Page 8 of Soulmate of the Mafia King (Kings of Philly #8)

TOMMASO

T he taxi stopped at a street corner a few blocks away from Zahur’s palace, and Killian paid the man.

We got out together and looked around for a moment.

The island neighborhood in the middle of the city reeked of diesel like everywhere else, but I could see parks, and there were occasional breaks in the constant stream of traffic. By comparison, it was almost peaceful.

“It’s almost Manhattan.” Killian grimaced.

I shook my head with a smile. “I think Manhattan might smell better.”

He laughed sarcastically. “Now I know why people say you’re funny.”

“Dickhead.”

Killian looked around at the total lack of cover. “I’ve got an idea.”

He walked confidently into a several-story bank. The powerful air conditioner shocked my system, but I followed his lead. He marched up to the counter.

“Hello, I’m an international investor, and I need to see your roof.”

The woman frowned, then called in Arabic to another teller. The man hurried over.

“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 little Mano 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.

“I did some research. There used to be a mosque on this site that was destroyed well before Zahur bought the property, but one tower was left standing. The minaret that they do the prayer call from. Zahur built it into his house.”

I adjusted the binoculars to bring the most detailed tower into perfect focus. The brickwork was much older there, visibly uneven in some places, which meant handholds. And at the top sat a fully open structure, like a gazebo.

“So, we scale that, then get in through the minaret.” It was on the back half of the palace.

“If you can get your massive ass up there,” Killian replied.

“Adults shouldn’t climb trees,” I shot back. “We descend from monkeys, not ascend to them.”

He smirked. “Next layer?”

“Once the women are out, we start shooting.” I handed him back the binoculars. “At that point, Teddy’s going to blow the wall we came over so the women don’t have to scale it because we don’t expect them to be in scaling shape.”

“Then we need some kind of lift to get them down the tower.” Killian nodded. “I have an ex-engineer. He can handle that.”

“Great.” I grinned. “We should stay in the women’s quarters as long as possible,” I said. “They lead just about all over the house, so guards can get to any woman at any time, but they’re much less heavily patrolled. The women have some free rein back there.”

Killian nodded. “Then we’ll watch for guard concentration and strike where it’s thickest. That’s got to be where he is.”

“Agreed. Then, I think it’s about time you go let the guard know he doesn’t have to keep shitting himself in fear,” I said.

He rolled his eyes. “This is going to be tough.”

“No shit,” I replied. “But we’ve got it covered.”