Page 33 of Devil’s Azalea (Nightshades #3)

My men arrived here last night, shortly after we got the name, and they’ve been stationed here since—moving freely, dressed as staff. That’s how you secure a location without turning it into a circus.

Once Sergey’s men are satisfied with the main restaurant, they move into the back rooms, the kitchen—and probably every other space in the building. I remain calm, knowing this section isn’t under their radar. They won’t be coming up here.

Sure enough, over thirty minutes later, they leave.

A couple of minutes after that, there’s a short knock, and our waitress enters with our starters, looking frazzled.

“I’m so sorry for the delay. There were some–” She stops when she sees us standing at the window.

“Well, I guess you already know about the commotion downstairs.”

She nudges the door shut with her foot and brings the tray forward. Enzo meets her halfway to help. I remain where I am.

“That will be all for now. We’ll ring you if we need anything else,” I tell her as Enzo takes the tray. “Translation: don’t come in here again unless summoned.”

She blinks, nods stiffly, and slips out without another word.

“That was incredibly rude, Rafael,” Enzo says, setting down the tray. “Was it because of what I said about her?”

I give him a ‘be for real’ look but don’t waste breath replying. My attention returns to the window just as Sergey Volkov enters, surrounded by almost a dozen men.

Showtime.

His men scatter around the restaurant, taking seats at the empty tables.

Minutes later, Jason walks in. They had met outside already before coming in here?

My eyes narrow on the councilor as I take my phone out and open the transmitter app for the mic he should be wearing. He better be wearing the damn thing.

“Sorry about the slight delay. Lots of enemies, so one can’t be too careful.” Sergey’s voice comes from my phone, clear as if he’s in this section with us, as he takes the seat across from Jason.

“That’s understandable. Thank you for agreeing to meet me here,” Jason responds, adjusting his glasses.

“That’s okay.” Sergey waves a hand, and one of his men rises and approaches with a briefcase. He drops it on the table between them and retreats.

“Before we get into anything, this is for you.” Sergey pushes the briefcase to Jason, who stiffens and fidgets in the seat. Probably remembering himself in a video carrying a similar case full of cash—the same video that got him into this mess with me.

“You really shouldn’t have. This can be used as evidence against us.” Jason pushes the briefcase back to Sergey. “Ask your men to take it away.”

“You won’t even look inside to see how much I’m offering?” The skepticism in Sergey’s voice is palpable.

“No. No, I won’t,” Jason says firmly. “How about we go straight to the reason for this meeting? We’ve both come from a long way, after all, and are still going back to our bases tonight.”

“Hmm.” Sergey gestures again, and the same man retrieves the briefcase from the table. “You surprise me, Councilor.”

“Let’s just say a briefcase of similar contents almost landed me in serious trouble some time ago. I’d rather not talk about it.” He adds quickly, waving an airy hand when Sergey leans forward with interest.

“A shame. That sounds like it could make for an interesting story.” Sergey signals to the waiter who’s been hovering by the entrance, looking thoroughly spooked.

The poor bastard practically shakes as he approaches. “G–good evening, sirs. Are you ready to order?”

Sergey nods. “Certainly. We haven’t had a chance to look through your menu, but from the reviews I’ve heard, your food is excellent. So why don’t you surprise us with the house specials?”

The waiter gulps, face falling like this is a trap. “O–okay, sir.” He scurries away.

Sergey launches into small talk about weather and seasons while Jason responds with half-hearted politeness. I lose interest quickly and take that as my cue to head to my seat where Enzo has already plowed halfway through the finger foods.

“Oh, you were interested, after all?” he asks as I sit down.

I wave him off and pick up the cup of coffee that came with the meal. It’s not bad. The bitter strength burns down my throat, and I realize I can’t remember the last time I had coffee. Maybe I should get a coffee machine for the office.

The waiter returns to Sergey’s table with a tray loaded with food. Behind him, three more waiters enter, each carrying trays to Sergey’s scattered men.

“Thank you,” Jason says quietly, earning himself a double take from the waiter, who quickly looks away and flees the moment his tray is empty.

They continue their mundane conversation for the length of their meal, and I start getting antsy. Am I not going to get anything tonight? I text Tony—one of my men stationed in the staff quarters—to discreetly snap a photo of Sergey and Jason. Just in case.

The hard evidence could become useful in the future.

Close to an hour later, Sergey finishes his meal and finally gets down to business. “So, have you thought about my offer? ”

Here we fucking go.

Jason clears his throat and picks up his glass of water—respect to the man for avoiding alcohol. His reasoning, as he told Sergey, was that he needed to stay sharp for their conversation. Perhaps he’s not as stupid as I thought.

“I have. There’s a lot of risk involved for me, Sergey. The Nightshades are cunning. Rafael is smart as hell and always has a pulse underground. If he finds out…” He lets his voice trail off, leaving his implication hanging.

Sergey chuckles. “Then it’s a good thing you won’t have to worry about Rafael and the Nightshades for much longer, isn’t it?”

Enzo and I both stiffen.

“Oh?” Jason prompts. “Care to share why you're so confident? Maybe that will convince me to join you.”

“There’s only so much I can reveal without implicating my patroness, but just know—the raid on their clubs a few weeks ago isn’t the end of their run-in with the FBI.

They’re going after the Nightshades hard , and I have confidence they’ll get them sooner rather than later.

There’s nothing the government can’t do once they have you in their sights. ”

Son of a bitch.

“Is Jason recording this?” Enzo asks.

“Doesn’t matter. I am.” I nod down at my phone, and he smiles wryly.

“That sounds serious. Do you have a timeline for when this will happen?” Jason presses.

“Well, nothing concrete yet. But rest assured that—” The rest of his words are cut off as the door bursts open and several people dressed in civilian clothing flood in, guns raised.

“Get on your feet! Hands in the air!” one of them barks.

“Did you lead me into a trap?” Sergey growls at Jason, who frantically shakes his head, eyes wide as he glances around in confusion .

“Of course not! I don’t know who these people are!”

Sergey gets to his feet, and his men follow suit. The unidentified intruders repeat their orders over and over as they advance. Sergey signals his men, and as they reach for their weapons, the intruders close in, trying to disarm them.

I raise a brow. Why try to disarm them when they could just shoot? Are those not real guns?

“Are you behind this?” Enzo asks.

“Of course not.” But it’s an interesting intrusion.

“Then we should leave before we’re discovered. We don’t know who those people are or what they’re after.”

I don’t respond, too captivated by the fight unfolding below. These intruders are good. Really good. Their combat skills far outmatch Sergey’s men—probably because those bastards rely too much on their weapons.

One of Sergey’s men manages to draw a weapon and fires at an intruder, who staggers back.

A lithe figure fighting nearby turns at the sound—a fatal mistake that gives their opponent an opening.

The guy wings at the distracted fighter’s skull, barely missing as they duck back.

The punch catches their jaw instead, sending their baseball cap flying.

Gloriously thick, luscious brown hair tumbles down the intruder’s back as the cap hits the floor. Then the fighter turns, and my entire world stops .

Emilia.

“Fuck,” Enzo breathes.

I’m on my feet and moving towards the window before I can think. My heart slams against my ribs as understanding crashes over me.

“We Need to leave NOW, Rafael. It won’t end well for us if the fucking FBI finds out we’re here. They must be here for either Sergey or Jason.”

No. She’s here for Jason. But they’ll take everyone they can get .

I watch, transfixed, as Emilia drives her knee into her opponent’s groin. As he doubles over with a howl that carries up here, she strikes the side of his throat with her wrist, and he crashes to the floor, unconscious.

She doesn’t pause to admire her handiwork, already moving to the next target. And the next, efficiently taking them out. Jesus Christ, she’s magnificent.

My pulse thunders in my ears, and my cock stirs as I watch her fight.

I remember our clash a year ago—how all that controlled violence focused on me. Then two nights ago, when she was on her knees before me and couldn’t get enough of my cock.

I want her, and I fucking want her right now.

“ Fuck. Rafael!” Enzo’s urgent voice cuts through my haze. I glance back at him, but he’s not looking at me anymore.

I follow his gaze to one of Sergey’s men, just a few feet away, gun raised—aimed at the back of Emilia’s head.

She doesn’t notice him. She’s too focused, too locked in on her current opponent.

My heart seizes. Then everything happens at once.

I’m moving before conscious thought kicks in, wrenching the damn window open as my world narrows to a single, desperate purpose: Protect her .