Page 59 of Devil’s Azalea (Nightshades #3)
RAFAEL
I believed her.
I believed her even before Stefano, the man guarding and watching her, came to see me and told me where she was after she met with Romero. He watched her outside that restaurant, and her interaction with Stacey and Katie looked everything but friendly.
I believed her even before Marco, the head of my legal team, came to me about my wife working with him on my release.
But she never comes back to see me. Too busy in a meeting with Katie that has me more worried than suspicious.
I spend a restless night in the holding cell. Every minute crawls by while Emilia’s words replay in my head on an endless loop.
I love you.
She loves me? She loves me.
She said it. Actually said it. My heart thunders wildly, pounding in rhythm with those three words.
My wife—the woman I've been obsessed with, dreamed about, craved for half my goddamn life—confessed she loved me.
And I couldn't even tell her I loved her back.
Just the mere thought of it right now paralyzes the muscles in my throat. Not because I don’t love her—Christ, I love her so much it physically hurts—but because the words are so… heavy.
How could she say them so easily? How did she just open her mouth and let her heart spill out without choking on the magnitude of it?
I pace the length of the cell for the umpteenth time, feeling like a caged animal.
None of my lawyers have checked in all night—presumably too busy working to get me out of here.
And then, as if summoned by my impatience, Marco appears at the cell door, grinning like he just won the lottery, brandishing a document above his head.
“You’re a free man, Rafael. Time to get the hell out of here!”
I snatch the release papers from his hands, scanning the legal jargon with the paranoia of a man who’s learned never to trust good news. But it’s real. It’s fucking real. My shoulders relax, my first thought going to Emilia. Where is she right now?
“Good job. You finally proved yourself worthy of the money I pay you,” I mutter, shrugging into my jacket.
Marco actually laughs. “I wish I could take the credit, but your wife—” He shakes his head like he still can’t believe it.
“Rafael, she’s something else. After Romero sent his lawyer to us to point us in the right direction, your wife took over like she was possessed.
She’s one incredible woman, Rafael—truly, you’re lucky to have her in your corner. ”
My throat closes up, and I rub a hand absently over my aching heart. “What are you talking about?”
“Apparently, when she got back to your apartment, she had one of your men recover the wiped footage and discovered the FBI agents had broken more than a few laws during their little raid. She saw everything they did wrong—stuff I might have found eventually, maybe later today if I was lucky. She got the footage on a flash drive and came straight here demanding justice.”
The ache in my chest spreads, becoming something bigger and more painful. “And?”
“She listed off several misconducts and violations. I filed the complaints, and she had them expedited to the right judge. She wouldn’t rest until the release papers were signed.
You, your men, everyone—free as birds. And with what she has up her sleeves, I doubt the FBI will be bothering you anytime soon. ”
The pain in my chest transforms into something else entirely. Pride mixed with terror. What does she have up her sleeves? “Where is she?” I ask hoarsely.
“She’s at the Black Diamond hotel. Has a press conference scheduled for 9 AM.”
What? “What time is it?”
“8:45 AM and?—”
I’m already moving, pushing past him out of the holding cell, my legs carrying me faster than my brain can process. What press conference? What the hell is Emilia up to?
My men are waiting outside, and I tilt my head at Enzo, eyeing him for a moment. He doesn’t look half bad for a man who spent the last twelve hours in federal custody.
“Is the car outside?”
He nods, handing me my phone. “Ready when you are.”
Together we stride out of the FBI office, agent eyes boring holes in our backs. Let them stare. They just got schooled by my wife .
“Good morning, Rafael. You’re becoming quite the regular guest of our friends in the bureau,” Alfred jokes as I slide into the backseat, but humor is the last thing on my mind right now .
“Yeah,” I answer distractedly as I turn my phone on. “Take me to the Black Diamond. Fast .”
The screen lights up, buzzing with a flood of notifications. I don’t have to search—the articles are already waiting. I’ve had an alert for Emilia’s name since the day I met her, just so I’d always know when she made the news.
Half the notifications are links to coverage about a press conference happening in—I check the time—six minutes.
“Faster, Alfred,” I say as I skim the articles. But none of them say anything real. Just reworded clickbait about how fascinating it is that hours after my arrest—and minutes after my release—the former FBI agent is holding an ‘expose all’ press conference.
“What are you thinking, amorina ?” I murmur under my breath.
Stacey has been trying to kill her, and if my hunch is right—if the exposé Emilia is about to give is on the FBI director—then she won’t take it lightly.
Why the hell is Emilia putting herself in the direct line of fire?
But even as the question pops up in my head, I already have the answer. She’s doing it for herself. Maybe a little for me, but mostly because she needs it.
I lock my phone and look over at Enzo. “Reach out to as many of our men as you can. Have them assemble at the Black Diamond.”
Fuck, I still don’t know the exact number of casualties we had yesterday. I need to visit each family personally, set up a lifelong fund for them. It’s the least I can do after the way the men so bravely sacrificed their lives for me.
“Tell them to move fast,” I add as Alfred pulls up in front of the hotel that’s teeming with reporters. Fucking hell . The second I step out of the car, they descend like vultures, shoving microphones in my face, their questions overlapping into meaningless noise .
“How did you get out of custody so quickly?”
“This is the second time you’ve been arrested and released—is the bureau losing its grip or are you really innocent?”
“What exposé are we getting from Emily today?”
“Can you tell us something?!”
I ignore their frantic questions as the hotel security rushes over, parting the sea of reporters and pushing them aside to create a path. I stride through the rolling doors, and their rabid voices dull behind the thick glass.
The lobby is packed too—more reporters—but these look more civilized. Their cameras flash from a distance, but none of them approach me. Someone must have laid down strict rules before letting them in.
“Where’s the press conference being held?” I ask Harold, the head of hotel security.
“The Emerald conference room.”
Of course. How fitting that she’s having her moment in the same space where I put my men in their place before the wedding.
We stroll there, and I step into the room just as the final preparations are underway.
The conference room has been transformed into a media arena.
The tables and chairs are gone, cleared away to create space for the dozen or so reporters setting up their cameras and mics in front of a makeshift stage.
A podium stands there, bristling with microphones labeled with the names of nearly every major news channel.
They all turn as I enter. Curious murmurs ripple through the crowd. A few even start towards me, but before they reach me, the second door to the conference room opens and Emilia steps in, commanding every attention in the room.
The room falls silent.
She’s wearing another one of those power suits that make her look like she could conquer nations, and the confidence radiating from her is intoxicating.
Her eyes bounce around the room as she walks towards the stage, and when those luminous honey depths find mine across the chaos, the world narrows to just us.
Her words echo in my head: I love you.
And despite the seriousness of the situation, despite the cameras and the crowd and the fucking danger she’s walking into, my cock hardens in my pants.
I want her to whisper it in my ears while I’m fucking her brains out.
I adjust my stance, willing the filthy thought away. Now’s not the time, asshole .
She comes to a stop in front of the podium, and when she leans into the mics, every camera in the room comes alive. “Hello, everyone. Welcome to my live conference. I appreciate you all for coming on such short notice.”
The flashes intensify, and I winch. How is she keeping her composure with that assault of light? I take an instinctive step forward, ready to shield her from it, but a hand on my arm stops me. I glance back to see Enzo shaking his head.
“Let her have her moment,” he whispers. And he’s fucking right.
If I join her on that stage, it will become about me, about my relationship with her. This is her show, her truth, her power.
So with clenched fists, I step back and let her do her thing.