The Devil's CrownPart Two - Monica James Page 0,144
him?” Saint asks, sensing my murderous impulses growing.
“Yes.”
Saint whistles. “Good luck to him.”
Luck has nothing to do with it. His fate was decided the moment he made the wrong choice.
Cracking my neck from side to side, I decide to change the subject. “How’s Willow? Settling in okay?”
Saint and Willow have decided to make Russia their home. They traveled and saw the world, but the one place they called home was Russia. It seems strange that a place that caused them both so much pain is where they choose to live.
But the good outweighs the bad. That’s how Saint and Willow are—the forever optimists.
“Yes, she got a chicken,” he says, while I arch a brow.
“To eat?”
Saint laughs. “No, as a pet.”
“Oh, a pet,” I reply, unsure what the significance of this chicken is.
The slanted smirk on Saint’s lips reveals it must be a secret they’re only privy to.
Once upon a time, I would have been envious, but now, I understand because I have someone who is privy to my secrets, and it feels incredible. I never in a million years would have envisioned my life turning out the way it has.
I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I’ll take it.
We ride the rest of the way, discussing tactics as Saint knows my business as well as me. We make decisions together because I couldn’t have done this without him. I know he still resents me for what I did to Zoey, and that’s okay.
It’s a reminder of what we will never become again.
But the one thing that will never change, the one thing we will always see eye to eye on is seeking revenge on those who wronged someone we loved.
Saint switches off the headlights when we’re a few blocks away from our destination. This neighborhood isn’t a dump, but I didn’t expect it to be. It’s behind the wealth and glamour where they hide.
We pull up a few houses away from the address and watch the house in question. The porch light is on. He’s expecting company, but it’s not us he’s expecting.
“So we still stick to the plan?”
“Yes,” I reply, reaching into the back seat for the bag of goodies Pavel has packed for me.
Saint nods. “Let’s do it then.”
With a deep breath, I calm my nerves because I have waited for this day for what feels like years. We exit the truck and make our way toward the house.
The person inside doesn’t live here. He uses it when he has an itch he doesn’t want his wife knowing about. And tonight, his itch is about to be scratched permanently.
Sauntering toward the front gate, I hear a train horn sound in the distance.
When we’re at the front door, Saint smiles. “I love it when you get that look.”
He knows things are about to get messy.
Knocking softly, I wait for the person to answer, and when he does, it takes every shred of willpower I have not to rip out his tongue. “Counselor Sagbo, sorry to disturb you at such a late hour.”
“Aleksei?” he says, his surprise clear.
“May I come in?”
He looks over my shoulder at Saint as he knows I’m only asking to be polite. Either he lets me in or I’ll force my way in.
“Yes, of course.” He steps aside so Saint and I can enter.
I walk through the door, looking at the house of horrors.
“Come into the living room. I was just having a drink.”
I gesture for Saint to take a look around to ensure we’re alone.
I follow Feliks Sagbo and watch as his hand shakes when he pours me a scotch. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Taking a seat in the leather recliner, I lean back and smile. “I wanted to ask something of you.”
“Please.” He offers me my drink before taking a seat across from me.
Placing the scotch on the coffee table, I reach into my pocket and retrieve a photograph. I pass it to him and watch his face drain of color.
“Do you know that little girl?”
“I, n-no, I do not.”
Tsking him, I reach for my scotch and sip it slowly. “You see, I think that you do. I think that you’re the piece of shit who got his mistress pregnant, and when she didn’t want to have an abortion, you permitted her and her daughter, your daughter to live here.
“But when you killed your mistress in a fit of jealousy, that left you with a little problem—your love child. She reminded you so much of your mistress and what