Page 24 of Madness & Mercy (Deadly Sins #1)

“Nico, wait. Don’t do anything stupid. I’m not an idiot. I’ve been clean for seven years. I wasn’t gonna do anything.”

Seven years…

Fuck.

I breathe through my teeth, pulse throbbing behind my eyes. “Fine. Let’s see if Luca and Enzo got anything useful.”

But just as we start to head out, he stops again.

“Can I at least take the money?”

I turn back slowly.

“Why would you need that?”

He glares at me like I just asked the world’s dumbest question. “Because I’m fucking broke, that’s why. It’s not like you pay me for this shit.”

That catches me off guard… I hadn’t thought about that. Technically, he’s supposed to be my P.I A shitty one at that, but still. A deal’s a deal.

I pause. “You’re right, I’ll pay you. Starting tomorrow.”

He quirks a brow. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. But you’re not taking Braga’s fucking drug money. I’ll give you double that.”

He smirks.

“Triple.”

I scowl. “You greedy little bastard.”

“Don’t act surprised.”

I roll my eyes, but my voice softens. “Fine, piccolino. Triple.”

Luca and Enzo stride toward us, blood speckled across their sleeves, knuckles raw. They don’t look pleased.

“Find anything?” I ask, my voice low.

Luca nods, wiping a smear from his jaw with the back of his hand. “Braga’s not here. But one of his guys cracked. Said he’ll be making an appearance at the docks at midnight. Another shipment.”

Julian tenses beside me.

“Good,” I say, already turning for the exit. “Let’s head back. We’ve got a long night ahead.”

The drive back is thick with silence. Julian sits beside me, arms crossed, his gaze fixed out the window like he’s pretending this is just any other ride.

Like I didn’t just watch him freeze at the sight of that cocaine.

Like I didn’t catch the way his pupils dilated, the flicker of something animal beneath his calm exterior.

But he doesn’t say a word, and neither do I.

When we finally pull into the estate, gravel crunching beneath the tires, I kill the engine.

“Stay in the car,” I say, cold and flat, slamming the door behind me. His head whips toward me.

“Seriously?” he mutters.

But I’ve already hit the lock.

Luca and Enzo are waiting outside.

“Be ready by eleven,” I tell them. “We move at midnight.”

They nod in sync, but Luca’s eyes flick to the passenger seat, where Julian sits glaring through the windshield.

“You sure you don’t want to look over that background check now?” he says. “Be nice to know who’s really sitting beside you.”

My fists curl.

“Later,” I grunt, already turning toward the house, but Enzo steps into my path.

“Boss… we really think you should see this.”

I stop dead in my tracks.

I glance back at Julian, still locked in, tapping his fingers on the console like he’s waiting for a damn coffee.

“Fine. Enzo, keep an eye on him. Luca, make it fast.”

Luca gives a tight nod, and we move.

The office is cold and sterile, all stone and glass. Luca doesn’t say a word as he pulls a USB from his coat and slides it into the port. The monitor flickers to life, photos filling the screen.

The first one hits like a punch to the ribs. A young Julian Cross, clean-shaven and sharp-jawed, wearing a police uniform and fucking badge on his chest.

Then come the mugshots…

Three separate lineups. The photos are grainy but clear enough.

In the first, he’s tense and defiant, like he still thinks he can fight his way out.

In the second, the anger’s dulled; his eyes darker and heavier.

And in the third, he looks desperate, like he’d do anything to get out of whatever hell he’s in.

But it’s the final image that guts me the most.

He’s standing beside Paulo Braga in what looks like a warehouse, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, bricks of cocaine laid out across the table.

Julian’s in a fitted black suit, but it can’t mask how hollow he looks.

He’s holding a clipboard, scribbling something down while Braga counts cash beside him.

It’s not his eyes that hold me this time.

It’s the bruises. Faint, yellowing, scattered along the inside of his arms. I can’t stop staring.

They don’t look fresh, but they’re deep, like they’ve been layered over time.

Evidence of needles, fists, or worse. My stomach twists.

He’s trying to look composed in the photo, trying to play the part, but the bruises give him away.

They tell a story I can’t unsee. And for a second, I forget to be breathe, because all I can think is: what the fuck did Braga do to him?

My hand shoots out before I can stop myself, gripping the edge of the table so hard the wood groans beneath my palm.

“Where did you find these?”

“Took some time,” Luca replies. “Had to pull from closed systems, scrubbed archives. But it’s legit. Surveillance footage, mostly. All timestamped. Before Braga scrubbed him clean.”

I stare at the screen like it’s a knife to the chest. Everything I suspected has been confirmed.

Julian was a cop.

Then he wasn’t.

But the thing that makes my blood boil more than anything else is that fucking picture of him and Braga.

My voice is a low snarl. “I’m killing Braga. Tonight.”

Luca doesn’t move. “That’s what you’re worried about?” he asks. “Braga? Cross has been lying to you since day one.”

I grind my teeth. My breath comes slow and deep, my knuckles bone-white.

“I don’t fucking care,” I mutter. “He needs to die.”

“Alright, alright,” Luca says, pulling the drive free. “Take a breath. I’ll brief Enzo and start prepping for tonight. We’ll get the bastard. Don’t worry.”

“Give me the drive,” I murmur.

He pauses. “You sure?”

I don’t answer as I hold out my hand. He hesitates, then drops the small device into my palm.

I stare at it for half a second… then slam it against the concrete floor and grind it beneath my heel until it snaps with a satisfying crunch.

“The fuck, Nico?” Luca snaps. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get that shit?”

But I’m already walking out the door.

“Make yourself useful and get everything ready for tonight,” I call over my shoulder, not stopping.

When I get outside, I tell Enzo to leave us, pull open the door to the Maserati, and slide back into the driver’s seat, doing my best to appear calm.

But Julian clocks it immediately.

“What the hell happened in there?”

I inhale slowly through my nose, but those goddamn images won’t leave me. The bruises. The badge. The mugshots. The hollow look in his eyes. That tremor in his hand.

“Nothing,” I say flatly.

He narrows his eyes at me, unconvinced, but lets it go. For now.

“Alright,” he says, tapping the dash. “We’ve got some time to kill. Let me take it for a spin.”

I glance at him, finally managing a faint smile. “Fine. Just don’t get us killed.”

He smirks, already reaching for the keys. “No promises.”