The Devil's CrownPart Two - Monica James Page 0,123

her back, I inhale deeply, her scent pacifying the demons within. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

She nods, which has me sighing in relief.

“What happened to Galina? And where is your shirt?”

“She is where she belongs…hanging off the end of a dog leash from her villa balcony,” I reply with no emotion. “And I gave my shirt to the young lady Galina was holding hostage.”

Ella slowly pulls out of our embrace, looking at me. “Did you find out anything about Irina?”

“Not from her, but I will. I know where Christian keeps his books, but there is something I need to do first.”

Reaching into my pocket, I give Ella the crumpled piece of paper with the names of the children Galina sold into slavery. I will do everything in my power to track them down.

Ella doesn’t ask questions and places it into her back pocket.

“Would you like to come?” I ask because even though I’d much prefer she stays locked in her room, she is a part of this too. This is her revenge as much as it is mine.

She works her bottom lip before nodding.

I quickly go into my bedroom to slip on a shirt.

I don’t need to explain that things are about to get bloody because she knows. So, I offer her my hand, which she accepts, and we walk toward Christian’s office. There is no hurry to our step. We will approach this with a level head because, for once, we have the upper hand.

I only hope it stays this way.

Christian’s door is open, but I knock regardless, wanting to announce our arrival.

He peers up from his paperwork, smiling when he sees us. His arrogance really knows no bounds. “Come in. I was going to check on you and see how things went with Galina.”

We enter his office, and both take a seat in front of his large desk.

Discreetly taking a look around, I scoff when I see the walls are decorated with the heads of his hunting kills. A trophy room full of pain. I smile when I see a pointed letter opener within reach.

“Galina needed a breather,” I say, meaning that in the literal sense, but too bad for her that luxury is no longer available to her because she’s dead.

Of course, Christian interprets that as something sordid, but he’ll soon find out what I actually mean.

“Saint called. He’ll be arriving soon,” I reveal.

Ella shifts beside me but doesn’t say a word.

“Excellent. I’m so pleased we could come to an arrangement which benefits us both. So, I’ve been dying to ask, how long have you two—” Christian gestures with his pointer finger between the two of us.

“For a while,” I vaguely reply. I want this bastard to know what Ella felt for Frank was staged. She wouldn’t ever be a Macrillo of her own accord.

“Is that why you killed Frank?” he frankly directs his question to Ella.

“No,” she bluntly replies. “I killed him because he deserved it.”

Christian doesn’t hide his surprise at Ella’s blunt response. “Fair enough. He always knew how to push one’s buttons. I thought it was because a better offer came along.”

And this is why this asshole needs to die.

I can’t sit here a moment longer and pretend. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

Christian nods.

“Where do you get the children from?”

Christian leans back in his leather seat, examining me closely. “Why do you want to know?”

“Call me curious,” I reply with a non-committal shrug.

Christian opens his drawer and produces a gold cigar case. He opens it up and offers me one over the desk. I accept as blood, and a Cuban cigar is a marriage I adore. I light the end and slide the box of matches back to him.

We sit quietly, smoking our cigars, but an undercurrent is lapping the surface, ready to drown us all.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I don’t kidnap them. They’re sold to me by their families. As I see it, if they don’t come into my possession, they’ll end up dead anyway.”

They’d be better off dead than to be sold into slavery.

“Do you ever get…returns?” I have no idea what the proper term is, and phrasing it this way makes me sick.

Christian nods. “Sometimes.”

“And what happens to those kids?”

“I don’t know. I have a strict no-return policy,” he quips as though we’re talking about a Christmas sweater. “With all these questions, I can’t help but think you want in. I know kidnapping older persons is more your thing, but I’d be happy to teach you what