Page 87 of Crown of Lies

Back at the shop, I walk in with Nico, Killian, and Atlas following close behind. My remaining gang members look up with expressions that range from relief to apprehension.

“Listen up,” I announce, my voice carrying across the room. “We’ve lost some good people. Damn good people. But we’re not beaten. We’re going to regroup, strengthen our defenses, and make damn sure this never happens again.”

I spend the next hour delegating tasks, arranging for proper burials, and reassuring my people. All the while, I can feel the weight of failure pressing down on me. Two sets of deaths in just a few months. I should have protected them better.

The Princes hang back, giving me space to handle my duties but staying close enough to intervene if needed. I appreciate their presence more than I care to admit.

Finally, when everything that can be done tonight is set in motion, I feel the exhaustion hit me like a tidal wave.

“Time to go,” Nico says softly, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I nod, too tired to argue. My car is out of commission, so I find myself climbing onto the back of Killian’s bike. In the past, I would have bitched about having to ride with him, always preferring my own set of wheels. But tonight, as I wrap my arms around Killian’s waist and feel the powerful machine roar to life beneath us, I’m grateful for the contact.

When we finally pull up to the house, I practically collapse off the bike. Killian steadies me with a strong hand on my arm. “Easy there. Let’s get you inside.”

I stumble into the bedroom, collapsing onto the edge of the bed. Killian kneels in front of me, his eyes scanning my body for injuries.

“Okay, let’s see the damage,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle as he eases the oversized shirt off my shoulders and tosses it aside. My bra—or what’s left of it—is next.

I wince as he probes a particularly nasty bruise on my ribs. “It’s not that bad,” I insist, but even I can hear the lie in my voice.

“Looks pretty bad,” Killian says. “Hold still.”

Hoping to take my mind off the pain in my side, I look over at Nico, who has been watching from the doorway. “We need to talk about our next move,” I say, trying to sit up straighter. “The Young Killers are vulnerable right now. We should strike while they’re disorganized, before they can regroup under a new leader.”

Nico’s jaw clenches. “Not now. You need to rest.”

“This is important,” I argue. “If we wait, we’ll lose our advantage. It’s just business, Nico. We need to capitalize on this opportunity.”

“Business?” his voice rises, a mix of frustration and something else, something deeper that I can’t quite place. “Is that what you think this is about? What happened tonight wasn’tjust business. Fuck, mia cara. You know that. You have to know that, right?”

All I can do is stare at him blankly. Because no, I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell to think anymore.

Nico steps closer, his eyes fixed on my tattoos. He reaches out, his fingers lightly tracing the design he gave me. “It’s about this.” his fingers following the lines slowly, almost reverently. “And this,” he continues.

Finally, his hand settles on an empty spot next to the others. I know it’s where Killian’s mark would go if he ever gave me one. “And this.”

I look up at him, unable to hide the confusion and anticipation that are both building inside me. “What are you talking about?”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting mine. “We need to tell you the truth. About why we stopped spying on you for The Saint.”

My breath catches in my throat, my tongue darting out to lick my lips as I murmur, “Why did you do it?”

“We were all falling for you. Hard. We couldn’t keep doing it, not when our feelings for you were growing stronger every day.”

Nico’s gaze locks with mine, and I can’t look away. There’s an openness and honesty in them that I’ve never seen before, as if he’s done away with every mask or façade he’s ever worn, allowing me to see straight into to his soul.

He drops to his knees beside the bed, his eyes shining with emotion.

“I’m so fucking sorry for all of it,” he rasps, his voice cracking. “For the lies, for the betrayal, for hurting you. I’ll regret it until the day I fucking die.”

I stare at him, my heart racing as I process his words. The sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability in his voice—it’s all so unexpectedly real and raw.

Before I can think better of it, I lean forward and press my lips to his.

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