Page 55 of Devil's Azalea

Or is there something deeper, something I’m not seeing?

I grind my teeth. Whatever their twisted justification, I refuse to take the blame for a kill that wasn’t mine. I may have blood on my hands—rivers of it—but not his. Not that particular stain.

In the storage room, Enzo has pried open several crates to reveal the weapons hidden beneath the false bottoms. He holds up a rifle, testing its weight. “These are actually exceptional quality,” he tells me as I close the door behind me, pointing the long-barreled rifle towards me.

I take it from him and study the shiny weapon with critical eyes. “For the fucking fortune I paid for them, they better be.” I drop the rifle onto a closed crate. “Have you checked everything?”

“Thoroughly? No. But I did a rough count and the numbers match. I’ll still need to inspect each piece to confirm we got exactly what we requested.”

“The others can verify their own. Separate our arms and divide the rest into three lots.” My brothers will collect their shares in the early hours or late tomorrow night. “Any progress on the new bureau director?”

Somehow I know getting information on her is the first step to unraveling the mystery of the lies surrounding Tomassi’s death. The threads are connected; I just need to see how.

Enzo shakes his head. “Nothing solid. She’s kept averylow profile. All I could dig up were some random achievements from high school and college, but nothing about the woman she is now. Not even a grainy picture.”

My lips flatten. I’ll have to escalate the case to a more experienced researcher. “Drop it.”

Enzo gapes at me. “What? No way. We need to find out who the hell she is and what her motives are.”

“And we will. I’m reassigning the case. I have something else I want you to look into.”

“What could possibly be more important than this?”

“Remember Tomassi Rossi? I want you to dig back into the events that happened ten years ago. What happened to his body after his death, who took it—everything.”

I should have done this ten years ago, but I was too distracted, too angry and hurt. I didn’t have the presence of mind to do it. But now, the more I think about it, the less it makes sense. There’s no way Tomassi worked alone and stayed under the radar for that long.

“The fucking Rossis again, Rafael–” Enzo swallows the rest of his protest when fix him with a look that could freeze hell itself. “Fine. I’ll look into it.”

“Great. I’m heading home.”

I return home, not for rest or any such luxury. I need to contact SP, which I only do on my secured laptop in my office.

Once there, I impatiently go through the steps to access the messaging link. Then I text him a name: Stacey Rodrigues. No further explanation needed. He’ll know what it means.

His reply is instantaneous:

On it, boss.

19

EMILIA

Tendrils of pure, undiluted lust writhe through my belly as I desperately try to banish thoughts of that scorching, all-consuming kiss—his possessive hands exploring my body. I shake my head viciously as I push through the oblivious clubbers who've already forgotten Rafael’s little power display earlier.

God, I wish I could forget like they have.But I know with absolute certainty—as surely as my own heartbeat—that the memory has taken up permanent residence in my mind. I’ll replay it endlessly until I’ve dissected every second, every sensation, every goddamn breath between us. It consumed me so completely that I forgot who the hell I was, who the hell he was. What we were to each other.

Fuck, I need to focus.

It isn’t until the freezing night air slaps my face outside the club that I realize I’ve yet again walked away with absolutely nothing. Because of Rafael. Always because of Rafael.

Shit. I have to deliver something to Greg this weekend or risk unleashing his full-blown wrath with how much nothingI’ve had to give him the past few days. I could wait out here until Eric’s shift ends at 3 AM…

I check my phone—9:36 PM. That means nearly six hours of freezing my ass off if I choose that option. And for what? Another breadcrumb that might lead nowhere?

Maybe I should go home and regroup first. A long, warm, relaxing bath sounds like heaven right now. I ignore my throbbing clit and heavy, aching tits as I walk down the sidewalk to hail a taxi. Through the rear window, I catch one last glimpse of the club as we pull away, and his words echo in my mind.

I did not kill your father.