SP
So, I traced the DNA material you sent to me a few days ago. All but two came up blank. After some more research, I discovered they were special agents in the bureau. As for the waiter who attacked you tonight, his print came up blank too. Which leads me to believe he might be connected to the previous attack.
In other words, the attack tonight was also from the bureau?
I already suspected as much, which is why her little friend remains suspicious to me.
But getting this confirmation knocks the wind out of my solar plexus. Because for them to be blatantly attacking Emilia like this means they got their order from someone high up. Like the director.
This discovery, along with what happened ten years ago, will completely destroy Emilia if she ever learns the truth.
It reminds me of SP’s cryptic message from a few days before the attack on my wife. About how the FBI director isn’t on the straight and narrow as she should be.
What the hell does she want? Why does she keep involving herself in all this? Why is she trying to hurt Emilia? My wife trusts her.What the fuck is her endgame?
The questions burn in my mind as I thank SP and tell him to be online at the same time tomorrow in case he finds anything else. After I log out and shut down my laptop, I fire off a quick text to Enzo asking for the CCTV footage from today’s wedding, specifically anyone who used an e-invite to gain entry.
With that handled, I make my way back to the bedroom and carefully slide into bed.
As soon as my head touches the pillow, my wife shifts in her sleep—rolling to my side and draping her leg across my thigh. I grin as I wrap my arms around her.
Yeah, I could definitely get used to this.
39
EMILIA
I have jumbled dreams of Rafael.
First, I’m back in junior high, when he laughed after I insulted him before declaring his protection over me.
Then the library scene shifts into focus—our official meeting as his tutor when he gave me a chocolate bar because I didn’t go to the cafeteria for lunch.
“You must be hungry,” he had said, and I had felt so warm inside because that was the first time anyone besides my dad had shown genuine concern for my wellbeing.
Then he had completely ruined that moment of kindness by essentially telling me to fuck off because he refused to be tutored by a girl two years younger than him. I had tried desperately to convince him to let me help. Even now, I still don’t really know why I cared.
Then he had asked for something personal, something no one else knew about me.
So I had said, “My middle name is Azalea.”
He had perked up like that was the most fascinating thing he'd heard in weeks. “Azalea, like the flowers?”
And that was the real beginning for us.
The library dissolves and suddenly I’m standing in the middle ofthat darned warehouse—now a supermarket—screaming at my younger self to turn back before Alfonso's men see her. But of course she can’t hear me. She never can in these dreams.
“Rafael,” I murmur his name, knowing he’ll come to save me, willing him to come quickly.
Then the scene changes abruptly. Now I’m lying on my back on cool grass under soft moonlight, both Rafael and I completely naked as he leans down and strokes my nipples with his tongue.
Fire lances through me and a hard involuntary shiver ripples up my spine and?—-
My eyes snap open with a sharp gasp, and there he is. Slowly working his way down my body, tongue and hands building up pleasure in my flesh. “Rafael,” I moan, and he glances up at me with eyes that gleam silver in the dark room.
“Were you dreaming of me?” He blows a hot breath into my belly button, and as goosebumps erupt all over my body, he stiffens his tongue and dips it into my navel.
Jesus.I arch back with a deep groan, my heels pressing into the mattress.
