Page 1 of Devil's Azalea

PROLOGUE

RAFAEL

10 years ago…

“They’re here.”

My gaze stays pinned to the window, to the city sprawled below—mycity. Still asleep to the truth of what’s coming. Of how I’ll shape it to my will.

I let myself enjoy the view a few seconds longer, then glance sideways at Enzo—the one man I’ve come to trust through the chaos of the last few months.

“I’ll be right out.”

Not that I need the announcement. Iknowthey’re here. I watched my guests arrive, one after the other, on the CCTV feed.

Without another word, Enzo spins around, leaving me alone again in this office space I’ve commandeered for my use—at least for now. Until I expand my reach. And expand, I will.

I breathe in deep and slow, letting the anticipation settle before I turn, grab my jacket draped over the back of my chair, and shrug it on as I head for the door.

It’s been years since I last saw them. I wonder how they’ll react. How much they’ve changed. Or how much they think I have.

Impatience rides me hard, but I keep my strides measured. Control. Always control. Even when no one is watching.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing one of my men standing at attention. His job is simple: ensure no unauthorized soul reaches the floors we occupy and sound the alarm should anyone try.

He gives me a short bow and wordlessly presses R—for rooftop.

Showtime.

As we begin to rise, the anticipation stirs again, coiling in my gut like a loaded spring. I steeple my fingers and watch the numbers tick upward, my mind already running ahead to what comes next.

This part is just a formality. I’m itching to get it over and done with and move on to the best part. I have no doubts about the outcome of this meeting.

The elevator slows to a stop, and the doors open to release me into the sharp, biting chill of December’s night air.

Three men stand at the railing. My brothers—not by blood but by choice. By pain and shared darkness. They turn as one at my entrance, and for a split second, I see them as they were when we were younger. Before everything. Before the world taught us its brutal lessons.

I’d kill for them without hesitation. Die for them if necessary. And deep down, past all the bullshit and years of separation, I know they’d do the same for me.

That’s why I’ve called them here.

“This is a beautiful spot you’ve got here, Rafael. Stunning.” Maximo is the first to speak, limping towards me with that shit-eating grin I remember so well.

My eyes narrow at his uneven gait. “Did you finally manage to break your leg then?” I ask my old best friend, stretching a hand out to him.

“Bastard,” he grouches good-naturedly, batting my hand away and pulling me into a crushing hug, clapping my back. “It’s good to see your ugly mug again,” he adds as he steps back.

I would smile—if I remembered how. The muscles refuse to obey after being unused for so long. Instead, I settle for a curt nod, the closest thing to affection I can muster these days. “You got yourself shot in the leg?”

“Because your fucking text came in at the worst possible time. I was deep in enemy territory when my phone chirped like a goddamn canary. Nearly got my ass blown to pieces.”

“Amateur,” Michael interjects, giving Maximo’s arm a punch. “Your phone should’ve been on silent. Hell, or better yet, not with you at all.”

“No shit, genius,” Maximo snorts, rubbing his arm. “The line was supposed to be secure—only a select few had access.” His eyes find mine, narrowing. “How did you even get hold of it?”

“Well, I have my ways,” I answer noncommittally as I shift my gaze to the silent figure hanging back from the others. He’s going to be the harder nut to crack. “Hello, Romero.”

“Rafael. A nice theme you’ve got going here.” He nods around the rooftop at the plants sprawling everywhere, each one clearly placed with intention.