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

by Monica James

  “Yes, everything is fine,” I reply when I can think straight.

  She walks toward me, still apprehensive about how she should act. When she leans down to kiss my cheek, I turn it so her lips connect with mine. A startled yelp escapes her, but that soon transforms into a moan when I slip my tongue into her warm mouth.

  Cupping the back of her neck, I deepen the kiss, angling her head so I have control. She allows me to dominate her, and wicked passion overwhelms me. It’s only been a few hours since I last had her, but that’s a few hours too long.

  I’ve always had a ravenous appetite for sex, but with Ella, I’m always hungry for more. That spark, the one they speak about in sentimental literature? Well, I feel that with her. Whenever she’s near, I feel complete. I feel worthy of her.

  “Alek,” she whimpers from around my lips, reluctantly pulling away.

  She has more willpower than I do because I’m moments away from swiping this kitchen table clear and having my way with her on it.

  However, a throat clearing sharply shrivels my impending erection.

  Ella jerks away, horrified that Larisa caught us. Me? I’m used to the dirty stares.

  She has every right to hate me. Zoey was like a daughter to her, and she saw the way I treated her. She looks at Ella with nothing but pity for she believes she’s the next Zoey.

  Ella straightens out her dress with a smile. “Hello. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself last night. I’m…” Her pause is because this is the first time she’ll use her real name.

  “I’m Antonella Ricci. Thank you for allowing me to stay in your home.”

  Larisa nods, but her attention is riveted on me. “Should I prepare a fourth grave?” she asks me in Russian.

  I suppose I should be thankful she didn’t address me in English for Ella to understand.

  “I’ll tend to the chickens,” I reply, but she shakes her head.

  “Already done. The cows need milking.” Her lips twist into a grin, and the reason for that is because she expects me to milk them when I haven’t the faintest idea how.

  But I’ll figure it out. “Of course. I’ll do it now.”

  Ella looks between us, lost in translation. Standing, I reach for her hand and notice Larisa looking at our union. She appears surprised. I wonder why.

  However, I can contemplate it when I’m attempting to milk these damn cows.

  I lead Ella out the back door and toward the barn. “She doesn’t like you much, does she?” she asks, picking up on the tension even though she didn’t understand what was said.

  “Larisa has every right to hate me,” I reply, rubbing my thumb over the back of her knuckles. “She loved Zoey very much, and now the only time she gets to spend with her is when she visits her grave.”

  Ella is quiet, now understanding the hostility.

  “So where are we going?” she asks, changing the subject.

  “To milk cows.”

  She laughs, but when she realizes I’m not joking, she soon stops. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “Of course not,” I reply, letting go of her hand to roll up the sleeves of my shirt. “But it can’t be that hard.”

  I open the barn door and give Willow and Saint credit for lodging in here. It’s what you expect a farm barn to look and smell like. There are a pair of rubber boots by the door, so I hand them to Ella.

  She accepts with a small smirk. “This should be interesting.”

  Once she’s put them on, I look around the barn for a milking machine, but of course there isn’t one. It appears Larisa does this by hand. There are two cows. When they notice me standing by their stall, they moo, sensing the imposter that I am.

  But I can do this.

  I once ruled this city with an iron fist. Surely, I can milk two simple cows.

  “Hi,” I say to the black and white cow as I slowly step over the railing and into her pen. “I’ll be gentle.”

  I wish to add, I hope you’ll return the favor, but with Ella looking on, attempting to hide a smile behind her hand, I reach for the silver bucket and wooden stool, which is fit for an elf, and position them near the cow.

  She instantly moos, backing away. If she weren’t tied to a post, I’m certain she’d have run a mile. I have no idea how I’m supposed to sit on this minuscule object comfortably, but nonetheless, I squat over it and sit.

  I feel ridiculous.

  Placing the bucket under her udder, I grip her teat and gently pull down, expecting milk to flow like rain from the heavens, but all I get is an irritated moo from the cow.

  “Well,” I say, looking at the teat in my hand. “That was very anticlimactic. I hope it was good for you.”

  Ella’s magical laughter hints at the fact that I look as ridiculous as I feel. “Move out of the way before you hurt yourself.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea.”

  Rising from the stool, I watch as she climbs over the railing, suddenly looking at home. Tying her hair into a bun with the elastic around her wrist, she sits and gently pats the cow’s side.

  “Hey, girl. I’m Ella.”

  The cow moos and attempts to move away.

  “Shh, shh, I know. I’m a stranger, and that’s scary, but I won’t hurt you. I promise,” Ella coos, continuing to pat her. “If you want me to stop, you give me a sign, okay?”

  And in utter fascination, I watch as the cow moves closer to Ella.

  “Thatta girl,” she praises, positioning the bucket, and when I hear a squirt bounce off the aluminum, I gasp.

  She did it.

  Ella milks the cow with skill, hinting she’s done this before.

  From over her shoulder, I say, “You know, you could have just done this from the beginning.”

  “I could have, but where’s the fun in that?” she replies, giggling.

  I should spank that glorious ass for her sassiness.

  “I grew up on a farm in Illinois,” she shares as she happily milks the cow. “Before my parents divorced, I would help my father tend to the animals every morning. It was my favorite thing to do. My childhood was a good one. I have some happy memories from it.”

  “How old were you when they divorced?” I ask, hoping not to bring up any bad memories.

  “I was ten,” she reveals. “After that, everything turned bad. My father left with our neighbor, whom he was having an affair with for years. It broke my mother. All she wanted was a happy family, which is why she remarried and made another family, forgetting about the one she had.

  “I stayed with my aunt a lot. She saved me from becoming a statistic. But I always knew I’d outgrow Illinois, which is why I came here when I had enough money saved.”

  “To Russia?” I ask, intrigued by her tale. In a sense, we did everything backward. We skipped the “getting to know you” part because who I met is not the person she is.

  “No,” she replies, the milk hitting the bucket as background noise. “I went to France first. I always wanted to go to Paris. I worked to earn enough money to board somewhere cheap and then move onto the next place when I grew bored.

  “I did this until I met Frank. He swept me off my feet.”

  Her admission has me clenching my jaw.

  “I was waitressing in a small village in Italy. Talk of the town was that the infamous Francesco Macrillo had arrived. I had no idea who he was, but when he walked into that restaurant, I soon understood what the fuss was about.

  “In the beginning, he was really sweet, and I fell for it. He promised me everything I never had. A family. We got engaged about six months after we met, and the moment he gave me that diamond, everything changed.”

  She is no longer milking the cow, lost in her thoughts. I don’t speak, allowing her to purge the past because I fear she’s not shared this tale with anyone.

  “I wanted to stay in Italy, but Frank said he was needed back home. I knew he came from money, and that money wasn’t necessarily legal, but he was so different from his brothers. Or so I thought.

>   “Our engagement party in Italy was small, which was what I wanted, but when we arrived in Russia, it was like that engagement wasn’t good enough, and his mother insisted we throw a ‘better’ one,” she says bitterly.

  “I expected Frank to decline, but he didn’t. He went along with everything his family said. Him being the youngest, he was expected to do as he was told. But I saw a side to him I didn’t like. Those three boys competed with one another constantly, striving to be their parents’ favorite.

  “I felt like a stranger at my own engagement party. It was a lavish affair, and I hated every minute of it. I moved into Santo’s home, which meant he saw anyone inside his house as his property. I didn’t see the warning signs right away. I disregarded the sly touches or the inappropriate comments when no one was listening.

  “He said he merely had an affection for me because I shared his lineage, being Italian.

  “But when I realized what game he was playing, I couldn’t tell Frank. He loved his father dearly. And I loved Frank. So I did what wasn’t in my nature—I submitted. It killed me to stay quiet, but I just wanted to make the man I loved happy.”

  Scoffing, she wipes what I’m guessing are tears with the back of her wrist. “You probably think I’m a stupid girl.”

  I want to reach out and comfort her, but I don’t. “No, I do not.”

  I understand what it’s like being involved in a world such as the Macrillo’s. It was once my world too. The rules of society don’t apply to us because in some ways, we’re above the law. We have our own codes, and if those rules are ever betrayed, then one will pay with their life.

  “We were together for two years,” she reveals, which surprises me as I would have guessed much less. Maybe I’m naïve then to think what we share means more than a casual fling.

  “But honestly, I only ever loved him for half of that time. In Italy, when we could be ourselves, well, what I thought was the real Frank, my love for him knew no bounds. But when we came here, the man I loved was left behind in Italy, and in his place was the cruel, unfaithful man I left.”

  My jealousy simmers for now.

  “I could never tell him about Santo’s advances. First, he wouldn’t believe me, and then he’d have my head for spewing such lies about the man he desperately wants to please.

  “Hiding that big secret put a massive strain on our relationship. I should have left months before I did, but I just didn’t know how. I was stuck in a loveless relationship, doubting myself. I mean, would I find anyone who would love me? If my parents couldn’t, the two people in the entire world who were supposed to, then what hope did I have?”

  “This isn’t your fault, Ella,” I say, placing my hand on her shoulder. She leans into my touch.

  “Yes, it is. I should have stopped it, but I was so desperate to live a fairy tale that I thought I was okay to turn a blind eye. But I wasn’t. And then when Santo propositioned me, I knew I had to leave.

  “Frank always promised I was the only one he loved, but I was merely another one of his possessions. Just another pretty thing.

  “That night, I left with only the belongings I bought with my own money. I didn’t want anything from that family. I just wanted to return to America and forget I was ever a part of the Macrillo family.

  “But no one leaves that family. It’s funny, so many are desperate to be me while I just wanted out.”

  Running my thumb along the column of her throat, I mull over everything she just shared. I once doubted her story, thinking that she was guilty of everything Santo accused her of, but hearing her tale…I believe her.

  If she were to seduce Santo, then why leave? She could have had far more than one million dollars if she had played the Macrillo game. None of his story makes any sense, but hers does.

  I just needed some time.

  “I know I have been…difficult with you,” she settles on. I would have used the word stubborn, but I allow her to continue. “But I promised myself no more. No more desperately seeking approval or love from anyone because I had to love myself.

  “When I figured out how I was going to get myself out of the biggest mistake of my life, I was intent on change. Happiness isn’t found out there”—she turns over her shoulder to look at me and gently rubs my chest over my heart—“it’s found in here.”

  The thing she speaks of, my heart kicks against her palm, responding to her touch like a lost ship seeking a lighthouse in the dark.

  “Which is why I’ve made a decision.”

  All I can do is merely stare.

  “I’ll give Santo what he wants. You can deliver me to him, so the deal will go ahead, and he will help you catch Serg. Irina, the children, Mother Superior…Willow,” she adds with sadness, “they’ll all be safe. I won’t fight you. It’s time I paid my dues for all that I’ve done.”

  With her hand over my heart, she has given me the greatest gift—sacrificing herself for the people I love.

  “We can go today. I’ll just finish milking—”

  But I won’t allow her to utter another word.

  Gripping her hand, I shake my head, lost to the feeling of her selflessness. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “But—” She attempts to argue, but silly girl, she should know by now that I always win.

  “You’re not going anywhere because you’re mine.”

  She blinks once, her mouth parting in disbelief. “So you believe me? You believe I would never do the things Santo said? You believe I never hurt Sister Arabella?”

  Her urgency is palpable, and I understand why. Ella and I are one and the same. Both seeking a family, a place to belong to. I never saw that…until now.

  “Yes.”

  She leaps up, the stool falling over in her haste as she throws herself into my arms. My neck is wet from her tears when she buries herself in the crook.

  “Thank you. That means everything to me,” she cries, hugging me tight as I wrap my arms around her. “I’ve never had anyone do that for me before.”

  “Do what, красавица?”

  “Put their faith in me.”

  My heart constricts. “Neither have I,” I confess, a hidden message that she’s done that for me.

  For my entire life, I’ve been seen as the villain, and I have been. But behind every monster, there lies a complicated story, and Ella has always listened to mine.

  I won’t abandon her because she has never abandoned me.

  “We’re quite a pair,” she half sobs in humor.

  “That we are,” I concur, kissing her temple.

  I don’t know what this means. In all of my years on this planet, I’ve never felt this connected to another human being. But what I do know is that I will protect her with my life because she is quickly becoming it.

  “What are we going to do?” she asks, taking comfort in my embrace. These hands of mine have killed, but when they touch her, they only want to do good.

  “I have a plan,” I reveal.

  She sniffs softly before pulling away to look up at me. Those inquisitive eyes know she won’t like what I intend to do.

  “I—”

  But I never get to finish my sentence as words are robbed of me and may be fleeced of me forevermore.

  “Hi, Alek.”

  Every part of me demands I turn around, but no, I do not need to turn around to recognize that sweet voice. In the depths of hell, that voice could call to me, and I would welcome the burn. And all she’s ever done is burn me.

  But I love her, nonetheless.

  I will always love Willow Shaw…my дорогая…who is standing right behind me.

  I’ve dreamed of this moment more times than I care to admit. But now that it’s happening—now that she’s really here—I’m afraid.

  I don’t know what I’ll see reflected in those beautiful blue eyes. I deserve hatred for all that I’ve done, but I don’t think my heart can take it. However, I’m a masochist when I turn around slowly and see the woman who still holds my heart
.

  Willow Shaw stole my breath from the first moment I saw her, and now is no different. Her hair has grown longer from when I saw her last, and the atrocities she’s seen, the atrocities I introduced to her have hardened her innocence, but she’s still my дорогая. A fierce warrior with a benevolent heart.

  Saint stands behind her—tall and brooding with the look of an angel but will happily rip out your soul. Those chartreuse-colored eyes focus intently on me—still wanting to maim me where I stand. When they lock on Ella however, they soften.

  “Are you okay?” he asks her.

  My hackles instantly rise, angered he would ask her that.

  “Of course, I’m okay,” Ella replies, confused. She doesn’t understand why he’d think she was in harm’s way with me. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  But Saint has every right to think she’s in danger.

  “He thinks you’re here against your will,” I explain with a hostile smirk.

  Saint doesn’t appreciate my sarcasm. “Damn straight I do, Popov. History would prove that’s the case.”

  “Saint,” Willow coos, looking at him over her shoulder.

  Always the peacemaker. Always showing compassion when she shouldn’t.

  When Ella hears his name, she realizes standing before her is Willow—the woman who turned me into the man I am today. She takes a step back, but I reach out behind me and clutch her wrist.

  Turning to look at her, I smile. “No, красавица. You stay by my side.”

  Her insecurities are reflected on her face, but I shake my head, wishing her to know that this doesn’t change anything between us. When she gently withdraws from my grip, though, I know she doesn’t believe me.

  When she looks at Willow, she sees the perfect woman—a supermodel, as she said in her words because Willow once was. But Willow is so much more than her looks. She made me see there is more to a person than their exterior. Once, that’s all I cared for, but not now.

  Besides, in my eyes, no matter what Ella thinks of herself, she’s the whole package to me. Smart. Feisty. Sexy. She is everything I want. But as she casts her eyes downward, I realize she doesn’t see what I do.

  “We need to talk.” Saint’s sharp voice cuts through the tension we’re all feeling.