THE DEVIL WORE A CROWN

THE RIGHT HAND

Everett Cross had blood on his hands.

Not literally. Not tonight. But the memory of it was always there. Under his fingernails. In the creases of his palms. In the spaces between his knuckles. Blood never really washed off. Not the kind he'd spilled. Not the kind he'd watched spill.

He stood in the gymnasium of the Cross Estate, wrapping his hands with practiced precision. White tape. Tight. Even. The way his father had taught him. The way his grandfather had taught his father. Boxing was in the Cross blood. Fighting was in the Cross blood. Killing was in the Cross blood.

Everett hated it.

The gymnasium was empty at this hour. Just him. Just the heavy bag. Just the ghost of every man who had ever trained in this room. The Cross family had been fighters for generations. Enforcers. Soldiers. Killers. They were the muscle of the Crown. The right hand of the Kingpin.

And Everett was the heir.

He hit the bag. Hard. The impact traveled up his arm. Good. He hit it again. Again. Again. Sweat dripped down his face. His muscles burned. He didn't stop.

He couldn't stop.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Adrian's face. The funeral. The grief. The determination. Adrian was his best friend. His brother. The only person in the world who had never looked at him and seen a weapon.

But Adrian was also the son of the man Everett's father had served. The man Everett's father had failed. The man who was now dead.

Everett hit the bag harder.

---

His father was waiting for him when he finished.

Silas Cross sat in the study of the Cross Estate like a king on a throne. He was sixty-two years old, but he looked older. His hair was gray. His face was lined. His hands were gnarled from years of fighting. But his eyes were still sharp. Still cold. Still calculating.

Everett stood in the doorway. He didn't enter. Not yet. He knew what was coming.

"Come in," Silas said. "Close the door."

Everett stepped inside. He closed the door. The study smelled of cigar smoke and old leather. His father's study. His father's world.

"Sit down."

Everett sat.

Silas studied him. His cold eyes moved over Everett's face like a blade. "You were at the funeral."

"Yes."

"You spoke to Adrian."

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

Everett shrugged. "He's grieving. He's angry. He wants answers."

"We all want answers. That doesn't mean we're going to get them."

Everett said nothing.

Silas leaned forward. His chair creaked. "I need to know where your loyalties lie."

Everett's jaw tightened. "You know where my loyalties lie."

"Do I?"

"I'm a Cross. I'm your son. I'm loyal to this family."

"Then why do you spend so much time with the Thornes?"

Everett's hands clenched into fists. He forced them open. Relaxed. Controlled.

"Adrian is my friend," he said.

"Adrian is a dead man walking."

The words hit Everett like a punch to the gut. He didn't flinch. He didn't look away. He just stared at his father.

"What are you talking about?"

Silas leaned back. He picked up his cigar. He took a long drag. He blew out smoke.

"Griffin Savage is going to take the Crown," he said. "It's not a matter of if. It's a matter of when. And when he does, everyone who stood with the Thornes is going to pay."

"Adrian won't let that happen."

"Adrian is one man. One man against an army. He doesn't have the allies. He doesn't have the resources. He doesn't have the stomach for what's coming."

"He has me."

Silas smiled. A cold smile. "Does he?"

Everett stared at him. His heart was pounding. His mind was racing. He knew what his father was asking. He knew what his father wanted. He just didn't want to hear it.

"What do you want me to do?" Everett asked.

"I want you to distance yourself from the Thornes. I want you to align with Savage. I want you to protect this family."

"And if I don't?"

Silas set down his cigar. He leaned forward. His eyes were colder than Everett had ever seen them.

"Then you're not a Cross. And if you're not a Cross, you're nothing."

---

Everett left the study without another word.

He walked out of the estate. He got in his car. He drove. He didn't know where he was going. He just drove.

The city passed by in a blur of neon and shadow. Crown City. His city. His family's city. The city his father had helped build. The city his father was willing to let burn to protect.

Everett pulled over. He didn't know where he was. Somewhere in the Financial District. Near the Iron Tower. Near Adrian.

He sat in the car. His hands were shaking. He gripped the wheel. He forced himself to breathe.

Distance yourself from the Thornes. Align with Savage. Protect the family.

His father's words echoed in his mind. They made sense. Cold, brutal sense. Savage had the numbers. Savage had the allies. Savage had the Crown. Adrian was outnumbered. Outgunned. Outmatched.

But Adrian was his friend.

Everett thought about the first time he'd met Adrian. They were eight years old. Adrian had just moved to Crown City. His mother had just died. He was angry. He was alone. He was looking for a fight.

Everett had given him one.

They'd beaten each other bloody in the schoolyard. The teachers had pulled them apart. Adrian's father had been called. Everett's father had been called. They'd expected punishment. They'd gotten something else.

Adrian's father had looked at Everett. He'd said, "You fight well."

Everett's father had looked at Adrian. He'd said, "So do you."

Then Adrian's father had said, "Maybe you two should fight together instead of against each other."

And that was it. That was the beginning. Two boys from two families, bound by blood and fists. They'd been inseparable ever since.

But now Adrian's father was dead. And Everett's father was asking him to betray his friend.

Everett started the car. He drove to the Iron Tower.

---

Adrian was in his office.

He looked tired. His suit was wrinkled. His eyes were red. He hadn't slept. He hadn't eaten. He was just sitting at his desk, staring at a photograph.

Everett walked in without knocking. Adrian looked up. He didn't seem surprised.

"You look like hell," Adrian said.

"I feel like hell."

"Join the club."

Everett sat down across from him. He looked at the photograph. Five men. The Cathedral. An old picture.

"What's that?" Everett asked.

"A clue. I don't know what it means yet."

"Where did you get it?"

"Veronica Wells."

Everett frowned. "Leander's wife?"

"Yes."

"Why would she give you a photograph?"

Adrian shrugged. "She said my father wanted me to have it."

Everett studied the photograph. He didn't recognize any of the men except Adrian's grandfather and Leander. The others were strangers. But there was something about the picture. Something familiar.

"The Crown has six," Everett read aloud. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know yet. But I'm going to find out."

Everett set the photograph down. He looked at Adrian. His friend. His brother. The man his father wanted him to betray.

"I need to tell you something," Everett said.

Adrian looked at him. His dark eyes were steady. Waiting.

"My father wants me to distance myself from you. He wants me to align with Savage."

Adrian didn't react. He just nodded slowly. "I figured."

"You did?"

"Your father is a survivor. He's always been a survivor. He's going to do whatever it takes to protect his family. I don't blame him."

"You don't?"

"No. I blame Savage. I blame the Crown. I blame the system that made us this way. But I don't blame your father for wanting to protect you."

Everett stared at him. "You're not angry?"

"I'm tired. I'm grieving. I'm scared. But I'm not angry at you."

"I haven't made a choice yet."

"I know. That's why I'm not angry."

Everett didn't know what to say. He had expected Adrian to be furious. He had expected accusations. He had expected a fight. He had not expected understanding.

"What are you going to do?" Adrian asked.

"I don't know."

"You have to choose, Everett. You can't stay in the middle forever."

"I know."

"Your father is right about one thing. Savage has the numbers. Savage has the allies. Savage has the Crown. If you stand with me, you're going to be outnumbered. Outgunned. Outmatched."

"I know."

"You might die."

"I know."

Adrian leaned forward. His eyes were intense. Burning.

"Then why are you still here?"

Everett thought about it. He thought about his father. His family. His duty. He thought about the blood on his hands. The blood he'd spilled. The blood he'd watched spill.

He thought about Adrian. Eight years old. Angry. Alone. Looking for a fight.

He thought about the day they'd become brothers.

"Because you're my friend," Everett said. "Because you're my brother. Because I'd rather die standing with you than live kneeling beside Savage."

Adrian was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.

"Okay," he said.

"Okay?"

"Okay. You're with me. We fight together. We win together. Or we die together."

Everett smiled. A sad smile. "That's a terrible plan."

"I know. But it's the only one I've got."

They sat in silence. The city hummed below them. The night stretched on.

Then Adrian's phone buzzed. He looked at it. His face went pale.

"What is it?" Everett asked.

Adrian didn't answer. He just handed Everett the phone.

It was a text from an unknown number. Three words.

Your sister is missing.

---

Everett drove.

Adrian sat in the passenger seat. His hands were clenched. His jaw was tight. He didn't speak. He just stared out the window.

Isadora was missing. She had been taken. No ransom. No demands. Just gone.

They drove to her apartment. The door was open. The place was trashed. Books thrown off shelves. Furniture overturned. A cup of tea shattered on the floor.

Adrian stood in the middle of the room. He looked at the mess. He looked at the shattered cup. He looked at the photograph of their mother on the wall.

"I'm going to kill them," he said. His voice was calm. Too calm.

"Adrian—"

"I'm going to kill every single one of them."

"Adrian, we don't even know who took her."

Adrian turned. His eyes were dark. Empty. "It was Savage. It was always Savage."

"We don't know that."

"Who else would take her? Who else would have the guts?"

Everett didn't have an answer. Adrian was right. Savage was the obvious suspect. But something felt wrong. Something felt off.

"We need to be smart about this," Everett said. "We need to find out who took her before we go in guns blazing."

"And what if they hurt her while we're being smart?"

"We don't know that they will."

"We don't know that they won't."

Everett stepped closer. He put his hand on Adrian's shoulder. "We're going to find her. I promise. But we need to be alive to do it."

Adrian looked at him. His dark eyes were wet. He was trying not to cry. The same way he'd tried not to cry at his father's funeral. The same way he'd tried not to cry when his mother died.

Everett understood. He'd been trying not to cry his whole life.

"Okay," Adrian said. "We do it your way. For now."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just help me find her."

Everett nodded. "I will."

They left the apartment. They got in the car. They drove into the night.

The city stretched out before them. Neon and shadow. Beauty and blood.

Somewhere out there, Isadora was waiting. Somewhere out there, the truth was waiting.

And Everett Cross had made his choice.