The Devil's CrownPart Two - Monica James Page 0,128

He doesn’t know what I have in store for him.

“C’mon then, big man, come and get me. I’m at Tura…we both are.” I hang up, bowing my head. I’m going to explode.

The phone crunches in my palm as I clench it so tightly, it almost snaps in half.

I need a minute. I can’t be near Ella or anyone, for that matter, so I exit the room and walk toward the kitchen. Switching on the light, I see a collection of cookbooks stacked neatly by the microwave. Functioning on autopilot, I run my finger along the spines of each one and stop when I come to the first Italian cookbook.

Pulling it out, I take a breath, unsure what I’m about to find. Recipes on how to make tiramisu and lasagna are not what I was expecting. Flicking through the pages, it all looks legit, so I toss it over my shoulder and move on to the next and the next.

Once I have looked through all the cookbooks to no avail, I sigh, needing to think like the rat Christian, and when I see an old farmhouse scale on a shelf with two cookbooks stacked on top, I scoff, disgusted. To anyone else, they may appreciate Christian’s flair for decorating, but I know better.

Walking over to the shelf, I reach for the top cookbook that specializes in Italian delicacies and open it to the first page. Where there should be recipes for home cooking, there is instead a list of names, ages, addresses, and dollar signs.

I flip through the pages, feeling bile rise the further I progress.

The second book is titled How to Cook an Italian Feast and has the same information. Pages upon pages of lives destroyed.

These cookbooks were printed on purpose to house the sick atrocities Christian committed. The titles are not coincidental and neither was their placement. They’re sitting on scales because that’s how Christian sees his victims—pieces of meat he can sell to the highest bidder.

I want to kill him all over again.

Slamming the cookbooks shut, I hunt through the freezer for a bottle of vodka and make my way toward my bedroom. My steps are heavy as I know the answer to Irina’s past may be within these pages. But am I ready to uncover what happened to my baby girl?

Ella sits on the end of my bed, and when I enter, she averts her eyes.

I know I may have done irreparable damage to our relationship.

“Did you find what you’re looking for?” she asks in merely a whisper.

“I did,” I reply, placing the cookbooks onto the dresser. “Are you…disgusted by me?”

She slowly lifts her chin. “No.”

“Afraid?”

She blinks once. “Yes.”

I know my methods are ruthless, but I’ll never tame my ways. I kill with purpose, and I won’t stop, especially now.

I watch as she reaches into her pocket and produces an envelope, one which looks all too familiar. She opens it and unfolds a piece of paper, one which was folded with care and love—I know because I was the one who folded it.

She takes a deep breath before she commences to dance in a past which will never be forgotten. “Ella, I know you hate me, and that’s okay. No one can hate me more than I do myself. I wish things were different. I wish I could give you everything you deserve, but I can’t. I’m not the hero in your story. But nor am I the villain. I just am me…which is why I had to let you go.

“I don’t make excuses for what I’ve done because all I wanted to do was to keep you safe. You were the breath of fresh air I was searching for my entire life. You helped me heal, something which I thought was impossible. But meeting you proved that anything is possible.”

She licks her lips, her hands shaking as she continues to read.

“I can’t leave this earth knowing you’ll never know the truth. I want you to know you meant something to me. I’m not asking for forgiveness; I merely wish things were different, and if they were, please know that I’d never have let you leave.

“I’d have done anything in my power to earn your trust and love because when I thought of my future, all I saw was you. You make me want to be a better man, a better man for you.

“I never meant anything with Willow. I knew if I asked you to leave, you wouldn’t, so I had to hurt you. I had