Page 132 of Devil's Azalea

“So she made a deal with my father. He’d stay embedded with the Russians, and she would help them stay out of jail… and find the kind of victims no one would notice were missing. In exchange, she demanded payment.”

My chest tightens as I approach the most painful part. “My father agreed, but he wanted something else from the arrangement. He… he wanted her to find me and take care of me. He figured I would’ve already moved on from his death and didn’t want to disrupt my healing process by suddenly reappearing. But he needed to know I was taken care of—that my life was set.”

That night at the diner. That fucking night when Stacey came to see me.It was my father orchestrating it all along. Why couldn’t he have just come to meet me himself?

“For five years, this arrangement continued. Stacey climbed the ranks to become Special Agent in Charge, all while taking dirty money from the very criminals she was supposed to be hunting.”

I pause, watching the shock ripple through the crowd.

“But eventually, Stacey wanted out. The problem was, she couldn’t find a clean exit without destroying her reputation and losing her job. So she hatched a plan to use the Nightshades as her exit strategy. They were just starting to take over New York, and she figured they’d make perfect scapegoats.” My gaze sweeps the room. “She assigned me to infiltrate Rafael’s house and report back to her.”

My gaze meets my husband’s again. He doesn’t look shocked by anything I’m revealing. He doesn’t even look surprised, which tells me he had already found out but kept it from me.

As a way to protect me?

I take a breath and go on. “What Stacey didn’t count on was the Nightshades actually investigating the missing children case themselves—trying to solve it, not cause it. This threatened to ruin everything for her. So she pressured me over and over, until the night I saw the Nightshades’ location and shared it with her.”

“She already knew where they were going and went there with a team of agents, killing everyone in sight. Everyone who could point a finger at her corruption. Including my father.”

My breath catches in my throat, but I force myself to continue. “Then she lied and told me Rafael did it. Because if I hated him and avoided all contact with him, how could he ever tell me what he’d really witnessed that night?”

Manipulative bitch.

“But turning me against the Nightshades wasn’t enough. She wanted them to hate me back. So she tricked me into believing they were kidnapping little girls last year, knowing it would drive me to do something reckless.” I take full responsibility for the way I behaved afterwards—going to the airport and opening fire. Kidnapping poor Elira...

But Stacey was the one who sent someone to blow up my car, which Elira had used to escape, knowing the guys would think it was my doing and hate me forever.

I don’t mention the airport, or Elira, or the car bombing to the reporters. Those details aren’t for public consumption. But the weight of what I’ve done still sits on my chest like stone.

“The main point I’m trying to drive home is the blatant corruption inside the FBI. Corruption that has cost countless people their lives.” Like the previous director—who was getting in the way of Stacey’s ambition. So she set her good old partner, Sergey Volkov, on him and made his death look like a heart attack.

I turn to the projector screen behind me and switch it on, then scroll to the video Katie gave me. My heart hammers as I hesitate. There’s no going back after this.

My little speech could still be dismissed as hearsay, but once this footage is broadcast to every news outlet in the city, there’s no covering it up.

But Stacey never gave me any consideration. And honestly, this is for her own good—she needs to be stopped.

I hit play.

The video begins. Stacey, Greg, and Sergey Volkov fill the screen.

“What the fuck are you and your agents doing, Rodrigues? You promised me New York would be mine by now. You can’t bring Moretti down?” Sergey’s voice booms with fury, and the room collectively gasps.

“Calm down. We need to be careful with our approach so itdoesn’t blow up in our faces. I assure you, we have it under control,” Stacey says cooly.

“You’ve been saying that for the past five years, so pardon me if I no longer believe you.”

“Mr. Volkov, if I may, we have our best agents on the case, and we’ll?—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sergey snaps at Greg. “What the fuck is this imbecile even doing here?” he asks Stacey.

“He’s the director of the New York branch, and you’ll treat him with respect.”

More gasps ripple through the crowd. I turn away from the video—I’ve watched it enough times already—as they continue discussing their plan to bring the Nightshades down and carve up the city between them.

The side door opens, and I smile when Romero, Maximo, and Michael slip in.

But my smile fades when three more men slip in discreetly. From their build and the way they carry themselves, I know instantly—they’re agents. Federal agents. And I know exactly why they’re here.