Page 16 of Devil's Azalea

Sergey ends the video with an ultimatum. “I’m keeping your man alive out of goodwill. Pick your allies carefully, Afrim. Is it me or the Nightshades? You have forty-eight hours.”

“This is madness.” Michael slams his fist on the table, his diamond thumb ring glinting under the dim lights overhead. “Have they forgotten who the fuck we are?”

“And he’s cut us off as a supplier,” Romero snarls, downing his whiskey in one angry toss. “Does he think we won’t find another? Fucking arrogant swine.”

I share their sentiments completely, but we need to keep our heads clear if we’re going to handle this right. Sergey’s dangerous, yeah. But what concerns me more is the unknown player behind him. That meeting in the library wasn’t for fun.

Until I find out who gave him the confidence to challenge us, we must tread carefully. Because that’s the real threat. Not Sergey or any other thug in the underworld. I hate not knowing who I’m up against.

“Did Përmeti tell you where the Albanians stand?” I ask Maximo, studying his expression for any hint of divided loyalties.

I wouldn’t blame the guy if he sided with the Russians. They share territory on Long Island, so Sergey could make life hell for him.

“It’s a no-brainer that he and the other Albanians are sticking with us, Rafael. We’rebloodnow,” Maximo replies with strong conviction, and relief floods through me.

“Good.” I nod. We need all the allies we can get. Sergey might have started this war, but I’ll be the one to end it. Him included—once I figure out who’s pulling his strings. “Tell your men to be on high alert. And find a new arms supplier. ASAP.”

“About that. Roan says he can get weapons for us through the Kosovo–Serbia border.”

“Perfect. Tell him to reach out to me.” With the meeting winding down, I finally pick up my tumbler of whiskey and take a sip.

“By the way, the annual ballet performance and auction is this weekend.” Michael reminds me. “You sending your usual representative this year too?”

Right. The invitation came in the mail months ago, followed by a reminder email last month, and another just last week. It’s the end-of-year social event for the city’s top 1%. A chance for new money to kiss up to old money and cozy up with grubby, corrupt politicians. Most made men show face too, sinceforging the right connections can decide how long you last in our world.

I haven’t attended in years. I usually send someone to keep up appearances and make sure they remember the Nightshades still own the room. I’ve already got most of those bastards in my pocket anyway. And frankly, I’ve got better things to do than sit through a dull ballet and watch bored billionaires fight over some overpriced piece of hundred-year-old upholstery like it’s the Holy Grail.

Still, I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m going this time.”

If people are forgetting who I am, it seems I need to start showing up to these things more. Remind them I’m not a myth. That I’m very real—and still just as dangerous.

“You think the FBI might try to show up to this thing?” Michael asks, frowning. “My intel says they’re still poking around in our business. Those agents who raided Inferno have been seen nearby.”

He means Emilia and her colleagues.

Maximo slams his fist on the table as he gets up from his seat. “Emily better not cross paths with me,” he growls. “And she sure as hell better not cross paths with my wife.”

That’s a threat.

My jaw clenches, anger flashing through me at the fact that he thinks he can threaten her. The only one allowed to do that isme.

But she’s no longer just my enemy—she’s branded herself an enemy to us all now.

She’s your weakness.

Fucking Enzo and his damn mouth.

I stand abruptly, cutting off whatever Maximo might say next. If I stay, I might do something I’ll regret. So without another word, I walk away from my brothers, ending the meeting before my mask of control slips.

5

EMILIA

“A ballet performance.”

The words fall flat from my lips as I stare at the dossier. Of all the missions they could give me, it has to be this pretentious bullshit.

“Not just any ballet performance.” Greg leans forward on his desk. “It’s an annual event hosted by Jason Moore. Everyone who is anyone would kill for an invitation, but not everybody gets one. It took the intervention of the new director to get you this invite.”