Page 54 of Crown of Lies

“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?”

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