Page 37 of Devil’s Azalea (Nightshades #3)
EMILIA
Word has gotten to me that now that the Russians are no longer supporting the Nightshades, the Albanians have stepped in to pick up the slack.
My intel confirms that Roan Permetti is the Nightshades’ new supplier for arms, using his import company as a front.
I want you to stop them. I don’t care how you do it.
I want the Nightshades as isolated as possible, so taking down the Albanians is absolutely necessary.
I don’t need them in custody. So you can use your little poison.
The cab jerks over a pothole, yanking me back to the present. I’m still reeling. How did she know I used my azaleas for poisoning during some of my missions?
It’s Stacey, I remind myself, fingers digging into my thighs. Of course she knew .
But why has she never brought it up with me before?
And going after the Albanians like this—not arresting them, not building a case, but eliminating them?
The image of the redhead woman I kidnapped last year pops up in my mind, followed immediately by Maximo’s face—his expression contorted with rage and betrayal.
No . Absolutely not. Arresting them for their crimes is one thing.
But trying to kill them? Not trying… actually killing them? Maximo would never forgive me.
“Miss? Miss? We’re here.”
I glance up with a start to see the driver frowning at me through the rearview mirror. “Sorry,” I mutter, handing him a wad of bills before scooting out of the vehicle.
A couple of kids skip past me on the sidewalk, belting out Christmas carols at the top of their lungs, and I scowl at their retreating backs.
When did it get so close to Christmas? I shake my head and make my way into the warm interior of my apartment building, desperate to escape the festive atmosphere that seems to mock my state of mind.
The doorman is engrossed in a phone call, so he just nods in acknowledgement. I return the gesture, deliberately averting my eyes from the shining tree in the lobby as I get into the elevator.
“Hey! Why didn’t you wait for me before leaving the office?” I shout into the apartment as I go in. Katie’s bedroom door opens and she pokes her head out.
“You know how long your meetings with Stacey usually run? I was famished after the long night we’ve had,” she answers as she walks into the living area, her eyes tracking my movements with unusual intensity.
“What?” I shrug off my jacket, suddenly self-conscious. One hand flies to my face. “Do I have some snow on me or something?”
“You’re just… taking it really well, is all,” she says carefully. “I almost lost my shit when I heard the news and was sure you’d actually flip out.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I frown at her. “What news?” Does she know about my new mission already? About what Stacey asked me to do?
Her eyes widen, the lights playing prettily with her blue irises. “Oh... oh shit. You haven’t heard? Didn’t you just come from the office?”
“Spit it out already, Katherine.” I grit my teeth, intentionally using her full name.
She presses her lips together, her face scrunching up like she’s about to deliver a fatal blow. “The guy we saw with Jason Moore at that restaurant is none other than Sergey Volkov, the pakhan of the Russian Bratva.”
My heart does a quick thud. I had suspected, of course, but for it to actually be true… “Shit. That’s a hell of a jackpot.” No wonder Stacey was so impressed with me and either didn’t notice or chose to ignore my slipping symptoms.
“He was released,” Katie adds, cutting off my momentary triumph.
My jaw drops, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at her in stunned silence. “What?”
She nods slowly. “So was Jason.”
“So was Jason what ?” There’s no way. No fucking way he was released—not with how Greg had been riding my ass about getting him.
Katie’s lips thin. “Well, technically he’s still in custody, but the release papers are already signed. He’ll be out in the morning.”
“Fuck!” I punch the back of the couch in a burst of anger.
All that work—almost getting caught the night of the ballet performance, almost fucking getting shot at that restaurant—for nothing? I might have lost my goddamn life if Rafael hadn’t been there two nights ago. And for what? For those two criminals to just be fucking released?
My blood boils so hot I swear I can feel it searing through my veins, and my entire body starts shaking as tears of frustration gather at the corners of my eyes. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck .
“Emilia, you need to calm down. Deep breathes in.” Katie’s voice sounds distant, muffled by the roaring in my ears .
I whirl away from her and her reasonable voice, squeezing my eyes shut as I struggle to contain the volcanic fury threatening to erupt. “Who gave the order?”
“I–I’m not sure, but the rumors are that it came from the director or someone higher. You know Greg doesn’t have that sort of authority.”
Someone higher? The director is the fucking highest authority in the bureau, answerable only to the attorney general. But it couldn’t have been Stacey. It couldn’t have.
She’s the one most obsessed with bringing down the Nightshades—with destroying Rafael specifically. She wants his entire camp destabilized and stripped of allies. That’s why we went after the fucking councilor in the first place.
“Stacey didn’t mention anything to you?”
No, she fucking didn’t.
Surely Stacey wasn’t aware or she would have told me.
Right? But she’s the director—that sort of decision wouldn’t be able to go through without her explicit permission.
There’s no denying she knew while I was sitting right there in her office, mere inches from her, discussing my next fucking mission.
So why didn’t she tell me? Was it her goal to make me feel blindsided?
A stinging sense of betrayal settles at the base of my spine.
“No. She gave me a new mission instead.” A mission I don’t fucking want. And what would be the point anyway? If I poison the Albanians like she asked… what then? Would I take the fall for it when she or whoever she’s getting orders from changes their mind again?
Fuck.
I blow out a breath as I open my eyes, my gaze landing unerringly on my azaleas. No. I’m not going to do it.
My mind flashes to Rafael’s coat, still tucked away in my closet… then to the car ride earlier tonight… followed by his words in the supermarket the other night :
Because it’s you, Emilia.
It feels like that moment happened a lifetime ago now.
I know he’d never forgive me this time if I go ahead with Stacey’s orders.
Hell, I would never forgive myself. The Albanians are far from innocent, but they have no dog in this fight.
And if I’m to take them down, it will be through legal means, not by sneakily poisoning them.
The people I use my azaleas for are the absolute scum of the earth, the bottom-feeding monsters of the criminal world.
“A new mission? What’s our new assignment?” Katie’s voice breaks through my thoughts.
I turn to face her again, watching her expression carefully. “Killing the Permetis.”
Her jaw drops. “Holy fuck. What?”
We’ve never been explicitly told to kill anyone before. It’s always an arrest, and if one or two people died along the way… well, it couldn’t be helped. But an actual kill order? Never. What changed this time?
It can’t just be because they’re allies with the Nightshades. There’s something more I’m not seeing.
“Fuck.” Katie presses her index and middle finger to her temple, as if trying to physically hold her thoughts in place.
“This day has been one fucking train wreck after the other. I need to sleep.” And without another word, she turns on her heel and stalks back to her room, slamming the door behind her.
I stare at the closed door for a moment, a small smile playing at the corner of my lips despite the situation. Classic Katie.
Maybe I should try to get some sleep too. But I doubt I’d drift off easily after today’s events. It’s been one emotional rollercoaster after another, topped off with too many unanswered questions crowding my head and unresolved anger with nowhere to direct it .
I briefly consider calling Stacey, but she’s probably on her jet back to Virginia by now. And even if she weren’t, my emotions are too raw, too close to the surface. I might say something I shouldn’t.
So instead, I head to my room and grab my bike keys. A refreshing ride is probably the only thing that could wind me down enough to even think about sleep.