Page 54 of Devil’s Azalea (Nightshades #3)

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks by way of greeting, pulling me into a side hug.

“I need to talk to you.”

“So you checked out my schedule online? Stalker.” He ruffles my hair the way an annoying big brother would, and I swat his hand away, studying him.

I still don’t understand what goes on in his head.

Why choose to defend criminals when he could use those same skills to exonerate the innocent?

His legal brilliance probably helped entrench the Nightshade's power even deeper in New York’s underground, because he has connections with the notorious gangsters and foot soldiers.

Still, he could have done anything else with his law degree.

In the briefing I got ten years ago, he was initially hesitant to join the Nightshades. What made him change his mind?

“What do you want to talk about?” He glances at his watch. “I have to be at the police station in less than an hour.”

I don’t bother asking what business he has there. Probably another one of his unsavory clients requiring his particular brand of legal magic.

“I want to know what happened ten years ago. I need to know, Rome. I’m going crazy running through all the different possibilities in my head.”

His green eyes sharpen, becoming alert and calculating. “Do you still think Rafael had something to do with that?”

I shake my head firmly. “I know he didn’t kill my dad. I also know all four of you were there that night, but he refuses to tell me what actually went down. I think he’s trying to protect me, but I don’t need protection. I need the truth. ”

“Careful what you ask for, sorellina .” His voice carries a warning that makes my spine stiffen. “Are you sure you can handle the truth?”

I pin him with my most withering glare. I’m a woman in my thirties, goddamn it. Not that sixteen-year-old girl I was when we met.

“Alright then, if you insist.” He raises both hands in surrender. “Tomassi was killed by one of the other agents. The woman who’s now the director, actually. Stacey, right?”

My heart stops beating, a cold chill sinking into my bones. “What?” I ask faintly.

“I remember that night vividly because I was the one who brought the kidnapping case up with the other guys. We had staked out that orphanage because Michael’s intel said the next child would be taken from there.

And it was true. We followed the kidnapper’s car, focused on tracking them back to their den when we should have saved the girl. ” He shakes his head regretfully.

“When we finally breached their hideout, there was your father—alive and apparently running the whole operation.”

I sway on my feet, and Romero grabs my arm to steady me. “Hey, you good?”

“Keep talking,” I force the words through numb lips.

He studies my face with obvious concern but continues his story without releasing my arm.

“The guys and I were shocked as hell seeing him back from the dead, but before we could do more than ask him what the hell he was doing, federal agents stormed in. I never knew how they got our location—Rafael never said, but it was you, wasn’t it? ” He glances down at me shrewdly.

I led them right to him.

“I–I–” Words fail me completely. I’m lost and confused and hurt and— “You’re sure Stacey killed my father?”

You went ahead and married the man who killed your father? Her accusation from two weeks ago rings in my head, taking on an entirely different meaning.

“I didn’t know who the hell she was back then.

Just that some agents recklessly threw a grenade into the building killing that poor young girl they were supposed to rescue, along with several of the men working with Tomassi.

Your father got trapped when a massive desk collapsed on top of him and couldn’t move.

Then a few agents rushed in, guns blazing.

The woman at the lead didn’t hesitate for even a second before shooting at your dad. ”

I suck in a ragged breath, blinking hard as hot tears blur everything.

“I thought for sure we were fucked,” Romero goes on quietly, “but Rafael—that crazy asshole—crawled across the floor to your father and tried to pull him free. Problem was, he’d been shot in the arm, so there wasn’t much he could do.

Whatever Tomassi whispered to him before he died saved our hides.

Though now looking back… I think Stacey deliberately let us escape so we could take the fall for that mess. ”

A lie. I was fed lies and–and– a sob breaks from my throat as I stare at the blurry courthouse. Romero curses and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a hug.

“Fuck, you’re cold as ice,” he mumbles. “Rafael is going to kill me.”

He starts reaching for his phone, but I grab his wrist. “No, don’t. Don’t call him, please.” My voice is surprisingly strong despite the tears still falling. “Don’t call him.”

“You can’t ride that death trap back to the penthouse in the state you’re in.”

“I’m not going back. Not yet. I just—I just need—” I take a shuddering breath. “You’re absolutely sure about what you’re saying?”

“I was right there when it happened,” he points out dryly.

“So yeah, I’m pretty sure. Tell you what—why don’t you call Michael?

When I spoke with him a few days ago, he mentioned finding some grainy footage of your father being killed.

I have no idea where he pulled it from, but you know Michael and his mysterious information sources. ”

I nod numbly and pull away from his embrace. Everything hurts—my throat, my nose, my heart, my stomach. It feels like someone reached inside me and rearranged all my organs. I wipe my face, glad that the tears have at least stopped for now.

“Thank you for being honest with me. I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my funeral once Rafael finds out what I’ve done.” He checks his watch again. “How about I drop you off at the penthouse on my way to the police station?”

I shake my head. “No. I need to call Michael. And then I need to be alone for a while.”

My phone starts ringing as I pull it from my pocket, and we both glance down at the caller ID. Rafael. Romero’s lips flatten. I end the call and dial Michael instead.

Romero hesitates, clearly wanting to say something else, but I’m already walking away. I don’t need my emotions analyzed right now.

“Emily,” Michael says as he answers the call.

I’ve never called him from this number before, but I’m not really surprised he has it. He’s the man that seems to know everything. “Rome mentioned the footage you have of the night my dad died,” I say without preamble. “I need you to send it to me.”

There’s a pregnant pause. “Shit. That asshole told you what happened that night, didn’t he?”

“Yes, and you’re going to send me that footage.”

Michael groans audibly. “Rafael is not going to be happy about this.”

Yes, well, I don’t give a shit about Rafael’s happiness right now. I’m questioning my entire fucking life. “Are you going to send it, or do I have to come to HartSphere and get it myself?”

He releases a put-upon sigh. “Just… make sure to tell Rafael that Romero spilled the beans, not me.”

The line goes dead, and within minutes, I receive a video file from him. My hand hovers over the download option, hesitating now that I have it. Watching this footage is going to change everything. Do I have the guts to do it?

I don’t have a choice. I need to see the truth with my own eyes.

I tap download and press play, watching in slow motion exactly what Romero described. Every horrific detail unfolds before my eyes.

Hearing that the woman who essentially raised you—the woman who became a second parent to you, the woman who swore up and down that the man you loved killed your father, the woman who set you on a path of revenge against that same man you loved, still love—was actually the one who pulled the trigger is one kind of heartbreak. But watching it happen?

That’s devastating beyond repair.

Like Romero said, the video is pretty grainy.

But there’s no mistaking what’s happening.

No mistaking the faces. The betrayal on Dad’s face after Stacey shot him.

The desperation on Rafael's as he crawled to my father despite his own injury. The calculated coldness on Stacey’s as she raised her hand to stop the agents from going after Rafael and the guys as they disappeared through a doorway.

I play it again. And again. Each time hoping the outcome will change, that it won’t be Stacey holding the smoking gun. But every time, it’s her. Reality doesn’t bend to desperate wishes.

The video blurs, then vanishes altogether. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision, but the tears still come. I thought I was all cried out. Fuck, what do I do? I can’t breathe, I can’t–

My phone rings in my trembling hand. Katie .

“Katie, I?—”

“I found the truth, Emily. I found everything. You need to see this.”

“Oh.” My voice is dull, flat. I want to ask how she found the truth, but I can’t force out more than that one word.

“You need to come meet me at Yellow Chilli,” she continues, naming our favorite restaurant. “I’ll tell you everything, and I have hard evidence that no one can refute.”

“What did you find?”

“This isn’t safe to discuss over the phone. You understand why, right? But it’s big, Em. Really big, I swear.”

Heavy-hearted, I agree to meet her at Yellow Chilli.

I honestly don’t know how I manage to navigate through the traffic on my bike with my head clouded by shock and grief.

Deep down, I know what she’s going to tell me won’t be any different from what I’ve already learned, but darned hope builds inside me anyway.

Maybe there was some kind of mistake. Maybe Stacey was trying to defend herself.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

I make it to Yellow Chilli and put my bike in park directly in front of the restaurant. I hesitate for long minutes, engine ticking as it cools before I can force myself to move. The tightness in my chest feels like it might crush my ribs. Breathing has never required this much conscious effort.

The first thing that registers when I step inside is the complete emptiness of the restaurant.

Yellow Chilli is always packed with customers. Always. The silence feels ominous and wrong. My gaze finds Katie waving at me from a corner booth, and the guilt written across her face makes my stomach plummet.

Then my gaze drops to the woman next to her. Stacey .

Did Katie set me up?