Page 69 of Crown of Lies

“It doesn’t matter why,” he repeats, his tone noticeably colder this time. “What’s done is done.”

The sudden change feels like a slap to the face. I blink, trying to process the whiplash of emotions.

“So that’s it? You’re not going to give me anything more than that?”

He shakes his head and shrugs. “There’s nothing more to say.”

I feel a surge of anger mixed with disappointment.

“Bullshit,” I spit out. “There’s plenty more to say. You just don’t want to have the conversation.”

Nico’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think he might argue back. Instead, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room without another word.

I’m left standing there, my emotions a tangled mess. Part of me wants to run after him, to force him to talk to me. Another part wants to scream in frustration, or maybe burn down their new clubhouse too.

Anything to get through to him. Anything except crying. One thing I’m not going to do is shed another fucking tear over these three men.

21

QUINN

Over the next few days,the Princes step up their patrols of the house until there are eyes on my property twenty-four-seven, constantly scanning for threats.

It’s nice. It’s reassuring.

It’s also suffocating as hell.

I walk into the kitchen one morning, deliberately wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt. Nico is already in there, and I catch his eyes narrowing as he takes in the sight of my bare legs.

“You know,” I say casually, reaching for a glass and exposing more thigh than I probably should, “it’s really cramping my style having all these guards around. A girl can’t even walk around naked in her own home anymore.”

He clears his throat. “Since when are you such a fucking exhibitionist, anyway?”

“I’m not. I just like a little privacy sometimes. Is that so bad?”

Honestly? I don’t even care so much about the privacy. I like having people around these days. Keeps me from spending too long stewing in my own dark thoughts.

But I’m starting to feel a new sense of urgency now that we’ve thwarted whatever plans The Saint had with that break-in. He won’t stay quiet forever. It’s only a matter of time before heescalates things or sends someone else to finish the job the other guy started.

Someone like Silas, or worse.

I lean against the kitchen counter, sipping my water and watching Nico out of the corner of my eye. He’s trying not to stare, but failing miserably. I almost feel bad for teasing him like this. Almost.

“So,” I say, setting down my glass, “any news on the investigation front?”

Nico shakes his head. “Nothing concrete on The Saint yet. We’re still digging. What about your dad?”

I sigh. “Still digging too.”

And I have been. Every spare moment I get, I’m combing through old records, searching online databases, and reaching out to anyone who might have known my father. It’s becoming an obsession—this need to uncover the truth about what the fuck my dad was up to.

The Princes have actually been pretty helpful, coming with me to follow up on leads about my dad’s past. It’s not helping with The Saint situation, but it’s been… interesting. In a way, I feel closer to him now than I did when he was alive.

We’ve filled in a lot of details about his history. How he started the gang, the principles that drove him. It’s like I’m getting to know completely different aspects of him, a deeper insight into the man I thought I knew.

I’ve been looking into my mother’s side too, but that trail is even colder. She died when I was so young, I barely remember her. Just fragments really—the smell of her perfume, the sound of her laugh. It doesn’t seem likely that whatever’s happening now has anything to do with her, but I can’t rule it out entirely.

I rub my temples, feeling the familiar tension headache coming on.

---