Page 34 of Devil's Azalea

I get into the elevator, torn over why I’m even here. Is it really to get the flash drive? Or is it to end this rivalry between Rafael and me once and for all?

Should I just kill him and accept whatever fate his men deal me afterwards?

My heart constricts painfully at the thought of a lifeless Rafael, and I shake my head furiously. “Fucking get it together, Emily,” I mutter, jabbing the penthouse button.

I’m here for the flash drive. The information I worked for. Nothing more, nothing less.Remember Ryan Barlowe. Remember what this is all for.

Get the drive and get out.

I don’t expect Rafael to be waiting right by the elevator as the doors slide open, but there he stands—looking brooding and ridiculously handsome. And just like that, a fresh wave of anger smothers everything else in me. Howdarehe look so calm and collected when I’m in so much turmoil?

If not for the flicker of genuine surprise that crosses his face—so brief I nearly miss it—I would have assumed Romero warned him that I was coming up.

“Emilia.”

My name on his lips sounds like a claim, like ownership, like he still has the right to say it with such intimate familiarity. That single word is the match that lights the fuse.

Because fuck him. And fuck his stupid grey eyes.

I draw my gun from the small of my back and aim it squarely at his chest. At that heart I once thought beat only for me.

Whether I kill him or not is still up for debate. But one of us is not leaving here unscathed.

10

RAFAEL

I wait in my foyer, eager to ask Romero about the intel he said he uncovered on Sergey Volkov. But when the elevator doors slide open, it’s not Romero.

It’s Emilia. Dressed in some godawful delivery outfit.

Is that a jumpsuit?

“Emilia.” I school my face into a mask as realization dawns.Thisis the delivery person Alessio mentioned—the one Romero personally brought in. What the hell is that fucker playing at?

Quick as a flash, she pulls out a pistol with a silencer attached and levels it straight at me as she steps out. “I’m sure you know why I’m here, so run inside and bring out the flash you stole from me.” She jerks her chin towards the interior, her honey eyes darkening at the wordflash—like just saying it pisses her off all over again. “Or I’ll shoot you.”

In another lifetime, with anyone else, their blood would already be cooling on the floor. Yet with Emilia, something primal stirs inside me—not anger, but something far more dangerous.

I can’t help myself. I take a step towards her, recalling howshe responded to my touch in that cramped closet, how she melted against me despite her better judgment. “Will you really?” I take another step, watching her carefully.

We've been playing this game of cat and mouse for years. Enzo accused me of being soft on her, and maybe I have. But I know she hasn’t unleashed her full arsenal on me either. Will she tonight?

“Don’t test me, Rafael,” she says through gritted teeth.

I raise a single brow and step closer again, silently daring her to follow through.

She clicks off the safety, and suddenly this isn’t a game anymore. I watch it happen in real time—the subtle shift in her eyes from determination to something cold and absolute.

Then she pulls the trigger.

I barely react in time, twisting my body just enough for the bullet to whistle past me, missing my chest by millimeters.

Disbelief floods my system as I stare at her. “Are you insa?—”

But she has already fired again. This time, white-hot pain sears across my upper arm as the bullet grazes the side. She aimed for a wound, not a kill shot, which somehow pisses me off even more than if she’d tried to put one in my heart. Irrational, I know. But I’ve not been very rational when it comes to her.

I growl, and in three long strides, I’m right in front of her, my fingers clamping over the hand holding the gun.