Page 40 of Devil’s Azalea (Nightshades #3)
EMILIA
I bolt upright, then immediately regret the sudden movement as the entire room tilts sideways and starts spinning. My stomach lurches in protest.
That fifth glass of wine at five in the morning was a spectacularly horrible idea, wasn’t it? But after riding my bike around the city, trying to outrun my thoughts, I still couldn’t quiet the chaos in my head. Alcohol was the only thing that finally knocked me out.
Getting drunk always works. Shuts my brain off completely, makes me sleep like the dead. Though right now, I’m questioning whether feeling like the dead was worth it…
The moment my feet hit the floor, the reason I couldn’t sleep comes flooding right back into my brain. I stumble to my sink and splash cool water on my face, trying to shock some clarity into my pounding skull .
I wish I could dig into Stacey’s head and see what she’s thinking.
Normally, her not telling me about Sergey’s release wouldn’t be a red flag.
Directors have a lot of moving pieces to manage, and not every development makes it to every agent.
But combined with her ordering—no, more like threatening —me to stop digging into my father’s case, then casually ordering me to commit murder like she was asking me to pick up coffee?
Yeah, that’s a whole fucking red parade waving in my face.
And it only makes my already shaky trust in her crack further.
I’ve heard of power corrupting people, changing them into something unrecognizable. Is that what’s happening with her right now? Or is it something even more sinister? Like her true colors finally bleeding through?
I shake my head as I grab my toothbrush and start brushing my teeth with more aggression than necessary. My bathroom door is suddenly yanked open without so much as a knock, and I jump hard enough to nearly choke on toothpaste foam.
“So, I’ve been thinking.” Katie barges in, arms crossed over her chest with that determined expression I know means trouble. “We’ve worked our asses off this week, even if the results sucked. I think we’ve earned a little treat. Don’t you agree?”
I blink at her reflection in the mirror, then spit out the paste. “Do you have no respect for boundaries?” It’s a silly question—of course she doesn’t. Especially not when she thinks I’m still upset from last night. Which, obviously, I am.
She ignores my question. “How about a shopping spree? Nothing too extravagant, of course—we’re still government workers, after all.”
“Can I take a rain check?” I rinse my toothbrush and return it to its holder.
“For when?” she demands, planting her hands on her hips.
“This evening. I have something to do in Queens.” The decision crystallizes in my mind as I say it, surprising even me with its certainty.
She’s practically vibrating with curiosity—I can read it in every line of her body language. I half-expect her to demand details about what exactly I’m planning to do in Queens.
But surprisingly, she doesn’t.
“Fine. You have until 5 PM. Do not be late,” she grumbles and spins away from me with clear reluctance.
My impromptu decision starts to feel more and more like the right one as I jump into the shower, and I nod to myself, convinced I’m doing the right thing. I should probably reach out to him first, but I don’t have a way to contact him directly. I do , however, know where he lives and works.
My heart starts pounding as I get dressed. I haven’t seen him up close in over a year—and our last meeting was… hostile, to put it lightly. My fault entirely. I accept that.
I pull my hair into a high ponytail and shrug on my leather jacket, checking my reflection one last time. Time to face the music.
When I walk through the living room, Katie is nowhere in sight, which is a little surprising. “I’m leaving!” I call out, making my way to her room. I push the door open and find her getting dressed. “Where are you off to?”
“Out.”
One word. Katie, who usually gives her entire itinerary unsolicited, just says ‘out’. I briefly consider pressing her for details, but if I succeed, she’ll expect me to spill about Queens. And I want to keep that to myself for now. So I let it slide.
“Alright, well, have fun.” I hesitate in her doorway for a moment, then leave. That was definitely weird. But then again, everything feels weird lately.
I shake off my friend’s strange behavior as I get into the elevator, descending swiftly towards the lobby. The generic, mind-numbing elevator music has been replaced with Christmas carols, and I groan at the reminder that the darned holiday is now only a few days away.
How did time slip by so fast? It feels like yesterday I was investigating Jason Moore for the first time, and now everything’s gone to hell.
I don’t hate Christmas. I’m indifferent to it—I try to remind myself. But as the elevator hits the lobby, I still can’t get out fast enough, practically scurrying through the doors and out of the building.
Outside, it’s freezing, and tiny snowflakes are drifting down from the gray sky. My breath comes out in puffs of cloudy air, and I glare up at the weather in disgruntlement. Really? Snow? Now ?
Maybe I should take this as a sign not to go through with my plan. But I can be a stubborn fucker when I set my mind to something. If anything, the snow just makes me more determined to go faster.
I pull my helmet on, straddle my bike, and turn the ignition.
The forty-minute ride to Queens is brutal.
By the time I slow my bike across the street from the four-story brick building that’s my destination, my teeth are chattering and I can’t feel my fingers.
But my timing is perfect, because I’m just in time to see my target walk out of the building and get into the back of one of three cars parked at the curb.
A little over half a dozen men split themselves between the remaining vehicles. After a minute, the convoy starts moving. Here we go. I rev my engine and tail them at a safe distance, keeping several cars between us to avoid landing on their radar.
We weave through the colorful streets of downtown Queens until the lead car makes a turn onto a side street. I hold back for a few seconds, then ease around the corner after them.
They have stopped in front of a small Italian restaurant, and the men are walking inside. I reverse my bike and drive a block down, parking in front of a theater before making my way back towards the restaurant on foot.
A faint smile crosses my lips as I read the name: Mughetto.
Next to it is the pretty image of a lily of the valley—one of the four flowers that’s come to mean a lot to the Nightshades.
And to me too, if I’m being completely honest, since I have a small variant of their shared tattoo design hidden on my body.
A reminder of what I used to mean to them. What I threw away…
I don’t need to be told the restaurant belongs to Maximo to know it’s his. The whole place practically radiates his particular brand. I take a deep breath and pull the door open, fully aware I’m walking straight into enemy territory with no backup and no real plan.
Every pair of eyes snaps to me the moment I step inside.
Maximo’s men leap to their feet, their hands moving instinctively to their concealed weapons. None of them look particularly surprised to see me, which means I was probably detected despite being so careful.
“Well, well, well,” Maximo drawls from his seat. “What do we have here?” He’s leaning back, completely relaxed—the only person in the restaurant still sitting down.
His words and posture are in no way welcoming, but it’s not the caustic anger I was expecting. Still, I hesitate at the threshold, suddenly unsure of my brilliant plan.
Well, too late to back out now.
Maximo waves at his men, and they reluctantly take their seats, though they keep their gazes locked on me like I might whip out a gun and start shooting at any moment. My old friend makes a show of looking behind me. “Where are the others? Don’t tell me you came all the way here alone .”
I stiffen my spine and let go of the door handle, walking deeper into the restaurant that’s filled with only Maximo and his men, not stopping until I’m standing right in front of his table. “Are you going to invite me to sit down?”
He studies me, dark eyes cool and distant. “What are you doing here, Emily?”
I take the seat across from him regardless. “I have a warning for you.”
“Ah, here to dish out threats, then? Let me save you some time, sweetheart—I’m not going to treat you with kid gloves like Rafael does. I’m not in love with you.”
“Rafael is not in–” I inhale sharply, shaking my head. I’m not here to get into an argument with him about how Rafael feels about me. “I’m not trying to threaten you. My warning is sincere. I–I–” The words stick to the back of my throat.
This is the moment of truth, the point of no return. Once I let these words spill out, there’s no taking them back. No pretending I’m still the good little federal agent following orders without question.
He watches me without a hint of softness, and my insides shrivel with fear.
I caused this animosity between us. If I want it to end, I’ll have to sacrifice something. My job. My loyalty to my mentor. My honor.
“I’ve been ordered to take out the Albanians,” I force out. “The Permetis, specifically,” I clarify so he understands me fully. His expression doesn’t change. “Someone wants you guys isolated, cut off from all your allies. And for some reason, the Permetis are their target.”
“Would that someone be the new director of the bureau?” he asks cynically, and I clamp up immediately. I’ve already said more than I should. I’m not going to carry out the order, but that doesn’t mean someone else won’t. So I needed to warn him so they can be prepared.
I get to my feet wordlessly, suddenly needing distance, air, anything but the weight of his stare .
“Is that why you came to see me?” Maximo asks, and when I glance back, his expression has shifted—not soft, exactly, but less stone-cold than when I first walked in.