Page 56 of Devil’s Azalea (Nightshades #3)
EMILIA
I spin around, fully prepared to leave the restaurant, anger at Katie finally piercing through my fog of pain. How dare she try to ambush me like this? I trusted her.
But as I move towards the entrance, my escape route is cut off. One of the other agents stands by the door, her hand hovering over her holster in silent threat .
Now, the empty restaurant makes sense.
They must have booked it out to perfect their ambush. The anger doesn’t just build—it erupts, volcanic and fierce, as I whirl back to face them. “What the actual fuck?” My words are aimed at the room, but my glare locks onto Katie’s guilty face.
“Why don’t you take a seat?” Stacey asks calmly. “We have a lot to discuss.”
For the first time since I walked into this nightmare, I look at her. And the ache in my heart becomes so sharp, so vicious, that I can’t breathe for a moment. All I can see is the cold, calculating look on her face as she shot my father.
Was she already planning her lies then? Already deciding to pin it on Rafael, knowing exactly how I felt about him ?
Perhaps he deserved to die , some hateful, broken part of me whispers. My dad was part of a kids’ organ trafficking ring. Not the hero I’ve spent my entire life believing he was. I never really knew him at all.
The realization shatters something inside me, something I didn’t even know was still whole. And somehow, that makes me relent.
I’m still angry and hurt as hell at Stacey, my nerves stripped raw and screaming. But maybe hearing her out isn’t the worst idea. Maybe there’s an explanation. Maybe Stacey had reasons for what she did, reasons that could justify the lies and manipulation.
Not that I even have a choice right now. I glance at the agent guarding the door. I could probably take her, but if Katie joins her to fight me—and she absolutely will if Stacey gives the order—I’m dead meat.
Stacey must think I’m seriously considering making a run for it, because she says, “If you leave now, you’ll be arrested along with Rafael and the rest of the Nightshades.”
I snap my gaze back to her, ice threading through my veins. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“About an hour ago, the Russians detonated bombs at four warehouses across four boroughs of NYC, targeting the Nightshades' multimillion-dollar stash of illegal weapons.”
“What?” My brain struggles to process this information.
“What does that have to do with them getting arrested? The Russians should be the ones behind bars for arson and destruction of property.” I take my phone out of my pocket, my hands shaking as I try to dial Rafael’s number, but Stacey isn’t finished destroying my world yet.
“And precisely thirty minutes after those explosions, while they were all distracted by the flames in their precious empire, I moved the final piece on my chessboard.” Her smile is razor- edged.
“I sent agents to arrest them, and this time, I’m holding them in custody until I get solid evidence.
I have warrants to search their houses.”
“Arrested on what grounds?” I take a step towards her, phone pressed to my ear as Rafael’s line rings. And rings. And rings…
“Do you hear that?” Stacey’s laugh is like nails on a chalkboard, and she directs her question to Katie, who keeps her head down in shame. “They’re the biggest criminals in New York. I can arrest them on any ground, and I know they’re probably guilty of it.”
Rafael doesn’t answer the call, and my stomach clenches, my heart sinking further. She can’t be telling the truth, right? She can’t be…
When I dial his number again, she gives my phone a dismissive glance. “He’s not going to answer. They’re all in our custody, and my agents are already turning their houses inside out for evidence—maybe even crimes we haven’t thought to indict them with yet.”
“You’re not going to find anything,” I spit. “I’m done here. Don’t ever contact me again. Either of you.” I turn around for the third time, fully committed to leave this time, no matter what bullshit she tries next.
“I hear you’ve been digging into the past, into what happened with your father, despite me explicitly telling you not to,” Stacey says.
My gaze snaps to Katie, shock rippling through me.
She still won’t meet my eyes, face fixed firmly to the table.
I don’t remember her exact words, but she did warn me about someone in the bureau spying on me, didn’t she?
So it was her all along? My breath snags in my throat, and that unbearable piercing pain from earlier comes crashing back, feeling a hundred times worse this time.
The blows just keep coming .
Has she been a spy for Stacey since the beginning? Is that why she befriended me? Was our friendship ever sincere?
“Want to know the full truth?” Stacey’s question yanks me from my spiral of betrayal and hurt. “Come sit down, and I’ll tell you.”
Something snaps inside me—some last thread of restraint that’s been holding me together.
“I already know the truth!” I stride towards her in quick, aggressive steps and slam my palm on the table right in front of her.
“ You killed my father and lied that Rafael did. I trusted you. I believed every word that came out of your mouth.” My voice breaks on the last words, and I’m horrified when my eyes start stinging, throat closing up tight.
No. Not now, not here. Not in front of her.
She doesn’t deserve to see me break down, doesn’t deserve to see my tears.
“So you know what Tomassi was doing during all those years we thought he was dead. I was equally shocked when I saw him there, and my finger slipped on the trigger.”
Finger slipped . Like it was an accident. Like she didn’t deliberately aim and fire.
“I don’t believe you.” I glare into her eyes, my rage a living thing inside me.
“Every time you open your mouth, it’s just more lies spilling out.
You’ve never been honest with me a day in your life.
Yes, my dad was involved in those unspeakable things, but what about you?
You didn’t have to lie about who killed him. ”
And I’m not convinced she didn’t know my dad was alive before she shot him. She not only lied about who killed him, she also lied that he was in witness protection. Some witness protection that turned out to be. I scoff.
“I did it for you!” She’s on her feet now, spittle flying.
“You had a bright, promising future. Finding out what your father was involved in would have destroyed you, so I kept quiet. And I knew that despite your protests to the contrary, you were developing feelings for that bastard Rafael. I couldn’t let you end up as some criminal’s trophy wife, so I told you he did it.
It was all for you! Fat lot of good that did.
Look at you now—Mrs. Moretti, after everything I sacrificed for you. ”
My chin snaps up so fast it’s a miracle I don’t get whiplash. I’m not ashamed of my husband. Not for one second. “After all the lies, you mean. You’re sick in the head. You need help.”
I start walking away, but something makes me stop and turn back one more time.
“And by the way, someone in the bureau has been trying to kill me. That better not be you, or I’ll make you regret the day you ever met me.
” I mean every word with every fiber of my being, and she must see it in my eyes because her face goes pale.
But I don’t wait for her response—she’ll only lie anyway.
This time when I stride towards the entrance, the agent by the door steps aside. I slip on my helmet, straddle my bike, and tear out of that parking lot in a cloud of dust and fury, making a beeline straight home.
The first sign that something is catastrophically wrong hits me at the abandoned entrance to the underground lot. I drive down the ramp and park my bike next to Rafael’s Rolls, my heart already hammering against my ribs. Pulling off my helmet, my eyes immediately go to the elevator.
Blood. A pool of it by the entrance, and drag marks stretching across the concrete before disappearing—probably when they tossed the bodies into vehicles.
My legs feel like water as I slide off the bike and march towards the elevator. The interior is just as bloody, and my foot bounces anxiously as I ride up.
The doors open to an empty foyer dotted with more blood. Fuck, what did they do? Storm in with gun blazing? That goes against every agency protocol in the book.
“Hello?! Rafael? Enzo?” I call out as I rush into the living area .
“They’re gone.” An Italian man slips out from behind the staircase, brown eyes wide. He looks vaguely familiar—I’ve seen him around a couple of times. What was his name again?
“Pierceson?”
“Pierre, ma’am.” He approaches slowly, cradling a blood-soaked arm against his chest.
I stare at his injury. He needs medical attention before he bleeds out, but first... “Tell me everything that happened here.”
And he does. Every horrifying detail.
He describes the sudden appearance of over a dozen armed men in civilian clothes, and how he and the others initially thought it was an ambush from the Russians or some other enemy until badges and a warrant got flashed in their faces.
They still refused to cooperate, and that’s when everything went to hell. The agents whipped out their guns and opened fire without warning.
They shot back in self-defense, and a full-scale gunfight erupted before one of the agents fired into the ceiling and shouted that they’d add ‘resisting arrest’ to the charges if the shooting didn’t stop immediately.
Only then did they become somewhat cooperative, allowing the agents to storm inside and tear the place apart.
By the time Rafael and Enzo returned, the damage was done. They were arrested along with the other men, and only Pierre got spared because he’d passed out on the floor from blood loss. And when he regained consciousness, everyone was gone.