Page 130 of Devil's Azalea

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 confidenceradiating 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.

45

EMILIA

“You all probably remember me. I’m Emilia Azalea Moretti—wife to Rafael Moretti, and a former FBI agent.”

My voice comes out strong and clear. I’m actually proud of how steady it sounds because inside, I’m completely falling apart. My heart aches so badly it feels like it’s splitting in my chest, so tightly bound since yesterday I can hardly remember what it’s like to breathe without pain.

I’ve been teetering on the edge of an anxiety attack since the moment I scheduled this conference, and these camera flashes are drilling into my skull, pushing me closer to the breaking point.