Page 72 of Devil's Tulip

For now, work.

I sift through my emails first, firing off responses before turning my focus to a much bigger problem—cracking the code on the search for Emilia.

Now that I’m settled back at home with Gianna by my side, I can finally give my full attention to other matters and questions that I’ve left pending. Like how the hell she’s kept herself so well hidden. It’s like she doesn’t exist. Like she never existed.

I’ve hacked the fucking NASA, DEA, FBI, and CIA databases several times over the course of the past few weeks, but she’s not on there. Which leave me with three possibilities:

Rafael was wrong—she isn’t working for a government entity at all.

She was taken into a witness protection program.

She was detained for a war crime, and her existence was erased to cover it up.

The latter is a wild scenario I doubt is even an option at all. The Emily I knew was hellbent on being on the straight and narrow, just like her father—even though he lost his life doing the same.

And from what Elira gathered in their brief encounter a few months ago, she was certain of one thing: Emily wants us to leave the criminal organization behind.

An impossible dream.

I leave the search running in the background and switch gears, diving into the coding for Grimmare—the new video game my team and I are developing. It’s in its beta testing stage, and our early players have found a shit ton of bugs that need fixing.

I’m deep in the work when my phone buzzes again.

I sigh, pushing back from my desk as I answer the call. This should be fun. “Rafael.”

“You don’t fucking listen,” he snaps. No greeting. No buildup. Straight to the rage. “Do you have to be so hotheaded and contrary all the time? Youcannothave the girl, Michael.”

“And you can’t tell me what to do,” I counter coolly. “I can, and I already have the girl. She’s my wife—legally—and the marriage has been consummated.”

Lie.

But that will be rectified soon. I couldn’t just fuck her when she was so drunk last night.

Rolling, my neck, I walk out of my office and head towards the balcony. I need fresh air for this conversation.

He exhales sharply, like he’s restraining himself. “What is with you guys and women you can’t have? Do you have any idea how messy you’ve turned this entire situation?”

“Don’t lump me in the same category as Maximo. He fraternized with the enemy’s daughter. I didn’t,” I remind him. Our situations are as different as night and day.

His scoff carries through the line. “There’s hardly any difference between you two. You killed our ally’s son unprovoked, sent his body back to his father, and now you’ve married his niece—who he’s already betrothed to another ally of ours. How exactly do you plan to fix this?”

“Dario deserved his death, and I’m not fixing shit. Gianna is mine now, and anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me. Take your nose out of my business, Rafael, I don’t stick mine in yours.”

There’s a long silence.

Then, he mutters, almost like he’s just realizing it, “You’re crazy about her.”

“Now you’re catching on?”

“I want to meet this girl. Bring her to dinner tomorrow.”

I snort. “Yeah, that’s not happening. Given what happened last time I brought my wife to your apartment, I’m afraid I must decline.”

“What?” Rafael asks incredulously.

I still have to deal with the fallout from that little ambush he pulled with Aldo. No way in hell I’m taking her there again. I’m trying to rebuild her trust in me, not wreck it further.

“If you want to congratulate us on our marriage, you can come to our home for dinner. Hell, we’ll even extend the invitation to the other guys if you want. But I’m not bringing my wife to your house. You betrayed my trust and hers by ambushing us with Aldo. I already have enough work cut out for me trying to repair the damage. I’m not making it worse, Rafael.”

---