34. Nico
34
NICO
I lean forward in my chair and look at each of the men gathered around the kitchen table. “We move on the west side warehouses by the end of the week. Tanner and his crew will handle security. Kendrick, you’re in charge of logistics.”
Kendrick nods, his massive shoulders shifting under his leather cut. “I’ve already got three trucks lined up. My cousin’s place is perfect for storage until we get things moving again.”
I study the map of Detroit spread out between us—the city is carved up like a fucking carcass, with red marks showing what used to be our territory and blue showing what we’ve reclaimed in the past week. It’s not enough. Not by a long shot.
“Hudson, what about the docks?” I ask, tapping a spot on the eastern edge.
“Zoey’s people are still there, but they’re sloppy,” Hudson replies, scratching at his beard. “Half of them are just kids playing gangster. It wouldn’t take much to push them out.”
“Good.” I circle the area with a marker. “That’s our next target after the warehouses. I want our pipeline reestablished by the end of the month.”
Shit is getting serious now, and more urgent by the minute. Every day we waste is another day I can’t protect Quinn properly. Another day she has to spend with that fucking monster while I have to wonder if this is the day he decides his patience has run out.
“What about Stefan?” Tanner asks, his eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard word that he’s been out there recruiting.”
“Stefan is a fucking lapdog,” Kendrick snorts. “He might pick up a few recruits here and there, but he still depends on Zoey to call the shots. Without her, he’ll fold like cheap cardboard.”
“Don’t underestimate desperate men,” I warn, remembering too many times I’ve seen cornered rats turn deadly. “We’ll deal with Zoey and Stefan and whoever is left of the Tyrants when we can do it on our terms. Right now, we focus on rebuilding and getting our business back up and running. Priority number one is making sure we have the resources for whatever comes next.”
The men nod, understanding what I’m not saying outright—that “whatever comes next” involves getting Quinn away from Malcolm Mercer permanently. And likely burying the bastard somewhere no one will ever find him.
“That’s it for today,” I say, rolling up the map. “Keep your heads down and your eyes open. I want daily reports.”
They file out one by one, each with their assignments. Kendrick lingers, his massive frame filling the doorway as the others leave.
“We’re making progress,” he says. “Faster than I expected.”
“Not fast enough,” I mutter.
His eyes—surprisingly perceptive for a man who looks like he solves most problems with his fists—study me carefully. “We’ll get her back, Nico. I don’t have any doubts about it.”
I don’t ask how he knows what’s eating at me. It’s probably written all over my face, just like it probably has been since the day Malcolm took her.
“Yeah,” I say, standing up so I can clap him on the shoulder. “We will. Now get going. Check in tomorrow.”
After the door closes behind him, I sit back down at the table and stare at nothing in particular. The house is too fucking quiet with Atlas and Killian gone, but they’re out checking on a lead, and the quiet gives me too much time to think. To remember Quinn’s face the last time I saw her and how fucking much I miss her.
I slam my fist on the table, frustrated that I can’t do more right this fucking second. I need to make sure that when this is all over, I can keep her safe. That I have the means, the men, and the fucking firepower to make sure no one ever threatens her again.
A knock at the door—Quinn’s knock—pulls me from my thoughts. Is she really here? Have I thought about her so damn much that my mind is playing tricks on me? This is too much of a coincidence to be real… right?
I grab my gun from where it’s tucked into the waistband of my pants and move silently to the door. I look through the peephole, and as soon as I see who’s on the other side, a smile splits my face.
It really is her.
I tuck my gun away, then unlock the door and yank it open. I pull her close to me, checking over her shoulder up and down the street at the same time before slamming the door closed again.
“Mia cara.” I breathe her in like fucking oxygen.
Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, teal strands mixed with the dark brown of her roots. She’s wearing a simple black tank top and jeans, nothing special, but still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“You’re really here.”
“You know I’ll always come back.”
My mouth finds hers in a desperate kiss that I trust to say everything I can’t put into words. I palm the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as I breathe her in again.
The familiar scent of honey and jasmine fills my lungs, but beneath it is something else—a man’s cologne, expensive and subtle—that has to be Malcolm’s scent on her skin.
Something dark and violent surges through me, nearly cracking my control. The thought of his hands and mouth on her makes me want to burn this fucking city to the ground until I find him.
I break the kiss, gritting my teeth as I fight to keep my rage in check. She doesn’t need that from me right now. She needs me steady, focused.
“I didn’t think you’d be able to come back so soon, with everything you have going on,” I say instead. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s time,” she says, offering a faint but hopeful smile as she looks up at me. “We’re making our move against Malcolm.”
The sound of his name coming from her lips almost distracts me from the good news. “Tell me everything.”
“Elliot called in his votum at the meeting today. He’s setting Malcolm up.” The words tumble out of her in a rush. “Malcolm’s going to meet with some crime boss from New York, Ronan Kane. He’ll go alone, no guards. That’s when the rest of the Syndicate will take him down.”
“Thank fuck.” The sense of relief I feel is so intense it makes my knees weak. “When?”
“Soon. Really soon. We still need to work out some details, but it’s happening, Nico.” She grips my arms, her fingers digging into my biceps. “It’s really happening.”
I cup her face in my hands, studying her. There are shadows under her eyes, and tension lines around her mouth that weren’t there before. But she’s still fucking fighting.
“We’re going to put that bastard in the ground,” I promise her. “And then no one’s ever going to separate us again.”
She nods, leaning into my touch like she’s starved for it. “Where are Atlas and Killian?”
“Out checking on something. They’ll be back soon.” I brush my thumb over her cheekbone, frowning when she winces slightly. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she says quickly. Too quickly.
I tilt her face, examining the spot. There’s a faint bruise there, roughly the size and shape of a finger. A man’s finger.
“Did he fucking do this to you?”
She doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.
“I’m going to kill him,” I say simply. Not a threat—a promise. “I’m going to watch the life drain out of his eyes.”
Atlas and Killian walk in a few minutes later, both freezing in place when they see Quinn sitting at the kitchen table with me.
“Siren,” Killian breathes, crossing the room in three long strides to pull her into his arms.
Atlas is right behind him with a rare grin on his face. “Vicious.”
They take turns holding her, kissing her, touching her like they need to reassure themselves she’s real. I know exactly how they feel.
Once everyone settles down, Quinn fills them in on the plan. She goes over the details of Elliot’s votum, Malcolm’s upcoming meeting with Ronan Kane, and the Syndicate’s plot to ambush him there.
“The only problem,” she says, “is that I need to make sure Ronan doesn’t show up for the meeting. If he does, he’ll see it’s a trap, and then shit will really get dicey.”
“You know what this Kane looks like?” Atlas asks.
“I’ve never met him, but Elliot gave us some photos. I just know he’s from New York, and runs a crime family there. He’s supposedly very particular about how he does business.”
“We’ll find him,” I promise. “Between your people and ours, we’ll track him down.”
“But we need to be careful,” Quinn warns. “If Malcolm suspects anything…”
“He won’t,” Killian says firmly. “We’ll make sure this shit goes down without a hitch.”
We spend the next hour mapping out possibilities, discussing how we might track down someone like Kane and intercept him without raising suspicions. It feels good to be working together again, all four of us in sync like we used to be.
Like we were always meant to be.
My burner phone rings, interrupting our planning session with a shrill tone. I check the number—it’s Hayes, one of our newer recruits who’s been proving himself useful.
“Yeah?” I answer, stepping away from the table.
“Sorry to bother you at this number, Nico, but I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.” His voice is hesitant, uncomfortable. “I, uh… I got a call from Lakeside Care Center. They couldn’t reach you, so they called Blood and Ink asking for you.”
My stomach drops. There’s only one reason Lakeside would be calling. “What happened?”
“It’s your old man.” Hayes clears his throat. “He passed away this morning. Peacefully, they said. In his sleep.”
The world goes quiet around me. No sound but the blood rushing in my ears and Hayes’s voice, suddenly seeming far away.
“They need you to call or come in to… to make arrangements,” he continues. “I said I’d let you know.”
“Thanks,” I manage to say over the deafening roar of my own heartbeat in my head. “I’ll handle it.”
I hang up and stand there, staring at nothing. My father is dead. The man who raised me—or didn’t raise me, more accurately. The man who chose the bottle over his son every fucking time. The man whose gambling debts nearly got me killed. The man I’ve been paying to keep in a nice facility despite everything, because he was still my blood.
He’s gone, and I have no idea how to feel about it.
“Nico?” Quinn’s voice breaks through the fog. “What’s wrong?”
I turn to look at her, and see Atlas and Killian also watching me with concern.
“My father died.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, moving to sit on my lap and wrap her arms around my shoulders. I circle my arms around her waist automatically, and bury my face in the crook of her neck.
“Why?” I ask, genuinely confused. “You never even met him. And it’s not like he was much of a father.”
“I’m sorry because you lost your family,” she says simply.
Something fills my chest at her words—not grief, but a sudden, sharp clarity that hits me like a punch to the gut. I pull back, looking up at her.
“No,” I shake my head. “I didn’t lose my family.”
Her brow furrows in confusion.
“My family is in this room,” I tell her, looking from her pretty face to Atlas and Killian. “It’s you. It’s them. You three are my family. The only family I’ve had that’s ever mattered.” I tighten my grip on her waist. “And I’m not going to lose a single one of you.”
She searches my face for a moment, then leans down to press her lips to mine in a soft kiss.
When she pulls back, there’s a strange look on her face—determined, almost solemn.
“Get up,” she says suddenly, sliding off my lap. “All of you.”
We exchange confused glances but do as she asks, standing in a loose circle in the middle of the kitchen.
Quinn takes a deep breath, then reaches out to take my hands in hers as she looks up at me.
“I, Quinn Kent, take you, Nico Morelli, to be my husband,” she begins with a steadiness and certainty in her voice that makes me start to smile in spite of the news I’ve just heard. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part.”
The vows are similar to the ones we spoke at our first wedding. But this time, there’s no audience. No ceremony. Just raw truth between us.
She turns to Atlas next, taking his hands. “I, Quinn Kent, take you, Atlas Demaro, to be my husband,” she repeats, then does the same with Killian.
“What are you doing?” Atlas asks when she finishes. There’s an uncertainty in his voice, like he can’t quite wrap his head around what he’s just been a part of.
“Marrying all three of you,” she says simply. “Maybe not on paper, but who the fuck cares about paper? I want to be your wife. And I want all three of you to be my husbands.”
A full smile breaks out across my face now, and a surge of love rises in my chest. Without hesitating, I take her hands again.
“I, Nico Morelli, take you, Quinn Kent, to be my wife,” I say, the words feeling right and real in a way they didn’t the last time we both spoke them. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part.”
Atlas and Killian follow, each taking their turn to speak their vows to her. Atlas’s voice is gruff with emotion, and even Killian’s usual expressionless stare cracks a little as he pledges himself to her.
When the last word is spoken, Quinn looks at each of us in turn, her eyes bright with emotion.
“Kiss your wife,” she says with a small smile.
I’m the first to reach for her, cupping her face in my hands as I press my lips to hers. The kiss is gentle but deep, and Atlas takes my place when I pull back, then Killian.
She was right. We don’t need a piece of paper to be married. We just need the four of us, bound together by choice and love and blood.
“I wish I had my tattoo equipment here,” she says, looking around the sparse kitchen. Her eyes land on a knife on the counter, and she reaches for it. “But this will do.” She holds up the blade. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” we answer in unison without a second of hesitation.
“Take off your shirts,” she says.
Again, there’s no hesitation as we shrug out of our shirts and stand still while she examines the circular marks on our chests—the ones she gave each of us, binding us to her.
She approaches me first. “This might hurt a bit,” she warns, but there’s a glint in her eye that tells me she knows I won’t mind.
The tip of the blade presses against my skin, just beside the circle that already marks me as hers. The sharp sting makes me hiss through my teeth, but I don’t move away. I watch as she carves a small, simple design—a line that curves to meet the circle, forming something new.
When she’s done with me, she moves to Atlas, then Killian, adding the same mark to each of us. The pain is nothing—welcome, even, because it’s from her hand.
“There,” she says, stepping back to admire her work. Blood beads along the fresh marks, trickling down our chests in thin red lines. “Now you’re all officially mine.”
“And you’re ours,” I say, reaching out to wipe a smear of my blood from her fingers.
“You can’t mark me yet, though,” she says, frowning. “Not until I’m free from Malcolm. So you each owe me one.”
I pull her against me, not caring about the blood smearing between us. I kiss her hard, letting every ounce of what I feel for her bleed into it.
“I love you,” I tell her when we break apart, even though the words don’t feel adequate to describe the way I feel inside. “More than I’ve ever loved anything in this fucked-up world. More than I thought I was capable of loving. You’re everything, mia cara. Everything.”
“You’re the heart I never thought I had,” Killian says quietly, his hand finding hers.
“You’re home,” Atlas adds, his voice rough with emotion. “The only home I’ve ever really known.”
Quinn looks at each of us and smiles again. “The four of us,” she says, reaching out so we’re all connected, a tangle of hands and blood and promises. “This is forever. No matter what happens with Malcolm, no matter what comes after, this is unbreakable.”
In this moment, my family feels complete. Not the family I was born into, but the one I chose. The one that chose me back.