Page 11 of Soulmate of the Mafia King
“American?” he asked.
Killian nodded. “Yes, I’m in talks to buy this building, and I was told someone could show me the roof today.”
The man went ashen. “I was not—we cannot?—”
Killian slammed his hand down on the counter. “Look, you get me up there, or I tell the man who owns this building that”—he looked at the man’s nametag—“Sherif is the person to blame for the deal falling through.”
A few minutes later, we were being escorted by a security guard onto the roof.
Killian shot the guard a withering glare. “Alone.”
The guard nodded and stepped back inside. Once we were alone, I raised an eyebrow at Killian.
He shrugged. “A little of Sera’s attitude, a littleMano Della Morte, and most people trip over themselves to help you. Now.” He raised his binoculars. “Let’s get a look at this piece of shit.”
I could see the huge palace from here, albeit without much detail, so I just let him look at the roofline. It reminded me of my last trip here, riding up to it with my heart in my throat. Every detail burned into my mind. Unless Zahur had changed something, I doubted I’d ever need to look again.
Killian lowered the binoculars. “Shit.”
“Now you know why we brought so many men.”
“I think we should’ve brought more.” His eyebrows drew together, and he looked again. “What the fuck are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking this place is like a layer cake,” I said.
Killian stared at me.
“Apparently a lot of therapy is about metaphors like that.” I shrugged. “I’ve got into the habit.”
“Fine, tell me about your fucking cake.” He stared at the palace once more.
“So, the outer wall is the first layer, right?” I pointed to the high white wall surrounding Zahur’s property.
“Tommaso, tell me you know what a layer cake is and that you’re not about to describe concentric circles.”
I grimaced. “It’s like a layer cake from the top down.”
Killian sighed but didn’t say anything else, thankfully.
“He’ll be taking a lot of guys with him, but we still need to get over the wall.” I repositioned Killian’s head so he was looking at the neighbor to the left. “Mostafa says they’re not home.”
Killian nodded within my hands, and I released him.
“So I’m thinking we get at Zahur over the wall there. It’ll be less guarded, and”—I pointed—“that bit of landscaping is dense enough that we can all get set up there, then make our final approach.”
“Decent first layer,” he said.
“Dick,” I replied. “The second layer is the outer walls of the palace itself. The women are kept in the back, so that’s a safe place to start. We’ll get them out and clear, then continue through.”
“You don’t have a way into that layer,” he said.
I was starting to seriously regret this metaphor. “The windows?”
“That’s not enough. We have to do this first part like we’re ghosts.” He held the binoculars out to me.
I took them and held them to my eyes. He pointed, and a specific chunk of Zahur’s sprawling palace swam into view.
“What am I looking at?” I asked.
