Page 83 of Devil's Azalea

She took a two-month leave after Tomassi’s death, then came back hotter,

breaking open even more cases and rising through the ranks faster than before.

Below that is a list of cases she successfully solved, with scanned images of old newspaper clippings praising her for her bravery. She oversaw the arrest of several big names in the underworld—and I remember some of those cases feeling off, like they were solved a little too cleanly. Like someone on the inside was helping.

Stacey Rodrigues. A very suspicious and dangerous woman.

I close the document and open the first image. It’s a photo of Tomassi with a Hispanic woman who looks to be in her thirties. They’re both in civilian outfits, posing for the camera with awkward smiles.

She’s pretty, I think dispassionately.

But then I look closer, really study her face, and my blood turns to ice.

Fucking hell.

It’s her... it’s the woman who shot Tomassi. No fucking way.

I glance down, and there it is: a little note beneath the picture.

Tomassi Rossi with Stacey Rodrigues.

Fuck. She killed her own partner? Why? What went so catastrophically wrong between them?

From the little I could piece together back then, this woman was the one who sicced Emilia on me, told her to investigate meand my brothers. And that investigation led the FBI straight to Tomassi—through us.

At least, that’s what it seems like on paper.

But if that’s the case, then she should have been shocked to see her supposedly dead partner alive and well five years after the fact. There was no way she could have known Tomassi was involved in trafficking, and she damn sure wouldn’t have shot at him if she was genuinely surprised to see him.

Fuck. Everything I thought I had figured out is suddenly warped and twisted. What the fuck really happened ten years ago?

Ihatethis—not knowing.

I open the second image, and the sight of it makes my chest tighten with rage.

It’s the same Hispanic woman, a little older now but not by much, standing next to Emilia, who’s wearing a graduation gown. Both have stiff, formal expressions, but Emilia is gazing up at the older woman with unmistakable affection and admiration glowing in her eyes.

Fuck.

Of course she got her claws into Emilia. She’s probably the one who fed my girl lies about who killed her father, poisoned her against me, all to break us apart and save her own skin. “Fucking witch.”

How deep does this conspiracy go? How are the events of a decade ago linked to the fucking Russians and this woman? Because I know they have to be linked somehow. These threads don’t weave together by coincidence.

A new message pops up from SP:

I have a few more leads to follow, but I thought you needed to see this first.

I’ll update you once I dig up more.

Good.

As per our arrangement, I wire him half of the payment for his services. He’ll get the rest when he delivers the full story. After sending the receipt confirmation, I immediately delete every trace of the transaction from my device.

SP

Received. And I think you should know. Your little toy is now on the Russians’ radar after the restaurant incident.

My little toy? What the fuck is he talking about?