The Devil's CrownPart Two - Monica James Page 0,64
the taboo word feeling like poison on my tongue. “I’ve left my home, my friends, Irina, my empire behind because of you. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“I never asked you to,” she retorts, but her fight has simmered.
“Yes, you were too busy fighting for your life because of your fiancé,” I sneer, peering down at the engagement ring on her finger.
“Fuck you,” she spits. “You have no idea why—”
“Why what?” I bellow, arms out wide. “I’m all ears. That’s all I’ve been. But you’re treating me like the fucking enemy.”
And what she says hurts so much, I take a step backward, needing a moment to center myself in fear of falling.
“You are.”
“You cannot forgive me?” I ask, knowing I’m far from perfect and understanding she feels as though I put her last. But it’s because of her I did this. And even though that’s the god’s honest truth, it’s not enough.
“I can’t,” she whispers sadly. “Too much has happened, and when I think of you, about us, all I see is violence, greed, lies…I don’t associate happy memories with you…just fleeting moments in time. I’m sorry.”
Jarring my hand out, I beg she stops. I don’t want her apologies. Or her canoodling me and my feelings. The bad outweighs the good, and I understand that. I wish it were different, but it’s not.
“Very well,” I say, pulling back my shoulders and tamping down this decaying feeling within. “Once I ensure your safety, you’ll never have to see me again.”
“I’m sorry, Alek.”
“Don’t be…you can just add this to your fleeting moments.” My quip wounds her, but this is the only way I can deal with her telling me that I’m not enough.
This entire time, she believed she wasn’t enough for me, and that’s why she won’t listen to reason. But the truth is, I was the one not worthy of her love.
“We’re about a day away from the closest port. We will pick up supplies, and then I will make arrangements for you to disappear until I can eliminate the Macrillos.”
Her eyes widen. But the time to care for my well-being has passed. “Just drop me off somewhere. I can make my own arrangements.”
“If that were true, I wouldn’t be a fugitive in my own country,” I reply calmly, but she reads the comment for the crack that it is. “The sooner this is over with, the sooner I can get on with my life. And you can do the same.”
I want her to fight me. I want the spirited woman I’ve come to cherish to rear her head and tell me that I’m wrong. But that woman is no more. She is broken. We both are. And together…we’re on a collision course bound to destroy the other the moment we collide.
“I’ll sleep in the living room,” she offers, reaching for a blanket.
But I shake my head. “I’m not tired anymore. I’ll continue with our journey so we can arrive at the port sooner.”
She suddenly looks guilty, but there is no need. This always came with an expiration date. I was too caught up in the hope of a fairy-tale ending to see that. But now, the future is clear. It seems only violence can sharpen my senses because the plan, the epiphany I was so desperately searching for, has struck.
Turning, I leave Ella in the bedroom and take the stairs to the upper deck. I need to make a call. It’s late, but I know Pavel will answer.
“What?” he sleepily says with a yawn.
Me? I’ve never felt more alive. “Plan is you call Austin Bailey and tell him I need sanctuary for Ella.”
“In Ireland?” Pavel asks, his surprise clear.
“Yes. His ties to the IRA will ensure Ella’s safety if anything happens. In return, we cut a deal with them—a steady partnership in exchange for harboring Ella until I can eliminate the Macrillos. A slice of Russia will be too good of an opportunity to pass by. It’s time for a new Russia where I rule with an iron fist. If they’re not with me, they’re the enemies and will pay, as will their families for defying me.”
“As far as plans go, this is actually very good.” It’s a relief to hear him say that. “We move into different territories, only to grow stronger as we align with the most powerful.”
“Exactly,” I reply. “This is a new era. Traditional Russia needs a change…and that change is me.”
To any old-school game player, what I’m proposing is sacrilegious. Consorting outside the “inner circle” is