The Devil's CrownPart Two - Monica James Page 0,21

run now, I’ll be running for the rest of my life. And Alek’s life will forever be in danger. I knew there would be consequences when I handed myself over to Santo. And now, I must deal with them.

Now that I know Saint and Willow are still here, I could always talk to Saint. But we hardly left on good terms. I believed his world was trying to steal mine. Besides, they’re Alek’s friends. Not mine. I only have myself to ensure this plan succeeds.

With my pointer and middle finger, I gently touch over my lips as Alek’s taste lingers on my mouth. His kisses are nothing I’ve experienced before. He takes my breath away, but I’d happily expire because I can never get enough of him.

This spark has been present since the first moment we met. From the moment I laid my eyes on him, I was under his spell, a spell he isn’t even aware he casts. Something about him is magnetic. He turns heads wherever he goes, and it’s not just his looks. It’s him.

He radiates confidence and control and men and women alike are drawn to him because of it. He’s done some god-awful things, but that just makes him all the more captivating because he doesn’t make apologies for his actions.

He accepts the consequences and faces them, head-on.

I didn’t realize how hard I’d fall for him because I didn’t think that type of love existed in real life. But with Alek, it was almost involuntary. His steel-blue eyes are so expressive, but in the same token, they are guarded.

His life has been far from normal. He killed his stepfather at such a young age. That should disgust me, but it doesn’t. It reveals Alek to be a survivor.

His stepfather beat him, abused him. Alek did what he had to, to survive just as I’m doing now. In the end, all of us will fight for our survival, whatever the consequences. So I can never see Alek as anything but a survivor.

A loud knock on the door has me jumping up and racing over to the sink. I turn on the faucet and wash away my smudged lipstick as it’s evidence which can’t be denied.

“Ella? Are you in there?” Frank’s voice displays his annoyance that he’s had to come looking for me like a bad dog who strayed too far from its owner.

Pulling it together, I reply loudly, “Yes, I’ll be out in a bit.”

The handle rattles. “Open the door.”

Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I tell myself to woman up as I have a role to play.

Drying my hands on a hand towel, I take a deep breath before opening the door. Frank stands with his hand braced on the doorjamb, unimpressed he had to ask. He tilts his head, examining me closely.

I gulp in panic.

“You’ve been crying.”

It isn’t a question. It’s a statement.

With heart in my throat, I nod, forcing more tears to surface. “Yes, I feel horrible. I’ve ruined this beautiful dress,” I reply, thinking on my feet as I return to the sink, allowing Frank in.

His polished shoes sound against the floor as he walks toward me. Not making eye contact, I dab at the front of my dress with a towel, faking care when, in reality, I just remembered I was supposed to be in here, cleaning the stain.

“Don’t worry about it,” Frank says. I once found his slight Italian accent sexy, but now it makes me want to be sick. “You look better without it on.”

I fake a smile because this is supposed to be a compliment, but on the inside, I’m holding back the urge to slap him.

“Can we go?” I ask. I don’t know how long I can play this charade with Alek so close by.

Frank’s brown eyes narrow. I should know better than to ask. “No, Aleksei has requested a private audience with my father and me.”

“Why?” I question far too quickly but then soon backtrack. “I don’t like him.”

Frank grins, his boyish dimples giving anyone who doesn’t know him a false sense of security. “Good. You’re not supposed to like him. The only person you’re supposed to like is me.”

Before I have a chance to reply, he’s on me, pawing me as he kisses me with far too much tongue. His heavy-handed cologne makes me want to puke. He grips my breasts, squeezing hard, while I resist the urge to knee him in the balls. I may as well be kissing a dead fish because