Page 15 of Devil’s Azalea (Nightshades #3)

RAFAEL

I wait in my foyer, eager to ask Romero about the intel he said he uncovered on Sergey Volkov. But when the elevator doors slide open, it’s not Romero.

It’s Emilia. Dressed in some godawful delivery outfit.

Is that a jumpsuit?

“Emilia.” I school my face into a mask as realization dawns. This is the delivery person Alessio mentioned—the one Romero personally brought in. What the hell is that fucker playing at?

Quick as a flash, she pulls out a pistol with a silencer attached and levels it straight at me as she steps out.

“I’m sure you know why I’m here, so run inside and bring out the flash you stole from me.

” She jerks her chin towards the interior, her honey eyes darkening at the word flash —like just saying it pisses her off all over again. “Or I’ll shoot you.”

In another lifetime, with anyone else, their blood would already be cooling on the floor. Yet with Emilia, something primal stirs inside me—not anger, but something far more dangerous.

I can’t help myself. I take a step towards her, recalling how she responded to my touch in that cramped closet, how she melted against me despite her better judgment. “Will you really?” I take another step, watching her carefully.

We've been playing this game of cat and mouse for years. Enzo accused me of being soft on her, and maybe I have. But I know she hasn’t unleashed her full arsenal on me either. Will she tonight?

“Don’t test me, Rafael,” she says through gritted teeth.

I raise a single brow and step closer again, silently daring her to follow through.

She clicks off the safety, and suddenly this isn’t a game anymore. I watch it happen in real time—the subtle shift in her eyes from determination to something cold and absolute.

Then she pulls the trigger.

I barely react in time, twisting my body just enough for the bullet to whistle past me, missing my chest by millimeters.

Disbelief floods my system as I stare at her. “Are you insa?—”

But she has already fired again. This time, white-hot pain sears across my upper arm as the bullet grazes the side.

She aimed for a wound, not a kill shot, which somehow pisses me off even more than if she’d tried to put one in my heart.

Irrational, I know. But I’ve not been very rational when it comes to her.

I growl, and in three long strides, I’m right in front of her, my fingers clamping over the hand holding the gun.

She hisses viciously, fighting me, but I wrench the weapon free and spin her like a ragdoll. In seconds, both her wrists are trapped in my left hand. Then I yank her against me until her back presses firmly to my chest.

My cock stirs, hardening instantly at her proximity.

I ignore the organ and press the muzzle of her own gun to her temple.

“Checkmate. Now what, piccola ? I could fucking kill you right now and nothing would happen.” She’s in my territory.

My home. I could make her body vanish, and not even her precious agency would find a trace.

And I’d remain untouchable, invincible, no matter what they try.

“Fucking do it, then.” She spits the words, and the wretched woman leans into me, pressing her temple even harder against the muzzle. “It wouldn’t be the first time you killed a Rossi.”

Her angry accusation stuns me into momentary silence. “What the fuck did you just say to me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Before she can elaborate, the elevator chimes a new arrival. The doors slide open, revealing Romero, leaning casually against the iron railing, arms crossed over his chest.

He takes one look at us, and for a split second, disappointment flashes across his face. Then he smirks. “What is this? Some sort of twisted foreplay? I didn’t know that’s what you’re into, sorellina. ”

At the sound of that word, Emilia sags against me. Like hearing him call her that drains every ounce of fight from her body. It's been what—ten years?—since any of the guys called her that to her face.

“Fuck you,” I snap at Romero, not even a little amused by his orchestration of this meeting. What demented logic led him to approve her entry and send her up to my sanctuary? What did he think would happen? That we’d kiss and make up? If it were that easy, we would have done it years ago.

“What the hell happened to you, Emily?” Romero continues like I didn’t speak. “You disappeared without a fucking word, and then you reappear trying to bring us down? Why are you doing this?”

“ Me? ” she asks indignantly, stiffening in my arms. “ He’s the one holding a gun to my head.”

Romero flicks a bored glance my way before returning his attention to the woman in my arms. “Yet, he’s the one bleeding.”

As if his words are some kind of trigger, the pain in my arm suddenly flares to life. Hot, throbbing, insistent. Blood is seeping from the wound, each drop making the sting sharper. In the heat of the moment, I’d forgotten about it.

With a grunt of disgust, I release Emilia’s wrists and shove her away. She immediately drops into a crouch, yanks a wickedly sharp knife from her boot, and points it at me—her gaze bouncing between Romero and me as if expecting either of us to pounce.

I should shoot her back in retaliation. Hell, I should’ve shot her the moment she stepped into my home, my sanctuary, tossing threats around. Men far more powerful than her have lost their lives from doing less.

But as I stare into those fierce honey eyes, watching the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her lower lip trembles almost imperceptibly with adrenaline and fury… my finger won’t fucking move.

No matter how much I try to convince myself— do it , teach her a lesson about fucking with me—I simply can’t follow through.

Because I’m fucking soft for her.

“Get the hell out of here, Emilia,” I growl through clenched teeth, hating this damning realization. “Before I really shoot you.” I wave her own gun towards the elevator—a bluff, and a pathetic one at that. I’d cut off my own arm before hurting her.

With her, I’m a fucking toothless wolf. Or, as Enzo put it, a clawless tiger .

But instead of running, she juts her chin stubbornly. “I’m not going anywhere. Not without my property. I worked hard for the intel on that flash drive, and I won’t let you just steal it from me. So go ahead—kill me if you have to. But I’m not leaving without it.”

Stubborn, impossible, beautiful ? —

And now I’m torn. Either stay locked in this ridiculous standoff and risk exposing exactly how deep she’s under my skin, or shoot her somewhere non-lethal and end this shitshow.

A sickening fire settles in my gut as I ice over my gaze and cock the gun, decision made. Romero inhales sharply, but I ignore him.

I raise the gun and aim it right at Emilia’s skull. “Then it seems you’re going to die here tonight.”

Romero immediately steps in front of her, eyes wide with disbelief. “ Rafael .”

Thank fuck. Crushing relief floods through me that I don’t have to follow through with my threat.

Not that I would have actually shot her.

Maybe fired past her ear to scare her. But hell, a lot could have gone wrong with that plan.

She might have moved at the wrong moment.

One twitch and I could have hit her somewhere fatal.

But following my weakening relief is a burst of anger. I have to go through all this right now because of him. “You helped her get in here, Romero.” Without his interference, she’d never have made it up here. “What makes you think I won’t shoot you too?”

Thinking about it infuriates me. Fucking meddler.

I lower the gun to his chest and pull the trigger.

The force pushes him back into Emilia. “F–fuck you,” he gasps, crumpling to the floor.

“ What did you do? ” Emilia’s voice breaks with horror, her knife slipping from her grasp as she drops to her knees behind him, cradling his head between her hands with a tenderness that twists something ugly in my chest. When she glances up at me, her lips are trembling, eyes shimmering with tears that illuminate her irises before spilling down her pale cheeks.

Those tears belong to me, not the fucker on the ground.

Jesus. Impossibly, I’m jealous. Jealous of my own damn brother.

My hand tightens around the gun, and my thoughts spin dark: raise the barrel again. Finish the fucker. Blow his fucking brains out. Instead, I grit my teeth against the savage impulse. “Get out of here, piccola , or you’re next.”

More tears. More of that heartbroken expression like I’m the monster in this scenario. She thinks I killed him. Actually believes I murdered my own brother right in front of her. Discomfort and rage squeeze my throat tight.

What kind of man does she think I am?

She lays Romero’s head down and snatches up her discarded blade, jumping to her feet.

“You bastard!” she snarls, the word dripping with a decade of accumulated hatred.

I raise a brow as she advances with the knife, recognizing the wild, cornered look in her eyes. In her mind, it’s kill or be killed now. She’s genuinely going to attempt to put that blade somewhere vital.

But before she reaches striking distance, Romero erupts in a coughing fit and sits up, patting his chest.

Her brows pinch together as she whirls around to face him. “W–what?”

The confusion on Emilia’s face would almost be funny if my arm wasn’t throbbing and all I can think is that he couldn’t have picked a worse fucking time to ‘come back to life’ .

“I have a vest on,” Romero wheezes, still coughing. “That asshole knows that.” He jabs a finger my direction, and she follows the gesture to glare accusingly at me.

“Who gets shot and doesn’t bleed out?” I ask dryly, trying to bring some sanity back into the room. If she hadn’t been so sucked up in her emotions, she might have noticed that little detail.

But Emilia doesn’t react. The fire in her eyes is gone, replaced by something heavy.

Her hands begin to shake, and the knife slips from her fingers again, clattering to the floor. Then it’s her whole body—limbs trembling, mouth quivering, throat bobbing. And more tears—goddamn rivers of them—spill down her cheeks like she’s breaking right in front of me.

My heart expands painfully, compressing my lungs until breathing feels like swallowing glass. This isn’t what I wanted. None of this is what I wanted.

I take a concerned step towards her, but she spins around without a word and runs for the elevator where she violently stabs the call button over and over. When the doors finally slide open, she stumbles inside and slumps against the back wall.

I take several urgent strides towards her, but the doors are already closing.

She looks up at the last second, our eyes meeting through the narrowing gap.

And fuck me—all I see in her gaze is one thing.

Hurt.

Then the doors seal shut, and she’s gone, leaving me alone with the consequences of my cruelty and the hollow victory of her retreat.