Page 4 of Devil’s Azalea (Nightshades #3)

“No, not yet,” Michael answers. “Like I said, it’s all been kept hush hush.

It was a bitch to even get this much, but hey, I’m Michael Hart.

” He adds that last bit with a smug edge, and I don’t bother hiding the flicker of amusement.

Prideful bastard. But rightfully so. I only know one other person with the same wealth of intel as Michael, and I’ve never even met them in person.

“So, let me get this straight,” Maximo starts.

“The new FBI director is Stacey Rodrigues. Appointed this morning, and has already sent her minions after us. Probably her first order as the CEO—which means she’s got some vendetta against us.

” He pauses, then mutters. “I have no fucking idea who the hell she is. Romero, you broke anyone’s heart lately?

Enough to justify this kind of vendetta? ”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Maximo?” Romero snaps. “Why does it have to be me?”

“Well, I don’t know Romeo. Who’s the playboy of the group?” Maximo fires back sarcastically, using two of the tabloids' favorite nicknames for Romero.

“Fuck you,” he grumbles, but his voice is amused. “Her name’s not ringing any bells, so if she’s an old flame, she was an unmemorable one. No wonder I let her go.”

The sound of a door creaking open filters through the phone, followed by a soft, feminine voice. “Michael? What are you doing?” Gianna, Michael’s wife.

“Nothing, love.” His voice softens dramatically as he addresses her—then flips on a dime. “Later losers.” He ends the call without preamble, and I sigh, dropping my phone onto the desk.

Stacey Rodrigues. The name means nothing to me either, but if she’s already gunning for us, I need to know everything about her.

Hell, when a young, healthy guy like Hoovers drops dead suddenly, the first thing to check is who benefits from it.

And if Maximo is right about her having a vendetta against us, that’s even more reason to look her up.

I move my attention to my laptop, typing in my password before shooting a quick message to my tracker through the end-to-end encrypted chat app we use. Stacey Rodrigues. New FBI director.

He’s not quite Michael-level, but the guy knows his onions. A thumbs-up pops up almost immediately, and I close the chat window—never leave apps open. You never know who’ll go digging through your shit, no matter how secure you think your system is.

Case in point: the raid tonight. No doubt, if my laptop had been out in the open, it would have ended up in one of those damn evidence boxes the agents were lugging around.

I lean back for a second, jaw tight. There’s one thing I need to see for myself.

I move the cursor to the security feeds and pull up the nightclub’s camera footage. Rewinding a few hours, my stomach twists as I spot Emilia and her little fed buddies barging in, flashing their shiny badges like they own the world.

Leo, the manager, immediately steps up to her.

There’s a brief exchange—tense, from the look of it—before he spins around with a haughty lift of his chin and marches to the DJ booth.

A second later, the music cuts, and he speaks to the crowd.

I don’t need to turn on the audio to know he’s telling them to get the hell out.

The crowd seems to boo him, but they don’t put up much of a fight as my men start herding them towards the exits. Once the club is emptied out—except for my men and the FBI agents—Leo glares in Emilia’s direction and takes out his phone. That’s probably the moment he called Enzo.

My focus returns to Emilia, who waves at her agents to go on. I pause the feed, watching her face framed by the dim club lights, as Enzo’s words echo back to me. You go soft for her .

Do I?

Ten years ago, her betrayal almost got me and my brothers killed. It fucking ended her father’s life. Does she even know that ?

Enzo was right about one thing—because it was Emilia, I let that betrayal slide. Anyone else would’ve been dead before they could blink. But her… I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I should have at least moved on after that.

Should have erased her from my life. But no, her tear-streaked face kept burning in the back of my fucking mind.

So instead, I sent investigators after her, always watching, always protecting.

Even went as far as Boston to get her out of a tricky situation, earning the ire of the Irish mafia in the process and almost losing the truce between us.

She is my weakness. My Achilles’ heel. I’m just lucky nobody else has caught on to that yet. The day they do is the day they’ll try to use her against me—and destroy us both in the process.

That’s why if she fucks up this time, I won’t let it slide. I can’t afford to. With just one move from the agency tonight, we’ve no doubt drawn the underworld’s attention. They’re already circling, just waiting for a crack—any sign of weakness—so they can pounce.

Too bad for them, they’ll be waiting a long damn time. I didn’t fight this hard to get where I am just to lose it all now. No one—not even Emelia—is going to be the reason I fall.

No matter how much I still want her.