by Monica James
“Fuck!” he bellows, fisting his hair in frustration as he too realizes there is no out this time. “I’m sorry, Aleksei.”
I shake my head slowly. “You have nothing to be sorry for, мой брат. Keep them safe for me. With Irina—”
“I’ll look after her. You have my word,” Saint affirms.
He understood what I shared with him about why I cut off Serg’s offensive member. If what Serg said is true, then I know he will find those who are responsible and make them pay.
“When the time is right, tell Ella that I—” But I don’t know what to say.
However, Saint nods in understanding. “I’ll tell her.”
“Thank you, Saint. I’m truly sorry for everything I ever did to you. I know I’ll never have your forgiveness, but please know, I wish I could have done so many things differently.
“You’re the only true friend I’ve ever had.”
Saint’s jaw clenches, and I know even now, with all hope lost, he’s still attempting to find a way to get me out of here.
“Go. Thank Pavel and Max for all that they’ve done.”
“Alek—”
“Please, go. I can’t save them, but you can. You always have.”
Two men appear in the doorway, and Raul gestures for them to take Saint away.
“Hands off, asshole!” Saint warns, yanking his arm out of the man’s hold as he attempts to drag him away.
We lock eyes, and all I can do is smile at the man who I am so proud to call my friend.
Before he turns and leaves, he does something that has the tears I thought I could never cry well to the surface. “Я прощаю тебя.”
I forgive you.
And with that, he leaves, those parting words having me accepting death with a warm embrace.
He has just granted me forgiveness, something I don’t deserve, but I’ll accept it, nonetheless. Once he’s gone, I look at Raul, not ashamed by the tears in my eyes.
“Let’s do this then.”
Raul grins. His revenge has come.
He hands the lead to the remaining man, indicating he won’t need his mutt any longer. It’s just us. The man takes the snarling beast away.
Raul takes a look at my handiwork and whistles. “Wow, what a colorful mess. I’m impressed with your creativity.”
“Thank you.”
Raul cracks his knuckles, appearing elated that his time has finally come. “Why did you kill my father? He spoke so highly of you. You were business partners for so long.”
It seems to be the topic of discussion this evening. Why did I kill everyone’s father?
If Raul is looking for answers, like Serg, he’s sorely mistaken. “Your father didn’t know loyalty, so he paid with his life.”
And that’s all I wish to share.
He appears disappointed as if he expected me to beg for my life and say I’m sorry. But I’m not. I take full responsibility for my actions and accept the consequences.
Raul tongues his cheek, clearly displeased with my reply. “As will you.”
Like a stealthy ninja, he spins and kicks me in the face, catching me unaware. I stumble back two steps, cupping my bleeding, broken nose. He launches another attack, displaying his skills in martial arts with a series of high kicks and punches.
I don’t stand a chance.
Dropping to my knees, he kicks me in the face, sending me careening onto my back with a thud. My vision blurs, and I groan as this pain is something else.
He yanks me up by the collar and drags me toward a bench where he tosses me onto it like I weigh nothing at all. He leaps on top of it, punching me over and over, not giving me a chance to fight back. But even if I could, I wouldn’t.
A deal’s a deal and knowing who I saved has me submitting. Flecks of my blood propel in the air as he breaks my jaw, my lip. But it’s not enough.
Jerking me up, he presses us nose to nose. “Say you’re sorry and I’ll make your death quick.”
I could do what he asks and make this immeasurable pain go away, but I’d be lying. So I whisper incoherent gibberish.
He leans in close to hear better, and when his ear is close enough to my lips, I pant, “Fuck you.”
With a roar, he grips my head and smashes it onto the wooden bench. Nausea rises as he reaches for a small hand rake and slams it into my left thigh. He drags it downward toward my knee, severing material and my flesh.
This would be far more effective if he took off my pants, but that would be too easy. The pain I feel is unbearable, but I don’t fight back. I bite down on my tongue, focusing on anything other than him taking turns flaying the skin from my thigh, then breaking bones in my body.
I go back to the best memory I have, and that was meeting Ella. She was so nervous, so perfect. Her laughter, her smile—I concentrate on that and will carry that into the afterlife with me.
My heart begins to slow, and breathing becomes a chore. The sound my lungs are making as they struggle for air has me shakily feeling my body to find a small hoe sticking out of my chest.
My vision is completely blackened, but as I welcome death, I see something I’d never thought I’d be worthy of—a bright light.
Is this the “bright light” people speak of? Am I welcomed into His kingdom, after all?
I don’t deserve it, but I take it nevertheless because I now have hope I’ll see Ella again. It’s peaceful here, and for the first time in my life…I’m weightless, happy.
I’ve expired and am no more. Aleksei Popov is dead.
But that happiness is suddenly yanked out from under me, and the bright light becomes an ethereal haze as it whizzes farther and farther away until I’m sucked into a vortex of colors and explode into a million pieces.
I’m not breathing, and to survive, I need air to breathe. But why would I need air…
“There you go,” echoes a voice, a voice which forces me to swim my way through the fog and break the surface with a guttural intake of air because he should not be here.
My vision is blurred, but I coerce myself to concentrate and forget the pain. My sight goes in and out of focus like a camera lens attempting to center on a picture, but what I see, I wonder if my lens has been smashed beyond repair.
Raul lays in a crumpled heap on the floor. His rising chest reveals he’s still alive—for now. But it’s the man who stands by the bench with a grin who has my full attention.
It takes me three attempts, but I attempt to wheeze his name. “Santo?”
“Yes, my friend, I’m here. You took quite a beating.”
My injuries can wait. “Why?” I manage to push out on an exhale.
“Oh, you’re concussed and probably in shock. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Let me take you to the hospital.”
When he attempts to help me sit up, I recoil violently, demanding answers.
He wipes his bloodied hands on a white handkerchief before he confirms my worst fears. “Because you delivered on your end of the deal. And so must I.”
I haven’t the faintest idea what he speaks of until the truth smacks me harder than Raul’s punches ever could.
Ella isn’t in America. She went to Santo and offered herself in exchange for my safety. She convinced him I delivered her as we originally planned, so now Santo is holding up his end. I realize she handed herself over a day early, thinking she was saving us all because she wasn’t aware of our plans.
She did this. She sacrificed herself to save Irina, the orphanage, Mother Superior, me…because she loves me. She’d rather suffer the consequences than see me suffer. She thought this was an easy fix, but this was never an option.
However, by pushing her away, I made her believe that it was.
“You’re back on top, Alek. I took a photo of what you did to Serg. No one will question your authority ever again. Are you ready to rule once again, my friend?”
I thought I was destined for heaven, but I should have known this life is hell.
“What of Ella?” I wheeze, comin
g to a half sitting position.
“She’s had a change of heart,” he replies with a sinister grin.
“What does that mean?”
“It means she belongs to the Macrillo family now.”
Like hell she does.
With a newfound strength, I grasp the handle of the rake still imbedded in my thigh and yank it out with a wet squelching sound. Tossing it across the room, I inhale deeply before I grip the hoe in my chest and repeat the same action.
Santo stares wide-eyed. But I don’t have time for his gawking.
Jerking him forward by his collar, I unthread his green silk cravat with shaky fingers and tie it over the wound in my leg. It’s missed the femoral artery, so I won’t bleed out.
“Handkerchief,” I demand.
He passes it to me, no questions asked, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was scared. Good. He should be.
Reaching into my shirt, I press the handkerchief over the wound to my chest and secure it with my hand as I swing my legs and jump down from the bench.
The entire room spins, but that doesn’t stop me from taking my first staggered steps, reborn. I know what awaits me on the other side, and it wasn’t hell because in the words of William Shakespeare, “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
I ignore Santo calling out to me and shove his men out of the way who gawk at me like I’m a walking miracle. And I suppose I am. I was dead, but here I am, resurrected and ready to live this life reborn.
My leg drags across the lawn as I step outside, the fresh air against my bloodied skin alleviating some of the pain and allowing me to focus.
Ella sacrificed herself for me even though she believed I didn’t want her. But regardless, she wanted me to have my old life back. No one has ever done that for me before, and to know she believes I feel nothing for her—there’s no way on earth I’ll allow that.
She literally saved my life because if Santo hadn’t intervened, Raul would have killed me. He did.
Reaching into my pocket, I retrieve my cell, and with great difficulty, I focus on the screen to call Saint.
“Popov?” he gasps, his surprise clear. “How are you still alive?”
But I don’t have time for his questions. “Come…now.”
“Okay, we’re coming,” he says on a rushed breath. “What happens then?”
Stopping, I lift my face to the heavens and give thanks. He didn’t give up on me. Neither did my queen. So, adjusting my crown—the devil’s crown, that is—I reply, “We go get my girl.”
The Devil’s Crown-Part Two
Coming September 2020!
Read other books by Monica James
My author family: Elle Kennedy and Vi Keeland—I love you both very much.
My ever-supporting parents. You guys are the best. I am who I am because of you. I love you. RIP Papa. Gone but never forgotten. You’re in my heart. Always.
My agent, Kimberly Brower from Brower Literary & Management. Thank you for your patience and thank you for being an amazing human being.
My editor, Jenny Sims. What can I say other than I LOVE YOU! Thank you for everything. You go above and beyond for me.
My proofreaders—Ellie—My Brother’s Editor and Annie Bugeja.
Beta Reader—Lisa Edward. Love you.
My Russian Translator and lifesaver—Lana Kart, thank you!
Sommer Stein, you NAILED this cover! Thank you for being so patient and making the process so fun. I’m sorry for annoying you constantly.
Philippe Leblond—thanks for being my muse!
Ren Saliba—your photography is magic. Looking forward to working on more covers with you.
My publicist—Danielle Sanchez from Wildfire Marketing Solutions. Thank you for all your help. Your messages brighten my day.
A special shout-out to: Bombay Sapphire Gin, Christina Lauren, Lili St. Germain, Willow Winters, K. Webster, Giana Darling, Callie Hart, Amo Jones, Cora Reilly, Aleatha Romig, Parker S. Huntington, S.M. Soto, K. Bromberg, Tijan (thanks for helping with the blurb), Kat T. Masen, Devney Perry, Tillie Cole, Cheri Grand Anderman, Lauren Rosa, Louise, Kimberly Whalen, Christine Estevez, Ben Ellis—Tall Story Designs, Nasha Lama, Natasha Tomic, Heyne, Random House, Kinneret Zmora, Hugo & Cie, Planeta, MxM Bookmark, Art Eternal, Carbaccio, Fischer, Sieben Verlag, Bookouture, Egmont Bulgaria, Brilliance Publishing, Audible, Hope Editions, Buzzfeed, BookBub, PopSugar, Aestas Book Blog, Hugues De Saint Vincent, Paris, New York, Sarah Sentz (you’re my cover go-to queen!) Ria Alexander, Amy Jennings.
To the endless blogs that have supported me since day one—You guys rock my world.
My bookstagrammers—This book has allowed me to meet SO many of you. Your creativity astounds me. The effort you go to is just amazing. Thank you for the posts, the teasers, the support, the messages, the love, the EVERYTHING! I see what you do, and I am so, so thankful.
My ARC TEAM—You guys are THE BEST! Thanks for all the support.
My reader group—sending you all a big kiss.
My beautiful family—Daniel, Mum, Papa, Fran, Matt, Samantha, Amelia, Gayle, Peter, Luke, Leah, Jimmy, Jack, Shirley, Michael, Rob, Elisa, Evan, Alex, Francesca, and my aunties, uncles, and cousins—I am the luckiest person alive to know each and every one of you. You brighten up my world in ways I honestly cannot express.
Samantha and Amelia— I love you both so very much.
To my family in Holland and Italy, and abroad. Sending you guys much love and kisses.
Papa, Zio Nello, Zio Frank, Zia Rosetta, and Zia Giuseppina—you are in our hearts. Always.
My fur babies— mamma loves you so much! Buckwheat, you are my best buddy. Dacca, I will always protect you from the big bad Bellie. Mitch, refer to Dacca’s comment. Jag, you’re a wombat in disguise. Bellie, your singing voice is so beautiful. And Ninja, thanks for watching over me. To the newest addition, Wabbit; I love your apricot face.
To anyone I have missed, I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional!
Last but certainly not least, I want to thank YOU! Thank you for welcoming me into your hearts and homes. My readers are the BEST readers in this entire universe! Love you all!
Monica James spent her youth devouring the works of Anne Rice, William Shakespeare, and Emily Dickinson.
When she is not writing, Monica is busy running her own business, but she always finds a balance between the two. She enjoys writing honest, heartfelt, and turbulent stories, hoping to leave an imprint on her readers. She draws her inspiration from life.
She is a bestselling author in the U.S.A., Australia, Canada, France, Germany, Israel, and The U.K.
Monica James resides in Melbourne, Australia, with her wonderful family, and menagerie of animals. She is slightly obsessed with cats, chucks, and lip gloss, and secretly wishes she was a ninja on the weekends.
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