful and controlled. “How did you get it?”
“I can’t explain right now,” I say, my free hand dragging through my hair. “Just trust me. Even if something happens to the originals, you’ll have them.”
“Julian…” His voice softens, almost breaking. “Why are you doing this? You didn’t have to?—”
“Yes, I did,” I cut him off, my voice rougher than I intended. “Because I owe you that much.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” he says, a note of anger creeping in. “I didn’t ask you to do this.”
“I know,” I say, quieter now. “But I couldn’t just stand by, Felix. Not after everything.”
There’s another pause, heavy with unspoken words. I can hear his breath on the other end of the line, steady but too loud in the quiet.
“Do they know?” he asks finally, his voice tight.
“No,” I say. “Not yet.”
“And if they find out?”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Then I’m screwed.”
“That’s not funny, Julian.” His voice sharpens, and I can picture the way his brows furrow when he’s upset. “What happens to you if they figure this out?”
“That’s not your concern,” I say, the words slipping out automatically.
“The hell it’s not,” he snaps, and the heat in his voice catches me off guard. “You think I can just sit here while you—while they?—”
“Stop,” I cut in, tension rising in my chest. “You don’t understand, Felix. This isn’t something you can fix. It’s not something you can fight.”
“And you think that means I shouldn’t care?” he fires back. “That I should just sit here and hope you come out of this alive?”
“You shouldn’t have to care,” I say, my voice dropping. “That’s why I’m doing this. To make sure you’re not dragged any deeper into this mess.”
There’s a long silence on the other end, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s hung up.
“You know what I hate most about this?” he says finally, his voice quieter now, almost defeated.
“What?”
“That I can’t walk away,” he admits. “Even when I know I should. Even when I know how dangerous this is…for both of us.”
His words hit harder than I expected, and for a moment, I can’t find the air to respond.
“I hate it too,” I say, the confession slipping out before I can stop it.
The silence between us shifts, the tension twisting into something more fragile.
“Julian,” he says, his voice softer now. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“Yes, I do,” I say, my throat tight. “You don’t know what they’re capable of, Felix. You don’t want to know.”
“And you think I don’t worry about you every second?” he demands, his voice breaking just enough to crack the wall I’ve built around myself.
“I don’t deserve that,” I whisper.
“Well, too bad,” he says, and I can hear the faintest smile in his voice, even through his frustration.
I close my eyes and let his words wash over me. For a moment, the world outside doesn’t exist. It’s just us, the hum of the phone connecting us in a way nothing else can.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice steady now.
“Neither am I,” I say, the faintest smile tugging at my lips.
The line goes quiet again, but this time, it feels like a truce.
“Goodnight, baby,” I say softly.
“Goodnight, Julian,” he replies, and for the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe.
???
The estate feels quieter than usual the next morning. Too quiet. The absence of the usual hum of activity—the sound of footsteps, low murmurs, and clinking coffee cups—fills the air with an unnerving stillness. It presses against me, thick and suffocating, and my pulse quickens. Something is wrong.
Two of my cousins appear outside my bedroom, their faces expressionless. Their eyes avoid mine, their silence heavy with meaning. One of them speaks first, his voice flat, almost mechanical.
“You’re needed in Elijah’s study.”
The words are brief, impersonal. It’s an order, not a request.
I nod, my stomach dropping as I follow them. Each step echoes louder than the last as I walk through the silent halls of the estate. The usual servants and staff are nowhere to be seen.
When we reach Elijah’s study, the door is already open. I step inside, my eyes immediately locking on him. Elijah stands at his desk, the usual steel in his posture, but his face is unreadable. The air between us is thick with tension, heavy with unspoken words.
He doesn’t say anything at first, and neither do I. I can’t look away from him. His eyes, hard and cold, don’t soften as they meet mine. They’re sharp, cutting into me like he’s trying to figure out whether I’m worthy of his attention…or if I’m about to disappoint him.
“Elijah,” I say quietly, my throat tight. But he doesn’t respond. He just steps forward and shuts the door behind me with a quiet click. The sound reverberates through the room, making the silence feel even more oppressive.
Then, finally, he speaks. His voice is low and controlled, like the calm before a storm.
“I know what you did,” he says, and there’s no anger in his words, just a quiet certainty that cuts through me like a blade. His eyes are still hard, but now there’s something else in them—something like regret. Maybe even guilt.
I swallow hard, trying to steady my breath, but the room feels like it’s closing in on me. “I don’t know what you mean,” I lie. But it’s pointless. I can already see the way his jaw tightens and the flicker of anger that crosses his features before he suppresses it.
He steps closer, and the coldness in his voice sharpens. “You stole from me. From my office.” The accusation hangs heavy in the air.
I wince. There’s no denying it, not when it’s right in front of me. “I had to,” I mutter, my voice rough. “I had to do it for Felix.” I try to keep my tone steady, but the words feel foreign coming out of my mouth. They feel like a betrayal of everything I’ve tried to protect.
Elijah doesn’t say anything for a long moment. His gaze doesn’t leave mine, and the weight of his silence presses against me. Then, finally, he moves. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t lash out with anger. But I can see it in his eyes—he’s not mad. He’s disappointed.
“You put me in a terrible position, Julian,” he says softly. “You think I want to do this?” His voice cracks, just slightly, as though the weight of what he’s about to do is heavier than anything he’s faced before.
Before I can say anything, his hand shoots out, grabbing me by the collar and yanking me forward. I don’t fight back. I can’t. His grip is unforgiving, but I know he’s not doing this because he wants to hurt me. He’s doing it because he has no other choice.
“I never asked for this,” Elijah mutters, almost to himself. “But here we are.” He lets go of my collar and steps back, and the anger in his eyes burns with something more than frustration.
The next moment, he moves with the precision of someone who’s been trained for this. He doesn’t hesitate. There’s no need for words now. His fist connects with my stomach, knocking the air out of me. I stagger back, my hands instinctively clutching my gut, but I don’t fight him. I can’t.
The second punch lands in my side and I stumble to the floor, gasping for breath. Pain lances through my body, but I don’t say anything. I’ve never been good at showing weakness, and even now, when it feels like everything inside me is breaking apart, I don’t want to show it.
“I’m sorry, Julian,” Elijah mutters, his voice barely audible. But the regret in his words doesn’t stop him. His next punch lands with brutal force, sending me crashing back into the wall. The impact knocks the breath out of me, and for a moment, I can’t feel my legs.
I can hear the sound of his breathing, ragged and uneven. He’s not doing this because he hates me—he’s doing it because he has to. He has to send a message. He needs to carve my sins into my body in case anyone checks.
The hits keep coming, each one more calculated than the last. Pain floods through my body as bruises form with every strike. I want to beg him to stop, but the words stick in my throat. There’s no point.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he steps back. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, his hands clenched at his sides. He looks at me with something like regret in his eyes, but it’s too late for that now.
He looks down at the floor, as though ashamed. “Don’t make it worse, Julian.”
I don’t say anything. I can barely breathe, let alone form coherent words. My body aches, but it’s the guilt that weighs most heavily on me.
I push myself up from the floor, my legs shaky. The blood is rushing in my ears, but I can still hear Elijah’s voice behind me, soft and distant.
“I’ll take care of things,” he says, his voice low, as though he’s trying to convince himself as much as me. “But this...this can’t happen again.”
I don’t answer him. I can’t. My pride is too bruised. My body too broken.
I walk out of the study, leaving behind the suffocating weight of the punishment, but I can’t shake the feeling that, no matter how much I’ve lost, the worst is yet to come.