Page 111 of Crown of Lies

Nico reaches out and pulls me towards him. I let him guide me, too emotionally drained to resist. We’re both sitting on the edge of the bed, and I let him draw me onto his lap so that I’m straddling him, facing him directly. His hands come to rest on my hips, steadying me.

“Quinn, listen to me. Your father was nothing like mine. Nothing.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he shakes his head, silencing me.

“You know, Jonah and I were rivals. Enemies. That goes without saying. But even back then, I could see what kind of man he was.”

I know he’s telling the truth—the truth as he knows it, anyway—and all I can do is nod.

“My old man?” he continues, a bitter edge to his voice. “He’s forgotten how shitty he was to me. His mind’s all fuzzy now, and he’s rewritten the past to make himself feel better. But your dad? He was never like that.”

I search Nico’s face, looking for any sign of pity or false comfort. But all I see is sincerity.

“Jonah loved you. That was clear as day to anyone who saw you two together. Whatever reason he had for keeping this from you, I guarantee it wasn’t because he didn’t care or didn’t trust you.”

His words start to chip away at the doubts that have been plaguing me. I want to believe him, desperately.

“But then why—” I start, hating how shaky my voice is right now.

There’s no judgment coming from Nico though. Only compassion.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I do know that he would never have intentionally put you in danger. He must have had a damn good reason for keeping this secret.”

His hands on my hips are grounding, keeping me present as my mind threatens to spiral again.

“You really think so?”

He nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “I know so. Look, your dad wasn’t just a good father. He was a good leader too. He looked out for the people he cared about—it’s part of what made him such a pain in my ass sometimes.”

A laugh escapes me in spite of the heaviness in my chest. It’s strange to hear Nico talk about my dad like this, showing nothing but respect for a man who used to be one of his biggest rivals.

“Enigma was always one step ahead,” Nico continues, a wry smile on his face. “Always thinking about his people, always planning for their safety. It drove me crazy, but I couldn’t help but admire him for it.”

His words paint a picture of my father that aligns with the man I knew, the leader I looked up to. It helps soothe some of the doubts that have been gnawing at me.

“Not to mention,” he says, a small grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “Your dad must’ve been a good father, because he raised an amazing woman as a daughter.”

My heart thuds at his words. I’m not even sure he meant to say them, to admit he thinks I’m amazing. It’s like they just came out unconsciously. The sincerity in his eyes catches me off guard, making my breath hitch.

I swallow hard, trying to regain my composure. “That’s… that’s a flawed argument,” I manage. “You had a shitty father, and you’re still one of the most incredible men I know.”

Nico’s eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his face. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The air between usfeels charged, electric. His hands tighten on my hips, and I’m intensely aware of how close we are.

Something shifts in his gaze. He moves one hand from my hip, slowly sliding it up my back until he’s cupping the nape of my neck. His fingers tangle in my hair, making my back arch as he gives a gentle pull.

“I wanted to hate you so badly,” he confesses.

I nod, a wry smile tugging at my lips. “I wanted to hate you too. Fuck, I tried so hard.”

“Do you?” he asks quietly. “Hate me?”

I think about everything that’s happened between us, everything that got us to where we are now. The rivalry between our families, the tension, the fights. But also the moments of understanding, the unexpected kindness, the growing attraction neither of us could deny.

I think about how he’s been there for me through this crisis, how he’s supported me even when I pushed him away. I remember the way he looked at me in the club, the electricity between us when we danced. I recall the gentleness in his touch, the fire in his eyes.

I shake my head slowly. “No,” I finally admit. “I don’t hate you. Not even close.”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against my skin.

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