The Devil's Crown-Part One: All The Pretty Things Trilogy Spin-Off

by Monica James

  “You did a noble thing, Alek,” Pavel says. “She’s safe and will live a long life because of you.”

  I don’t ask him if she boarded the plane okay. If there were any problems, he would have let me know. She’s away from this hellhole, and that’s all that matters.

  Saint enters, and I can tell by the look on his face that something is about to happen. That something is Willow Shaw.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Saint shrugs when I arch a brow at him.

  “It took me a while, but I figured it out. You’d do anything to save me, save Ella, and the only way to do that was to make us hate you.”

  She’s too smart for her own good.

  Willow’s feelings aren’t involved, but Ella’s were. She didn’t see her worth because I never fully showed her. Being vulnerable is something I’ve only ever done once before, and to go through that again…I can’t. A once feared ruler, I was nothing but an inexperienced little boy when it came to love.

  I decide then and there that when the time is right, I will ask something of Willow which only she can deliver.

  “Saint?” I pose, but he looks as powerless as I feel.

  “This isn’t Saint’s decision,” she states, not appreciating me insinuating he had any hope of stopping her.

  “I won’t fight. But who will keep Irina safe?”

  She makes a good point, and Saint agrees with me, which is why he doesn’t argue.

  “Once she’s returned to us, I’ll drive her back here. Saint told me what you’re going to do, and that’ll mean you’ll need Irina far away from those men. Nothing will stop Serg from using her again once he realizes he’s been double-crossed.

  “And I fear she won’t leave there alive. He knows how much that’ll hurt you, and he’ll be desperate once Raul arrives.”

  She’s sold me. I don’t want her there, but we all know we can’t stop Willow. If this is the compromise she offers, then I’ll accept it.

  The front door opens, and from the alcove in the kitchen we see Max. He doesn’t waste any time. “The deal is happening at Raul’s house. Can you believe it?”

  No, I honestly can’t.

  “Serg couldn’t contain his excitement it seems, bragging how he had finally won. Raul convinced him the deal should happen at a safe location, in case you had backup, which Serg already knows. So he agreed when Raul suggested his home as a suitable meeting point.

  “Raul said Serg will only have three men with him as Raul has offered his men as protection.”

  Saint curses under his breath. We both know what this means.

  Any hopes he had of getting me out alive have just been dashed. We’re playing by Raul’s rules in his arena. We don’t stand a chance, and he’s done this to ensure we don’t outsmart him as we’ve done to Serg.

  “Excellent. What time?”

  Saint exhales, turning his cheek to look anywhere but at me.

  “Eight o’clock. Serg will text soon, thinking he has the advantage of you not knowing the location. Serg doesn’t want you dead but has allowed Raul to have his fun with you for payment for his hospitality.”

  “You told him Zoya and Renata were also included in this transaction?”

  Max nods. “He doesn’t give a damn who you kill. As long as you suffer the same fate, it’s free rein.”

  Willow pales, tugging at the crucifix at her throat. “No, Alek. If you go along with this plan, you die.”

  She’s expressed what no one else is brave enough to say.

  “It’s a situation I’ve faced before, but this time, there is no lifeline. Promise me, all of you that when the time comes, you allow Raul his revenge. If not, he will hunt you and those you love and won’t stop until you’re all dead.”

  Pavel clenches his jaw. As does Saint. But the man who was the best right-hand man I could ever ask for is the first to end this once and for all.

  “I promise.”

  Willow’s eyes fill with tears. She most likely is reliving the past because she was faced with this decision once before. “I can’t make that promise,” she whispers, looking at Saint, shamefully.

  But he simply reaches out and caresses her cheek. How can he scold her humanity?

  Pavel and Max pledge as well.

  “Very well. Then I shall await what’s coming my way.”

  I used to take the simple act of securing a tie for granted. It was something I did almost daily, never fully appreciating the elegance of a fine suit and polished shoes. It was a part of me.

  But now, looking at my reflection in the mirror, I wish I’d worn more suits, crisper shirts, different colored ties because these simple pleasures are ones I will no longer be privy to.

  I drove into town, which I haven’t done in a very long time, seeing as I was a fugitive, but now that my enemies know where I am, I got fitted for the finest suit. I also purchased a pair of Italian leather shoes. No expense spared. If I’m about to welcome death, I want it to be in my Sunday best.

  Once my suit was zipped up in the garment bag, I went to the barber. I got a haircut and shave—straight razor of course. When I was shown my reflection, I was transported to a time when I was ruler of this town. But what I did next proved that I’m no longer that man.

  I’ve never been interested in tattoos, but when I walked past the tattoo studio, I knew before I left this plane, I had to get a tattoo in honor of my time on this earth.

  A simple praying hands outline is now tattooed onto the back of my left arm. Even though I’ve forsaken my God long ago, it honors Mother Superior and Ella. The symbolism gives me the strength to face the inevitable.

  I came back here, showered and dressed. My suit is a three-piece navy pinstripe. My black shoes are polished to perfection. The blue striped silk tie and matching pocket square complement the pressed white shirt wonderfully.

  Slipping into my vest, I fasten the buttons calmly. Then I pat myself down and smile. I look good.

  Serg sent word about an hour ago, unbeknownst that I was already aware of his plan. I replied with a simple:

  I’ll be there.

  My hair is styled how I once wore it. I’m now clean-shaven. There is only one last thing I need.

  Reaching for the gold ring, I slip it onto my pinkie finger with pride. Twirling it with my pointer and thumb, I realize the feeling that’s roaring through me is excitement, not fear.

  Although my life ends tonight, knowing Serg’s does as well makes the sacrifice so much sweeter. Raul knows I wish to take my time with him because there is no way his death will be quick.

  Oh yes, this is going to get messy.

  Putting on my jacket, I tuck the envelope into my pocket, one which has Willow’s name penned with care on the front. I’ve written a letter to Ella, and hope when the time is right, Willow will send it to her.

  I can’t leave this earth knowing she’ll never know the truth. I want her to know she meant something to me and explain why I chose to do what I did. I’m not asking for forgiveness, merely wishing her to know that if things were different, I’d never have let her leave.

  Adjusting my already straight tie, I take a deep breath, ready to face whatever comes my way. Taking one last look at the bedroom, I close the door and make my way down the hall. When I enter the living room, it looks like everyone standing around waiting is getting ready for a funeral.

  I appreciate the sentiment, but there’s no need for the somber mood. I’ll march into death with a smile on my face.

  “Let’s go,” I instruct, not wanting to draw this out.

  Willow’s eyes are cast downward, and a lifetime ago, I’d be pleased with her submission, but it’s not necessary now.

  This isn’t her fault. She can’t save me this time. No one can. I know Saint. He’ll try, but with home ground advantage, Raul will win.

  Larisa comes hobbling out of the kitchen, drying her arthritic hands on a dishcloth. She kisses Pavel’s cheek, praying to Saint Christopher to keep him safe. I’m about to leave,
but she stops me.

  “Семь раз отмерь, один раз отрежь.”

  Larisa is a wise woman, and this proverb describes this situation perfectly.

  Measure seven times, cut once. She is warning me to prepare accordingly before I do this because I only have one chance. If I walk out the door, there’s no turning back.

  But my mind is made up.

  Nodding in gratitude, I reply in Russian. Not exactly poetic, but they’re words I’m proud to leave as my legacy.

  She appears stone-faced until a small smile, the first smile she’s ever given me, spreads across her lips.

  What I said is that the first pancake is always lumpy. I thought Larisa would like this proverb, seeing as she loves to cook. But the meaning behind it can be applied to me.

  I failed miserably at my first attempt to be human, but that didn’t stop me from trying to better myself. I never gave up, regardless of my first lumpy pancake. And that’s thanks to the people standing in this room.

  Putting my hands together, I nod in gratitude to Larisa. A kiss and hug are too personal, and we’re not there yet. She nods back.

  Without drawing out a long goodbye, I walk out the door, patting the black Labrador standing guard on the front porch. The lights on my SUV shine as I press the remote to unlock it. I’ve decided to leave the car to Mother Superior.

  The sisters have some ancient van they drive when they need to go to town. At least they can ride in comfort now.

  Taking off my jacket and placing it onto the back of my seat, I get into the car, expecting no passengers, but the door opens, and Willow jumps into the passenger seat. I look over my shoulder, expecting to see Saint, but it seems she’s riding shotgun alone. I don’t make a fuss as I begin our hour drive to Raul’s.

  She’s quiet for a long while, content with Bach as our background music. She’s in here to ambush me. I know how she works. She’s going to try with everything she’s got to change my mind. But my mind is made up.

  “You look how I remember you,” she says, breaking the silence.

  “Ah, yes, but am I the same man?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the road.

  “No, I don’t think that you are. Ella left thinking you didn’t have feelings for her, didn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  Willow sighs, clearly unhappy with my decision. But Ella is stubborn, just as she is. The only reason Willow wasn’t fooled is because she knows me. Ella and I were just at the beginning of something utterly beautiful…

  “She’s good for you, Alek. If—”

  But I intercede. “Let’s not talk of things we cannot change. What’s done is done.”

  “What’s done is that you’re hours away from dying,” she states, brushing some hair behind her ear.

  “Death is merely a part of living. I’ve accepted my fate. You must too.”

  “You don’t deserve it,” she says in an almost whisper.

  “Deserve what?”

  She waits a moment before declaring, “To die. Not this way.”

  I’m touched because coming from her, that means a lot. If anyone should wish death upon me, it should be her. But even after everything I’ve done, she still doesn’t want me dead. She didn’t want me dead that fateful evening either and tried so hard to save me.

  And she did. She has—time and time again.

  “Someone like my ex-husband deserves that fate.”

  Oh, I’d forgotten about that inept asshole.

  So cocky, so smug, but when he lost a game of poker and I ensured he wasn’t leaving until he paid up, his cowardice shone. I’m a man of my word, and when you play a game, there is no backing out. You see it through.

  I honestly didn’t believe he’d deliver, and I would have taken great satisfaction in killing him. In hindsight, I should have. It would have saved Willow this entire ordeal.

  But he delivered.

  Willow was just an innocent pawn in our game.

  “Whatever happened to that waste of space?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “I paid him a visit once my life resembled some sense of normalcy. I needed to ensure I was in the right frame of mind.”

  “To?” I prompt, risking a quick glance at her.

  “To fuck up his life,” she replies with a laugh. “You should have seen his face. Priceless. I took everything that mattered to him and forced him to disappear just as he did to me.

  “I was happy with that outcome, but Saint wasn’t.”

  No surprises there.

  “Last I heard, he’s a hermit, living in some remote part of Scotland. The villagers call him Pinocchio.”

  “Why?” I ask, thoroughly enjoying this story.

  “Because after Saint…bit off his nose and broke every bone in his body, he now walks with a wooden limp. He went to the worst plastic surgeon in Hollywood and got a nose job, which, well, looks like Pinocchio.”

  I can’t control my laughter, which has Willow joining in. It feels nice to laugh with her. What a gift she’s left me with.

  But she soon stops, and I know why. “Please don’t do this, Alek. We’ll think of something else.”

  “You can’t fix it this time.”

  She sniffs because this remarkable woman is shedding tears for me. “Save your tears, дорогая. I’m okay.”

  I don’t know why, but she doesn’t press. The resolve in my voice maybe. Or maybe she knows that I speak the truth. There’s no saving me this time.

  As we ascend Raul’s driveway, my stomach begins to churn for so many reasons. I just want Irina out of here before I can focus on anything else.

  I park the car, looking at Willow who peers at the huge white mansion in front of us. I take this moment to examine her closely as it’ll be the last time I witness her beauty—inside and out. She has changed me in the best possible way.

  I wish I could offer her something more, but I can’t. “Goodbye, дорогая.” There isn’t anything I can say that’ll ever explain how much she means to me.

  The moon allows me to see the moisture in her eyes, but she quickly wipes it away with the back of her hand.

  Opening the door, I reach for my jacket and put it on. Willow gets out also and walks to my side of the car.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she whispers, her hair catching the breeze, allowing me to bask in her sweet scent one last time.

  “Then let’s say nothing at all.” Opening my arms, I welcome her for one last embrace.

  She’s apprehensive, which is to be expected, but by the power of all that’s mighty, she steps closer and wraps her arms around me with a small sigh.

  At first, I leave my arms out wide, feeling undeserving of her offering, but when she snuggles closer, I surrender…to her…like I always have.

  I hug her tight, and the way she fits in my arms shows me that no matter what happens, a part of her will always belong to me. And a part of me will always belong to her.

  I’ve wasted so much time. I wish I had more of it, but I don’t, so I cautiously reach into my pocket for the envelope and slip it into the pocket of Willow’s jacket. I hope she doesn’t find it right away.

  Laying a kiss on the crest of her head, I gently pull away before I don’t ever let her go.

  She allows her tears to fall this time, and I appreciate each one. How lucky am I to have someone like Willow Shaw shed tears over me?

  “Everything all right?” Saint wraps his arm low on Willow’s waist, kissing her temple.

  She nods, quickly brushing her tears away. “Yup. I’ll wait in the car.”

  She gives me one last look, and it’s enough. I’m forgiven, completely. She’s allowed me to unburden my sins with her clemency.

  When she’s in the car, Saint runs a hand through his long hair. He’s frustrated, but I don’t want him to be. “Raul will let us know when Irina is out of harm’s way. We’ll be in right after that.”

  Nodding, I button my jacket, ready to get this show on the road. “Are you sure we can trust
him?” he asks one final time.

  “When you had the opportunity to seek revenge on the man who sold Willow to me, did anything else matter?” I pose, circling back to what Willow revealed in the car.

  Saint snarls, his eyes sparking to life under the moonlight. “No.”

  “Alas, my friend, there’s your answer.” Revenge will send a man blind to anything but it.

  “Okay. See you soon,” he says, satisfied.

  I walk a few steps away but turn over my shoulder and smirk. “Pinocchio? Fucking…A?” I say with uncertainty because this is the first time I’ve used this strange phrase. But it’s one Saint uses often, so I thought it was appropriate to use to show my approval on what he did.

  And when he smirks in return, it seems he approves too.

  Max and Pavel nod when I walk past them. There is no need to converse. We know what needs to be done. I walk up to the front door and press the doorbell. A beautiful woman in a red cheongsam dress opens it.

  Chow was of Chinese descent, and his wife, Raul’s mother, is Spanish. Raul has always favored his Chinese heritage more so because he is or was a daddy’s boy.

  The woman gestures I’m to enter as she rearms a very high-tech alarm system.

  The foyer is impressive to say the least. Decked out in an oriental theme of reds and golds with dragon paintings on the walls, I would admire my surroundings if not for the fact the homeowner wants me dead.

  I follow my escort, my awe at the decorations dissipating and giving way to this urgency to see Irina and get her out of here. We turn a corner, and when I enter a large dining hall, all time stands still. Serg stands a few feet away, arms behind his back, smiling happily.

  Renata stands to his left. When she sees me, her slender throat bobs as she swallows. She’s nervous. Good. She should be.

  Three men stand in different corners of the room. Raul was right. Serg has underestimated me because he doesn’t know what’s in store for him.

  Serg is under the impression I don’t know who lives here. Since I’ve been an outsider for a long time, he assumes I don’t know who the main game players are. How wrong he is.

  Serg may be considered attractive to some. With dark hair and blue eyes, he clearly ticks all the boxes for Renata, but to me, all I see is a little snotty-nosed brat still suckling at his mother’s teat. The suit he wears looks ridiculous. It’s all white. He clearly missed the memo that he isn’t Tony Montana.