Page 2 of Devil’s Azalea (Nightshades #3)

EMILIA

Present day…

“Slap them with every crime they've ever committed. Money laundering. Embezzlement. Murder. Torture. Assault. Anything you can think of, they’ve done it,” my supervisor barks into the phone.

Though he can’t see me, I nod reflexively, my eyes tracking my colleagues as they methodically sweep through the nightclub—now empty, except for its employees who are watching us like hawks, some even trailing my agents upstairs.

Do they seriously think we’re going to plant evidence? What do they take us for—corrupt cops from some B-grade movie?

“Not everything will stick,” my supervisor continues, “but while they scramble around to protect themselves and their assets, we might dig up enough damning evidence to lock them all in prison where they belong.”

“Yes sir,” I answer, and he ends the call. Slipping my phone into my pocket, I allow myself a moment to slowly glance around the club.

It’s pretty—objectively speaking. And yeah, I can be objectively proud of what Rafael has accomplished here… even as I work to destroy it all and take away his freedom.

I weave through the plush lounge chairs and intimate booths towards the glass stairs at the very back of the vast club. Eyes follow me the entire way—I can feel them burning into my back. A subtle glance confirms the manager glaring daggers at me as he trails behind me like an angry shadow.

I shake my head in exasperation but keep walking. He’s not worth my energy right now. My hand floats above the glass railing as I climb the stairs, careful not to make contact with it. Pretty as it might be, who knows how many germs are lurking on that seemingly spotless surface?

At the top, I turn to face the manager hovering behind me. “Where’s Rafael Moretti’s office?” I ask sweetly.

I know where it is. I’ve studied the blueprint of this place so many times before this raid that I have the whole building etched into my brain.

But I want to engage him, see if I can get him to crack and reveal something useful. I tilt my head and lift a hand to twirl a strand of hair around my finger, offering him my most charming smile.

His lips part slightly and he blinks at me, momentarily stupefied. Then he seems to remember himself. Shaking off the spell I tried to cast, he provides an indignant harrumph, spins on his heel and marches back down the stairs.

Whatever. At least I’ve lost my unwanted shadow.

I drop my hair and my act simultaneously, turning right and walking straight down the hallway past several open doors where my agents are busy stuffing evidence into boxes. We’ll sift through it all meticulously when we’re back at the base.

Stopping at the second-to-last door, I ignore the black panel demanding fingerprint authentication. It’s already cracked open, and when I push it wider, I see why—Katherine is inside, rifling through papers.

She glances up, barely acknowledging me as she drops a few folders into the box on the table. “These guys are fucking cunny. You think they got tipped about our raid?”

“No.” I shake my head as I step into the office, closing the door behind me.

And then it hits me—the scent. His scent.

The familiar, warm cologne lingering in the air wraps around me in soft tendrils, and for a second, I freeze as memories come crashing in.

Rafael Moretti has been a lot of things to me over the years.

First, he was my savior—the man who pulled me from the wreckage of my life when I was too young, too broken to save myself.

Then, he was my lover—intense, consuming, the man I almost married.

Later, he became my enemy—the man responsible for my father’s death, the criminal I swore to bring to justice no matter the cost.

And now? Now he’s the ghost that haunts me, the ache I can’t seem to soothe no matter how many years pass.

I expel a harsh breath and hold it for a moment, as if oxygen deprivation might somehow keep the memories at bay. Focus, Emily. You’re here to do a job.

“You sure?” Katie shoots a glare around the office, oblivious to my internal struggle. “This place is too disgustingly clean. I smell foul play.”

“The raid was too sudden for them to get tipped,” I tell her, finally trusting myself to speak. Neither I nor the other agents knew we were going to raid the Nightshades until an hour ago. That’s how under wraps the operation was.

So unless they have a mole feeding them intel from the upper ranks of the bureau, I doubt they saw it coming. They’re just really smart, meticulous criminals who know how to cover their tracks.

I push down the errant pride that fills me at that thought. It doesn’t matter what we once were to each other; we’re now on opposite sides of the law.

There’s a light knock on the door before it opens, and Agent Matt Powell sticks his head in. “We’re done with all the offices, Agent Rossi,” he informs me with that eager-to-please look that always makes me uncomfortable.

I exchange a glance with Katie, who nods and closes the box, lifting it to her chest.

Turning back to Matt, I say, “We’re done here too. Be right out.” He gives me a playful salute and leaves.

Katie smirks as she sidles up to me, her voice singsongy. “He liiikes you.”

“Shut the hell up,” I growl, spinning away from her and leaving the office ahead of her. Only when I’m halfway down the hallway do I feel like I can breathe again. Damn Rafael—and damn me for letting him keep me in such a hold.

Maybe I should just fuck Matt.

But I dismiss the thought almost as soon as it pops up. Even if I did return Matt’s so-called feelings—which I don’t—I’m not about to break my rule and have a thing with a colleague. That kind of thing gets messy fast.

I descend the stairs towards the main floor, where my agents are all waiting for me with their evidence boxes. As I scan the room one last time, the manager meets my gaze and immediately turns his nose up.

Silly man. I shake my head as I lead my people outside.

The second I step into the freezing late-November air, a trio of AMG Mercedes with blacked-out windows pulls up to the parking lot across from the club. My heart trips over itself, belly tightening instinctively as I watch the vehicles park .

“Ohh, fancy,” Katie murmurs next to me, handing her box to another agent who loads it into one of our cars. But I can’t take my eyes off those sleek, intimidating vehicles.

The doors open, and several men with tailored suits step out—packing heat under those expensive fabrics, no doubt. One of them opens the back door of the last car, and my lungs fucking seize when one shiny, black loafer hits the pavement, followed by another.

A tall figure unfolds himself from the expensive vehicle, towering at least three inches over the other men. He adjusts his jacket, but there’s really not a single wrinkle in sight on the damned thing.

Then he turns his head. Like he knows . Like my stare reached across the pavement and gave him a little tap on the shoulder. And when our gazes meet, a jolt shoots straight down my spine.

Rafael .

Katie whistles softly. “With a face like that, no wonder he’s gotten away with so much shit.”

She’s not wrong. Rafael Moretti is devastating in his beauty.

But it’s not just his face. His suit jacket stretches lovingly across the broad expanse of his shoulders, the pants hugging his thick thighs in a way that makes it impossible not to notice.

He rounds the car with that slow, confident stride, his entourage of men right on his heels.

From my peripheral—because I still can’t fucking take my eyes off him—I catch my agents shifting into a protective shield formation at my back.

My heart hammers wildly, palms sweating, belly quivering, and my mouth goes desert-dry like I’m some lovesick schoolgirl with a fucking crush. I haven’t seen him in person in over a year. Not since that time in the alley after I got disciplined for my rash actions with Maximo and his wife .

That moment when I temporarily surrendered my better judgment and gave in to raw, desperate craving.

Even now, I drink him in greedily, my eyes unsure where to settle because he’s just so fucking gorgeous, damn him to hell. The bastard always leaves me feeling fucking arrested in his presence.

As he gets within a few feet, the scent that had me holding my breath back in his office assails me with full force. It’s so much more intense in person, and my eyes flutter shut before I can stop myself, my head spinning so violently I swear I almost sway.

Shit. Did I?

No—no, no, I stood still. I think I stood still. God, if Katie saw that, I’d never hear the end of it. And if he saw…

I quickly force my eyes open, praying no one noticed my momentary weakness.

And then his beautiful chrome eyes snag mine, and suddenly time grinds to a halt. The noise fades, and the world falls away until there’s nothing but him and me and the live wire of a current that’s never stopped sparking between us.

Rafael and me. Always this. Always fucking this.

Me. Rafael.

My Rafael.

We stare across the chaos, the distance, the years. And for a second, I wonder—is he drowning in the same emotional hurricane that’s devasting me? Is he remembering our past? The promises we made? The night it all went to hell?

Or am I the only idiot still haunted by a ghost with a heartbeat?

A sharp tug at the back of my jacket snaps me out of my trance.

I blink, like I’ve surfaced from underwater, and suddenly the world crashes back in—horns blaring, people shouting, Manhattan rush hour roaring at full volume.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Katie lowering her hand, her eyes flicking between me and Rafael.

Katie. Right. Right. Focus.

“ Emilia .”

Just one word, and my brain short-circuits.

Fuck, I’ve always loved the way he says my name.

Low and velvet-smooth, like a secret meant only for me.

Like he’s tasting it. Like he still owns it.

Like—oh my God, fucking pull yourself together already, Emily.

He’s a criminal , and you’re a federal agent. You’re supposed to hate him.

I tilt my chin up to look down my nose at him. Not an easy task to accomplish with someone almost a foot taller, but I manage it through sheer force of will. “Rafael,” I reply, infusing my tone with all the disdain I can muster, which, given the circumstances, isn’t nearly as much as I’d like.

The corner of the bastard’s lips curls up in a ghost of a smile. “You could have chosen any other darned day for this. Why this beautiful holiday, piccola ?”

My heart aches at hearing him call me that damned nickname in that soft, familiar way, and I scowl, hating that he still has the power to affect me so profoundly after everything that’s happened between us.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” I snarl, raising a hand to jab at his chest. Guns pop out in an instant—his men aiming at us, and Katie and the other agents drawing theirs in response.

One wrong move and this could turn into a bloodbath right here on a Manhattan street.

Yet I don’t let that stop me. I jab my finger hard against his solid chest, ignoring the tension. “I’m going to get you, Rafael. Maybe even right now, because your men pointing their guns at federal agents counts as obstruction of justice. A federal crime.”

Rafael smirks—that infuriating, sexy smirk that used to make me want to either slap him or kiss him senseless—and covers my finger with his hand.

Electric tingles shoot down my spine as he presses it to his chest, right over the steady beating of his heart.

With his other hand, he gives a lazy wave to his men, who lower their guns immediately, though their eyes remain vigilant.

“You didn’t find what you were looking for then? ”

With a glower, I try to yank my finger from his grip, but he doesn’t let go. Not right away. For one breathless moment, my pulse skyrockets at the thought that he might not. That he’ll tighten his hold, drag me closer, say something reckless, and ruin us both.

Instead, his thumb rolls over my finger in a slow, maddening caress that lights a fuse low in my stomach. I hate it. Goddammit, I hate it so much.

My brain is screaming that I should rip my hand back or kick him right where it hurts—anything but just stand here like some dumbass frozen in his heat.

And still, I don’t move.

Then, as if satisfied, he finally releases me, and I have to lock my spine rigid to suppress the shudder threatening to crawl through me.

Bastard.

To prove a point—to him or myself, I’m not sure—I wipe my finger down my pants as I say, “This isn’t over, so get that smirk off your face, stronzo .”

His goddamn smirk only widens, which makes my glare sharpen into something near murderous. I maintain aggressive eye contact while backing away towards my car, my agents moving with me in perfect formation.

Only when I slide into the driver’s seat—finally looking away from him—do they disperse to their own cars.

Katie slips into the passenger seat next to me. “You good?”

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” I growl, jamming the key into the ignition. But fuck, the conviction doesn’t land as strong as it used to, and I hate it. I hate it, hate it, hate it .

He’s fucking wormed his way into my head with his constant hovering and interference in my life, and now his presence is making me doubt myself and my revenge. I push those doubts down ruthlessly, burying them beneath years of rage and pain.

“I am going to kill him,” I repeat with more force this time.

He’s not the Rafael I fell for ten years ago. Not anymore. That man is gone. What’s left is the monster who fucking murdered my father and has piled atrocity upon atrocity since then.

No matter what my treacherous heart might want, there’s only one way this can end: with Rafael Moretti behind bars—or in the ground.

And I’ll be the one to put him there, even if it kills me too.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.