The Devil's CrownPart Two - Monica James Page 0,37

of if he doesn’t obey. He thinks he’s safe, but he’s living on borrowed time.

My time to reign has finally come.

Ella

“COME ON, BELLA,” Frank whispers into my ear, nudging his hips into my back so I can feel his disgusting erection.

I groan in response, faking sleep because morning sex is the last thing I want right now or ever.

Frank grumbles angrily before I feel the mattress shift. I keep my eyes squeezed shut until I hear the shower in the en suite start. A relieved breath leaves me. Burying my face into my pillow, I fist the sheets beneath and let out a guttural scream. The pillow mutes my cries, which I’ve held in for the past few days.

Santo and Frank are conspiring; their hushed voices confirm that whatever they’re up to can’t be good. I can’t shake the feeling it has to do with Alek.

From the snippets of conversation I’ve overheard, it seems Raul is dead, and Alek was the executioner. They made it clear he killed cruelly and without remorse, and that he is far more dangerous than they originally thought.

Santo wants to speed things up because he doesn’t trust Alek. But what he really means is that he’s afraid he’ll end up like Raul. This frightens me because it doesn’t give me much time to investigate. I wanted to present Alek with information I compiled so he could deal with it swiftly and accordingly.

But now, I have a feeling this will be over a lot sooner than I anticipated. I can’t allow this to have been all for nothing, which is why I need to talk to Santo.

Frank is merely the errand boy. Santo is the one calling the shots, and if I want to help Alek, then I need to get what I can out of Santo. I scream into my pillow once again, knowing what that means. Nothing in this house is for free.

The en suite door opens, hinting Frank is showered and ready for the day. I can’t fake sleep any longer, so I groan and turn sleepily onto my side.

“Buongiorno, principessa,” Frank mocks as I gradually open my eyes.

“Morning,” I reply, followed by a staged yawn. “You’re going out?”

Frank is in a smart white linen shirt and black pants; attire which means business.

“Yes, I have to organize a few things for tonight.”

This has my attention.

Shifting and leaning against the headboard, I pull the blankets over my chest as my silk nightgown doesn’t leave much to the imagination. “What’s happening tonight?”

Frank sits on the edge of the bed to put on his black socks. “We’re having guests,” he replies ambiguously.

“Oh? What guests?”

He pauses and turns over his shoulder, arching a brow. I know better than to ask questions. “Maybe if you acted like a fiancée, I would tell you things a fiancée should know. But lately, it seems you’d rather be anything but my wife-to-be.”

He’s pissed because I’ve denied him sex since my return. But I literally want to vomit the moment he comes near me.

“I told you I’ve got my period,” I softly argue, knowing this excuse will only work for so long.

With an annoyed sigh, he slips on his leather loafers. “Well, you have other ways to please me. But I suppose I’ll have to burn off some steam another way then.”

Clawing the sheets under the blankets, I remain stone-faced. “I’m sorry, Frank. You know I’m not myself when I’m hormonal.”

Frank stands abruptly and looks at his appearance in the large wall mirror. “Oh, sweetheart, I know, which is why you’re not needed tonight. Stay here and rest.”

“What?” I ask, pulling back my shoulders.

“You said you’re not yourself, so you shall stay here until you are,” he cruelly replies, running his fingers through his immaculately styled hair.

“Frank,” I argue, but he’s just played me at my own game.

“I’ll have Rosa bring up some breakfast.”

This has me ripping off the blankets and chasing after him as he walks to the door. “You can’t keep me locked in here,” I cry, as that’s what he just hinted at. For Rosa, his servant, to bring me breakfast means I’m not allowed to go downstairs and retrieve my own.

I make the mistake of gripping his elbow, begging he stop and turn around. Withdrawing from my hold, he spins violently, and before I can retreat, he slaps me.

Staggering back, I cup my cheek, mouth ajar. This is the first time he’s hit me. Whatever small shred of influence I had over him has gone. He seemed overjoyed