I sway on my feet, and Romero grabs my arm to steady me. “Hey, you good?”
“Keep talking,” I force the words through numb lips.
He studies my face with obvious concern but continues his story without releasing my arm. “The guys and I were shocked as hell seeing him back from the dead, but before we could do more than ask him what the hell he was doing, federal agents stormed in. I never knew how they got our location—Rafael never said, but it was you, wasn’t it?” He glances down at me shrewdly.
I led them right to him.
“I–I–” Words fail me completely. I’m lost and confused and hurt and— “You’re sure Stacey killed my father?”
You went ahead and married the man who killed your father?Her accusation from two weeks ago rings in my head, taking on an entirely different meaning.
“I didn’t know who the hell she was back then. Just that some agents recklessly threw a grenade into the building killing that poor young girl they were supposed to rescue, along with several of the men working with Tomassi. Your father got trapped when a massive desk collapsed on top of him and couldn’t move. Then a few agents rushed in, guns blazing. The woman at the lead didn’t hesitate for even a second before shooting at your dad.”
I suck in a ragged breath, blinking hard as hot tears blur everything.
“I thought for sure we were fucked,” Romero goes on quietly, “but Rafael—that crazy asshole—crawled across the floor to your father and tried to pull him free. Problem was, he’d been shot in the arm, so there wasn’t much he could do. Whatever Tomassi whispered to him before he died saved our hides. Though now looking back… I think Stacey deliberately let us escape so we could take the fall for that mess.”
A lie. I was fed lies and–and–a sob breaks from my throat as I stare at the blurry courthouse. Romero curses and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a hug.
“Fuck, you’re cold as ice,” he mumbles. “Rafael is going to kill me.”
He starts reaching for his phone, but I grab his wrist. “No, don’t. Don’t call him, please.” My voice is surprisingly strong despite the tears still falling. “Don’t call him.”
“You can’t ride that death trap back to the penthouse in the state you’re in.”
“I’m not going back. Not yet. I just—I just need—” I take a shuddering breath. “You’re absolutely sure about what you’re saying?”
“I was right there when it happened,” he points out dryly. “So yeah, I’m pretty sure. Tell you what—why don’t you callMichael? When I spoke with him a few days ago, he mentioned finding some grainy footage of your father being killed. I have no idea where he pulled it from, but you know Michael and his mysterious information sources.”
I nod numbly and pull away from his embrace. Everything hurts—my throat, my nose, my heart, my stomach. It feels like someone reached inside me and rearranged all my organs. I wipe my face, glad that the tears have at least stopped for now.
“Thank you for being honest with me. I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, well, it’s my funeral once Rafael finds out what I’ve done.” He checks his watch again. “How about I drop you off at the penthouse on my way to the police station?”
I shake my head. “No. I need to call Michael. And then I need to be alone for a while.”
My phone starts ringing as I pull it from my pocket, and we both glance down at the caller ID. Rafael. Romero’s lips flatten. I end the call and dial Michael instead.
Romero hesitates, clearly wanting to say something else, but I’m already walking away. I don’t need my emotions analyzed right now.
“Emily,” Michael says as he answers the call.
I’ve never called him from this number before, but I’m not really surprised he has it. He’s the man that seems to know everything. “Rome mentioned the footage you have of the night my dad died,” I say without preamble. “I need you to send it to me.”
There’s a pregnant pause. “Shit. That asshole told you what happened that night, didn’t he?”
“Yes, and you’re going to send me that footage.”
Michael groans audibly. “Rafael is not going to be happy about this.”
Yes, well, I don’t give a shit about Rafael’s happiness rightnow. I’m questioning my entire fucking life. “Are you going to send it, or do I have to come to HartSphere and get it myself?”
He releases a put-upon sigh. “Just… make sure to tell Rafael that Romero spilled the beans, not me.”
The line goes dead, and within minutes, I receive a video file from him. My hand hovers over the download option, hesitating now that I have it. Watching this footage is going to change everything. Do I have the guts to do it?
I don’t have a choice. I need to see the truth with my own eyes.
