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

by Monica James

  However, I need to keep my cool.

  One of his men frisks me, nodding when he doesn’t find any weapons. “He’s clean, boss. His friends are outside, but they’re not coming in. This place is like a fort.”

  It seems rather unbelievable that I didn’t bring my “friends.” Serg already knows I intercepted Saint and Willow. If I were to leave them behind, he’d begin to question if I had plans of them storming the home later on because he saw what they did for me that night all those months ago.

  “Where’s Irina?” I demand, annoyed he’s still breathing.

  Serg clucks his tongue. “Where are your manners? Not even a hello?”

  Refusing to entertain him, I remain quiet, which annoys him as I won’t play his games.

  “I didn’t think you’d be so eager to hand your precious orphanage over to me. The buzz about the place is really incredible.”

  So help me God…

  But I can’t let him win.

  “You’re no fun,” he whines, and I curl my lip, disgusted this idiot is the new “me.”

  Now that I see Renata again, I realize she was a poor substitute for Willow. She can only wish to be like her.

  “Stop looking at my property,” Serg spits, yanking Renata into his side. I can’t help but see Zoey in her. I don’t feel sorry for her, however. I feel sorry for Zoey and the way I treated her.

  Zoey was smart enough to see me for the monster that I am. I doubt Renata will ever do the same with Serg.

  If he wants to continue with these playground antics, I’ll show him.

  Rubbing my thumb across my lower lip, I hum as if remembering a memory. “Your property tasted like warm honey.”

  Renata’s cheeks redden in embarrassment. Serg’s enraged. “Shut your mouth!” he sneers. “You haven’t touched her.”

  “Ah, on the contrary,” I refute with a smirk. “There isn’t a part of her that I haven’t touched.”

  “He’s lying!” Renata cries, begging Serg to believe her.

  But he won’t.

  He isn’t angry because he cares for Renata, but rather, he is angry someone touched what he sees as nothing but chattel. Irony at its best as he is the one who ordered her to seduce me.

  “That little strawberry-shaped birth mark on her right breast—” I bite my bottom lip, shaking my head. “Exquisite.”

  He is seething because for me to know such an intimate detail about Renata, I would have had to see her naked. With a sharp jerk of his head, one of his goons comes out of nowhere and sucker punches me in the stomach.

  Buckling in half, I inhale steadily, catching my breath. I welcome the pain because it’s confirmation that I’m getting to Serg.

  Clutching my side, I slowly rise, smirking. If this is the best he can do, I’m sorely disappointed.

  “Get on your knees and show me you’re sorry,” he orders Renata as he unzips his pants. She jumps to his command, dropping immediately in front of him.

  Once his flaccid cock plops from his pants, I can’t contain my laughter. “Oh, малышка, you’re going to have to get closer than that,” I mock, thoroughly amused.

  Serg, however, isn’t entertained by my small dick jokes and grips Renata by the back of her head, forcing his length down her throat.

  We both gag.

  With his hand on the back of Renata’s head, he glares at me like he has something to prove. She steadies herself by clutching his upper thighs. The sight is disgusting, and only has me anticipating his death.

  With a staged yawn, I look down at my Rolex. If he is trying to prove a point or assert his dominance, he has missed the mark—by miles. He forgets who I once was; who I associated myself with. Just like everything he’s done with his life, this is an amateur move.

  No matter how hard Renata works, it’ll never be enough. He pushes her forehead with a frustrated grunt, sending her toppling backward. She wipes her lips sheepishly and remains on her knees as he hurriedly does up his fly. He then pats his thigh, where she slowly shuffles over, coming to a rest at his side like the good lapdog he’s trained her to be.

  Pushing away the memories which will forever haunt me of Zoey at my feet, I place my hands into my pockets, coolly. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Serg’s stunt backfired, which left him with his dick in hand—literally, so he nods, needing to reassert his power.

  Retrieving my cell, I ask him, “What’s your email?”

  Mother Superior’s lawyer organized the deed to be signed electronically in an encrypted document. I just need to email him the deed and give him the passcode, and Irina is free.

  When he tells me what it is, I go to my email, realizing this starts now. Once I send this, there’ll be no turning back. But that was never a question.

  Without hesitation, I type in his address and press send. He reaches into his jacket pocket when his cell chimes.

  He looks up once he’s opened the email. “Passcode?”

  With a smirk, I reply, “Иди на хуй.”

  A snigger sounds behind me from one of Serg’s goons, but Serg clearly doesn’t see the funny side. The password is fitting, it’s go fuck yourself.

  He scrolls through the document before typing in an address of his own. “Just sending it to my lawyer. I wouldn’t want to sign my life away.”

  Joke’s on him, though. His life is inching closer and closer to slipping away from him.

  “He shouldn’t take too long. While we wait, would you like a refreshment?”

  “No, I don’t want a refreshment,” I reply bluntly.

  “That’s a shame,” he says, shaking his head with a grin. “The owner of this lovely abode has some very fine Baijiu. You do know what Baijiu is, right? It’s to China what vodka is to Russia.”

  I know where he is going with this, laying out clues like breadcrumbs, but I have to play along. Raul warned Max I was to be surprised; otherwise, Serg will clue in, and then the deal is off.

  “Owner? Whose house is this?” I ask, faking surprise as I frantically look around the room for clues.

  “You didn’t think I’d actually invite you into my home, did you?”

  “I don’t know. You’re pretty damn stupid, so…” I reply with a shrug.

  He doesn’t appreciate my quip, nor does he like the fact I’m not trembling in his presence, which is why he claps once and smiles when his “surprise” enters the room.

  Raul looks like Chinese royalty in his gold tang suit. The dragons embodied in the fabric look fierce; they look like they’re about to eat me alive, which seems fitting because when I meet Raul’s eyes, it’s clear that’s what he intends to do to me.

  The similarities to his father are uncanny. His dark hair is slicked back, and he has the same Fu Manchu mustache Chow was notorious for. Both are, or were, proud of their heritage, so seeing Raul in this setting has me thankful I dressed up too. I wouldn’t want to be sent to my death in rags.

  I was renowned for being the Russian mafia boss with a taste for expensive, pretty things, so I’m glad I’ll be remembered that way when I take my final breath as Raul will announce to his friends and foes that he was the one who ruined Aleksei Popov, not Serg.

  Like all nostalgic killers, he’ll take photos, maybe even a memento from my corpse to always remember the feeling of killing the man who ruined his life.

  But now, I have to ensure Serg is convinced of our ruse first. “What are you doing here?” I ask, addressing Raul as he grins.

  Raul is flanked by five of his men. False protection for Serg as those men are here for me, not him.

  “Haven’t you worked it out yet?” Serg speaks instead, unable to contain his excitement.

  “Worked what out?” I snarl.

  Serg taps his chin with his finger. “Oh, that this house belongs to Raul, not me. He kindly offered me his home. We have a lot in common—money, drugs, and losing our fathers because you killed them,” he sneers, his sarcasm disappearing.

  I remain calm because that’s w
hat would be expected of me if this were in fact a true ruse. “So what happens now?”

  Raul laughs, but there is nothing pleasant to the sound. “You give him what he wants, and then he gives me what I want.”

  “And what do you want?” I question, turning to face him. Here’s the moment of truth. Will he double-cross me?

  He cracks his knuckles. “To deliver the same fate you gave my father.”

  I can’t remember the last time I saw him, but I certainly don’t recall him being this intimidating. For the first time since I made my decision, I’m a little anxious for what’s headed my way.

  “But don’t worry, big brother,” Serg pipes up sarcastically, oblivious to our plans. “I won’t let him hurt you…too badly. You’ve still got a lifetime of suffering ahead of you.”

  It’s the ultimate standoff between Raul and me. Serg is merely annoying static in the background. Raul seems to be playing along—for now.

  Serg’s phone rings, and I vaguely hear him talking. All I can focus on is Raul. He is staring at me, ensuring I’m aware of all the things he plans to do to me. I respect him for it.

  “Excellent,” Serg exclaims with a clap. “The deed is good. All I have to do is sign it, and that orphanage is mine.”

  Those words break my standoff with Raul, and I return my focus to Serg. I don’t say a word. It’s anticlimactic that way, and I like to see Serg stew.

  “You do realize that once I sign it, everything you love will be destroyed, and Raul will probably have you wishing he’d kill you once he’s done with you.”

  “Not everything,” I oppose. “Sign it and give me Irina.”

  Renata has undoubtedly told him about my affection for Irina, so this won’t come as a surprise to him. He sent Renata to work in his favor, but in reality, she’s worked in mine.

  Serg is oblivious to everything because he thinks he’s outsmarted me this one final time.

  With a few quick clicks, I hear the noise which indicates mail is sent. It’s done.

  I silently beg Mother Superior for forgiveness as this asshole is now the legal owner of the place she’s put her heart and soul in for the last forty-plus years.

  “It’s done?” Raul asks as he too is eager for things to move along.

  Serg nods with a victorious inhale. “Mother!” he calls out while I clench my fists.

  A moment later, Zoya enters with Irina. When I see Irina, I feel sick to my stomach. She is dressed in a red dress with white stockings and black polished Mary Janes. Her face is slathered in makeup, and the white ribbon secured in her hair just sets off the costume which makes her look like a doll—a non-living thing that people can abuse and use without feeling guilty.

  It’s been over ten years since I last saw Zoya, and I thought that maybe I’d feel something when I saw her after all this time. But I don’t.

  All I see is the same selfish, weak woman who has her karma coming.

  She is wearing a green pantsuit with a gold belt. High heels seem a little inappropriate because we’re indoors, but it’s just like her to show off her wealth wherever she is.

  Irina runs to me, her tiny legs unable to keep up with her speed. “Ski,” she cries, throwing herself into my arms when I crouch low to hug her. She smells of perfume, a scent belonging on a woman, not a child.

  A feeling of utter completeness comes over me as I embrace her. It now feels like a part of me has returned. “Are you okay?” I ask, squeezing her tight.

  “Irina ’kay. Home now?”

  “Yes, цветочек. You’re going home,” I reply, elated it’s finally time.

  No matter how tight I hug her, it’ll never be enough, so I gently pry her little fingers off my neck and level her with a stare. I need her to leave this place because I never want her to see what I’m about to do.

  “My friend Willow is waiting to take you someplace safe. Okay?”

  She violently shakes her head. “No! Ski.”

  “Shh, I know you’re frightened, but I promise, Willow will look after you. She is an ahгел.”

  Irina’s eyes widen in awe.

  “And an ahгел would never hurt you, right?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Good girl. I’m so proud of you for being so brave. Go now, I’ll see you soon.” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, I close my eyes, utmost sadness plaguing me as I realize this is the last time I’ll ever see her, and at this moment, I wish I could live for her.

  I wish to see her grow, be happy, and live the life she so deserves.

  And by making the choice that I have, she’ll be able to do all those things. I just won’t be here to see it.

  Reaching for my pocket square, I gently rub it across Irina’s lips, rubbing the red lipstick away. I do the same to the bright blue eye shadow. She is to never wear this stuff again. Dressing her up this way, like a Christmas ham, reveals to me what Serg intends for every child at the orphanage.

  Some individuals will like them to look their age—young innocents—while others will like them to be dolled up so when they subject them to their sick atrocities, they’ll forget they’re merely babies, pardoning them for abusing minors.

  “Goodbye, Irina. Always remember…I love you.”

  Irina’s eyes fill with tears. Can she hear the finality in my tone?

  She reaches for the pocket square and tucks it into the pocket on her dress. The gesture touches me deeply. At least she’ll have something to remember me by. “Irina loves Ski. Always.”

  Standing, I nod to Serg that this is done.

  Raul steps forward. “I will bring her to your friend.”

  Is this a part of the plan?

  Desperately, I attempt to read his face, hoping it’ll help me interpret if he’s telling the truth. But what choice do I have?

  “I’m the only one who knows the codes to the alarms,” he says, delivering the hint I needed.

  For Saint, Max, and Pavel to come in, he has to let them in. I saw the security system on his door. No one is getting in unless he wants them to.

  Nodding at Irina to trust me, she looks up at Raul and follows him out of the room. I never take my eyes off her, and when she’s gone, I exhale in relief.

  She’s safe. I did what I promised her and Mother Superior I’d do. Now it’s time I see to the rest.

  “Did you like her outfit?” Serg asks, patting Renata’s head.

  “No, I did not like it,” I spit, disgusted.

  Looking at Zoya, I curl my lip. “How could you condone this? You’re as sick as he is.”

  She wrings her hands in front of her, her gold bracelets jingling. “They’re young. They won’t remember.”

  I really wish I could say I’m surprised by her comment, but I’m not. This was her mentality toward me. But I did remember. I remembered every single thing.

  “And you?” I look at Renata, whose eyes are downcast. “I saw the fight in you, yet you allow him to treat you like a dog. Do you think he loves you? He chose you because you looked like Willow. Nothing more.

  “When something shinier comes along, you’ll be disposed of. Trust me, I know,” I share, speaking from experience.

  She risks a glance my way, and I see it—a flicker of regret. No matter that she was sent to seduce me, I know she isn’t completely dead inside. She felt something, which makes having her pay for her sins not only hard but sad as well.

  “He’s right, dear,” Zoya says, which has me returning my attention to her. What is she up to? “I know my son. He will grow bored.”

  “Mama! Enough!” Serg spits, not impressed with her meddling. But she’s not done, not by a long shot.

  “It’s true, мой сын. I know you.”

  It seems the hatred between Renata and Zoya runs both ways. Both women want to be Serg’s number one. Even though Renata is submissive with Serg, that doesn’t mean she’ll be with anyone else. I’ve seen this firsthand.

  “You know nothing,” Renata whispers under her breath, but we all heard it.
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  Serg looks down at her, stunned she’d speak when he didn’t grant her permission, while Zoya smirks. I don’t understand why that is.

  “I told you,” she says. “She’s disobedient. How do you expect to control her? She isn’t for you. You need a good Russian girl. She is nothing but an American.”

  Serg opens his mouth, but Renata jumps up, proving Zoya right because Zoey wouldn’t dare break her orders until I commanded it. She’s headstrong. I’ve seen it, and being a submissive takes a different kind of person.

  Renata’s feelings for Serg are real, but instead of being his submissive, she wants to rule alongside him; she wants to be his equal. I saw the pleasure she took in the bloodshed she caused at the orphanage. She isn’t interested in being his lesser. She wants to be matriarch, and she’s challenging Zoya for the job.

  “Fuck you!” she cries, charging for Zoya. “This American is about to kick—”

  But Renata never gets to finish her sentence, and I understand why Zoya was smirking. She knew how this would end. No one was going to threaten her position, the one she worked or, rather, killed for.

  It happens so quickly that I don’t believe my eyes. But the deafening boom is confirmation that Zoya reached into her pocket, pulled out a pistol, and shot Renata without hesitation.

  The blast rockets Renata back three feet, where she lands on her back with a thud. It takes a second, but the front of her white dress begins to stain red. She appears in shock, her eyes wide as she looks around, attempting to gauge what just happened.

  Serg blinks as he also appears stunned, but adrenaline soon takes over, and he runs to where a dying Renata lies. “No!” he cries, skidding on his knees as he cradles her against his chest.

  Renata gasps for air, looking at her Prince Charming for help. But it’s too late for her. Zoya’s aim was a perfect bull’s-eye straight through the chest.

  “You’re going to be okay,” he says, rocking Renata awkwardly because there is no way to properly hold your dying lover.