Crown of Lies (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #2)

16. Nico

16

NICO

I pace the length of the living room, phone pressed to my ear, as the pieces of bad news keep falling into place. Seems like everyone and their fucking mothers are trying to take advantage of the fact that our clubhouse is now a pile of ashes. It’s a sign of weakness in a world where the weak get eaten.

Quickly.

“So, what you’re saying is, we’re getting squeezed from two sides,” I grind out, my eyes narrowing as I take in the news. “They smell blood in the water, and they’re coming for us.”

“Yeah, that’s about the size of it.” The voice of one of my top lieutenants crackles over the line, sounding tense and worried. “One by one, our enemies are making their presence known. And they’re getting bolder by the day. We’re not just talking about the occasional drive-by to look for holes in our armor. We’re way past that. Now they’re settling in.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Fuck. We need to push back. Show them we’re not backing down. Not an inch.”

“That’s just it, Nico. We’re spread thin here. Maybe a little too thin. A lot of the guys are still dealing with the aftermath of the fire. Some of them still haven’t even found places to stay, now that our safehouses have had to handle the overflow. This isn’t exactly the best time to ask folks to go above and beyond, you know? We just don’t have a lot of extra hands for this kind of fight.”

My gut twists. He’s right, and I know it. We’re not in a position to mount a strong defense, not right now. But I can’t just sit here and let these gangs take what’s ours. We need to fortify our position, send a clear message.

“Fine,” I snap, pent-up tension buzzing under my skin. “Keep your eyes and ears open and keep me in the loop. I’ll set up a couple more safe houses, but I want you to put out the word that we’re as strong as ever and we welcome the chance to prove it.”

Yeah, we both know it’s a fucking lie. And no, I hope like hell that I don’t have to back up my own tough talk anytime soon.

I end the call and toss the phone onto the couch as if it’s burning my hand. The leather cushions take the brunt of my frustration next, my knuckles bruising from the force of my blow.

Fucking bullshit. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. We were supposed to be untouchable. A force to be reckoned with. And now? Now we’re scrambling just to hold on to what’s left.

I shake my head, my jaw clenched. No. I won’t let this be our downfall. We’ll weather this storm, just like we’ve weathered all the others. I’ll make sure of it.

The sound of the front door interrupts my dark thoughts. I glance up to see Atlas and Quinn stepping inside, their eyes scanning the room until they land on me. There’s something different in how they’re acting. Something is off. I can see it in the way they move, the slight shift in their body language.

My stomach clenches as the realization hits me. They fucked . The thought claws at my insides, but I keep my expression neutral, my eyes giving nothing away.

“Hey,” Atlas greets me, his voice carefully neutral. “Everything okay? You seem…” He trails off as if searching for the right word.

“Frustrated,” Quinn supplies, perceptive as always. Maybe a little too perceptive for my liking—at least in this moment. “You seem frustrated.”

“Among other things,” I reply, my voice deceptively calm. “Care to fill me in on what you two were up to?”

I force my gaze away from Quinn, from the way her hair falls in loose, messy waves and her lips are swollen and pink. I ignore the scent of sex that clings to her, that wraps around me like a chokehold.

She steps forward, holding a small notepad, seemingly oblivious to the way I’m feeling. I know her better than that though. When she and Atlas came back from Eros that night, I picked up on the tension between them right away—she has to know that I’ve picked up on it again.

But she doesn’t say a word about it, and neither do I.

I don’t know what the fuck to say. Don’t know whether I’m pissed off or jealous or… something else.

“I went back to the bar,” she says, her voice steadier now. “The bartender recognized my dad’s photo. He used to be a regular there. Apparently, he was tight with a few members of a local crew.”

“Go on,” I say, forcing myself to focus. My eyes narrow as I take the notepad from her, and a list of names stares back at me as I scan the page. Possible connections. Possible leads.

“He gave me these names,” Quinn continues, her voice tight. “Said they might be a good place to start. That they could point us in the right direction.”

“And you trust this guy?” I ask, reading each of the names.

She shrugs. “As much as I can trust anyone right now. He didn’t have to help me. The fact that he recognized my dad and was willing to talk is something.”

I nod, folding the paper and slipping it into my pocket. “We’ll check these leads out tomorrow. I’ll go with you.”

Quinn hesitates for a split-second, her eyes darting between Atlas and me. Then she nods once, sharp and curt. “Yeah, okay. Goodnight.”

I watch her climb the stairs, my jaw clenching as the scent of sex teases my nostrils once more, lingering in the air behind her.

Atlas moves toward the stairs a beat later, but I lift a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Hold up.”

He turns back, a hint of defiance and maybe a little guilt etched on his face. We stand there for a moment, tension thick between us. He definitely knows I’m aware of what went down, even if I don’t know all the specifics.

Do I want to know the specifics?

Fucking hell . I let out a slow breath, trying to clear my thoughts.

“Is this gonna be a problem?” I ask, keeping my voice low as I gesture with my chin toward the stairs Quinn just walked up.

He meets my gaze, unflinching. “No. It’s not.”

“You sure about that? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you just complicated things. Big time.”

Atlas runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every abrupt move he makes. “Look, I was just… getting her out of my system.”

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head at his words. “That’s funny. I told myself the same damn lie when I fucked her in the basement.”

Something flickers in his eyes, but it isn’t surprise. Jealousy, maybe? Irritation that I’m calling him out for basically doing the same damn thing I did?

Doesn’t matter now anyway. What’s done is done.

“But here’s the thing,” I continue. “It didn’t work. Not even a little bit.” I take a step closer to him, close enough that I can see the tension in his jaw. “Quinn isn’t the kind of woman you just get out of your system. Trust me on this. The more you have of her, the more you want. It’s like a fucking addiction.”

I watch as Atlas processes my words, his expression tightening even more.

“I’m telling you this as your friend. As your brother . Be careful. This shit? It’s complicated enough without adding more fuel to the fire.”

Atlas nods again, his voice rough when he speaks. “Yeah, I get it. I do.”

“We need to wrap this shit up, and fast.” I fill Atlas in on my plan, on what should have been the plan all along. “We find out what the hell she has that’s so goddamn valuable, we get our money, and then we get the hell out. We cut her out of our lives like we always planned to, once this job was done.”

Atlas nods, his eyes hard and focused. “Yeah, that’s the move. No more distractions, no more dragging our feet.”

We stand there for a moment, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering tension. Then, with a slight dip of his head, Atlas turns and starts to walk away, his body language determined and resolute.

I watch him go, my stomach twisting as I realize that, in spite of my tough talk, I’m not ready to let Quinn go.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever .

It’s a dangerous thought, one that could destroy us all if I’m not careful. But there it is—undeniable, at least within the confines of my own twisted fucking brain.

I wake up early, my mind already racing with the day ahead. After a quick shower and some coffee, I’m ready to go. Quinn meets me downstairs, looking tired but determined.

“Ready?” I ask, grabbing my jacket.

She nods, fishing her car keys out of her pocket. “Let’s do this.”

We climb into her beat-up Honda, the engine sputtering to life after a couple of tries. As we pull out onto the street, I unfold the list of names the bartender gave her.

“So, who’s first on our hit list?” Quinn asks, her eyes fixed on the road.

“Guy named Tommy Russo.”

Quinn’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “Bartender says he used to run with my dad back in the day.”

Not exactly the most helpful intel. Some random bartender happens to remember a couple of old drunks hanging out back in the day? This list could be a mile long if that’s our main criteria.

I can’t hold in a grunt. “That’s all we know?”

“It’s a start,” she says, glancing in my direction. “It won’t hurt to see what he has to say.”

We drive in silence for a while, the morning traffic thinning out as we head toward the outskirts of town. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out, frowning at the caller ID.

“Yeah?” I say as soon as I answer.

Quinn glances over again, looking curious instead of irritated this time.

“What do you mean, they’re moving in?” I growl into the phone, my free hand clenching into a fist. “No, don’t do anything yet. I’ll handle it.”

I hang up, muttering a string of curses under my breath.

“Everything okay?” Quinn asks.

I debate for a moment whether to tell her, then decide fuck it. She’s in deep already. “Some assholes are trying to chip away at my territory. Been happening more and more lately.”

Quinn kills the engine outside a run-down apartment complex and turns to face me.

“Listen, about those guys moving in on your territory…” She trails off, her gaze flicking to the cracked dashboard. “I could spare some of my people to help you defend it.”

The offer takes me by surprise.

“Why the hell would you do that?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intended.

She shrugs, her jaw working. “We can’t exactly let everyone know we’re at each other’s throats, can we? If we’re going to keep up this whole ‘allies’ charade, then we might as well act like it.”

I narrow my eyes, studying her face. Is she serious? Offering to help me defend my turf when she could just as easily sit back and watch me struggle? Even if I let myself believe her bit about keeping up appearances, I’m not sure I’d do the same if the situation was reversed.

“You sure about this?” I ask, not even trying to hide my skepticism. “Your people might not take too kindly to the idea of helping me out.”

She meets my gaze, her dark eyes fierce. “They’ll do as I say. And I say we help each other out on this one.”

I don’t commit, but I don’t turn her down either. We’ll see how this plays out.

Quinn and I head inside, climbing creaky stairs to the second floor. The place smells like stale smoke and old takeout.

“Which one is it?” I ask, glancing at the numbers on the doors.

“Here.” Quinn stops at a door with a worn brass knocker. She raps sharply, the sound echoing in the narrow hallway.

Footsteps approach, and the door swings open to reveal a balding man with a paunch. His eyes widen at the sight of Quinn. “You Jonah’s kid?”

She nods, stepping forward. “You knew my dad?”

“Tommy Russo. Yeah, we ran in the same circles for a while. Come on in.” He steps back, holding the door open.

I follow Quinn inside, my gaze scanning the small, cluttered apartment. The furniture is mismatched, and the walls are covered in vintage concert posters. Russo offers us a seat on a lumpy couch, then takes an armchair facing us.

The guy looks harmless enough, but I stay on guard, watching Quinn out of the corner of my eye. She carries herself with an ease that’s damn near impressive. She’s all business, no hesitating or second-guessing herself.

“When was the last time you saw my dad?” Quinn asks, getting right to the point.

Russo scratches his stubbled chin. “Gotta be… what, five, six years ago? We lost touch after that.”

“Do you know why?”

He shrugs, his eyes flicking away for a moment. “Your dad… he went dark for a bit. Fell off the radar.”

“Dark how?”

“He started running with a rougher crowd. Your dad knew how to handle himself, but it seemed like he was looking for trouble.”

Quinn’s gaze flicks to me, then back to Russo. “Do you know who these people were? Any names?”

Russo shakes his head. “Sorry, kid. It was all pretty hush-hush. Your dad kept his cards close to his chest.”

Quinn’s jaw tightens, and I can almost see the frustration building in her. “Okay. Thanks for your time.”

We get to our feet, and Russo walks us to the door. “Take care.”

We head down the stairs, the afternoon sunlight making me squint after the dimness of Russo’s apartment.

“Well, that was a dead end,” Quinn mutters, her hands shoved in her pockets.

I’m about to suggest we hit up the next name on our list when my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen, my stomach sinking. It’s one of the nurses from my dad’s care facility.

“Hold on a sec,” I mutter to Quinn, stepping a few feet away and answering the call. “What’s going on?”

“Your father’s had another episode, Mr. Morelli.” The voice coming through the phone sounds breathless. “He’s calmed down now, but I thought you should know.”

Shit. The facility where my father lives is a good half-hour drive from here, and I don’t wanna go there with Quinn. But before I can come up with an excuse to shake her, she’s at my side, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

“Fine,” I lie. “Just an errand I need to run. You can make the next stop without me if you want.”

“No, that’s okay.” She crosses her arms, clearly not backing down. “I don’t mind coming with you.”

Love how she’s acting like I fucking invited her. I clench my jaw, knowing there’s no point in arguing. “Fine. Let’s go.”

We climb back into Quinn’s car, and I give her the address of the care facility. As we drive, I feel her gaze on me, curious and questioning. I keep my eyes fixed on the road, my jaw tight. I don’t want to talk about this. Not here. Not now. Not with her.

She glances around as we pull up to the facility, taking in the well-kept grounds and simple, modern buildings. “What is this place?”

“An errand,” I repeat, getting out of the car and heading inside.

A nurse I vaguely recognize—Becky, I think her name is—meets us at the front desk.

“Mr. Morelli, I’m glad you came. Your father is in his room. He’s resting now.”

I nod sharply. “Thanks.”

Becky’s gaze drifts to Quinn, her eyebrows drifting upward a little as she takes in Quinn’s teal hair and tattoos. “Who’s your friend?”

“A colleague,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “Can we go see him?”

Becky nods, leading us down a quiet hallway to my father’s room. My heart is pounding in my chest as we approach, and I force myself to take a couple of slow, deep breaths. Seeing my dad like this always hits me hard.

He’s sitting in a chair by the window, his eyes closed, looking older and more frail than I remember. A book is sitting open on his lap, his thin chest rising and falling slowly.

“He fell asleep a little while ago,” Becky murmurs. “He should be okay now, but we’ll keep an extra close eye on him.”

“Thanks,” I say quietly.

Becky gives me a sympathetic smile and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her.

I glance at Quinn, feeling uncomfortable under her steady gaze. “He’s got some kind of dementia,” I explain, my voice gruff. “Went downhill fast.”

I watch as my dad’s eyes slowly open, his gaze unfocused at first. Then he spots me, and a smile spreads across his weathered face.

“Nico, my boy,” he says, his voice weak but warm. “It’s so good to see you.”

I nod, keeping my distance. “Hey, Dad. How you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m fine, just fine. Who’s your friend?” He peers at Quinn, his smile never faltering.

“This is Quinn,” I say, not offering any more explanation.

“Lovely to meet you,” my father says. “Nico, you should bring her around more often. It’s nice to see you with friends.”

I clench my jaw, fighting back the urge to snap at him. Instead, I force a tight smile. “Sure. We can’t stay long though. Just wanted to check in.”

“Of course, of course,” he says, reaching out to pat my hand. “You’re such a good son, always looking out for your old man.”

I pull my hand away, unable to bear his touch. “We should get going.”

As we leave, I can feel Quinn’s eyes on me. We climb into her car, and she doesn’t start the engine right away.

“I thought you said your dad was an asshole,” she says, her voice careful.

I lean my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes for a moment. “He was. He is.”

“But he seemed so…”

“Nice?” I finish for her, opening my eyes to look at her. “Yeah, that’s the fucked up part. The dementia has screwed with his mind. It’s almost worse now, because he has no fucking idea what he did to me.”

Quinn’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “After my mom died, he just… checked out. Gambling, depression, hitting the bottle, you name it. He was never there for me, not when it mattered. And now? Now you’d think he was father of the year.”

I’m ready to drop it, but I can tell she isn’t satisfied with my half-assed answer. My chest tightens. This bullshit wasn’t on my agenda today, but fuck it. The cat’s out of the bag now, right?

“He let them take me,” I say, the words bitter on my tongue. “Some guy he owed money to. I was…what, thirteen? Fourteen? They took me as collateral, said he’d get me back when he paid up.”

Quinn’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open slightly. “What happened?”

“What do you think happened?” I snap, my voice hard. “I fought my way out. I wasn’t gonna sit there and wait for my dad to get his shit together. So I waited for an opening, attacked my guard with everything I had, and made it out on my own.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes dropping to the floor. “That must have been scary as hell.”

I shrug, not wanting her pity. “It was what it was. If I’d waited for him to pay them or find a way to rescue me, I probably would’ve died. So I figured out how to take care of myself.”

“And now you’re taking care of him,” she says softly. “Even though he let you down.”

I clench my jaw, the old wounds still fresh. “He’s still my father, no matter how much of an asshole he is. And that means something.”

She gives me a look I can’t interpret, her brows drawing together. “So, that’s it? You just… forgive him?”

“I don’t forgive him,” I say, my voice low and fierce. “But I won’t be like him. I won’t abandon my family.”