Page 20 of Soulmate of the Mafia King
“You on the left, swing around, try to box them in. The rest of us will?—”
“What about my son?” Mostafa interrupted.
I frowned and turned to him. “I thought Tommaso told you. You get him back when this is through.”
“Through?” Mostafa hissed. “No. No. We had a deal. I help, and I get Gamal back.”
The back of my neck prickled. “And you will. What lit your pants on fire? It’s just one last fight.”
Gunfire split the night air on another side of the building. The men behind me bubbled like a pot of boiling water, itching to get into the fray.
“You are not listening,” Mostafa said. “Zahur is a powerful man. More powerful than your Tommaso could ever dream of being.”
Fuck. I turned to face the little Egyptian. “What do you mean more powerful?”
“There’s no time!” Mostafa shouted. “I had to do it, just return Gamal to me?—”
Someone hollered something in Arabic at the exact moment I saw the first of Zahur’s men. Certainly less than a hundred. Maybe they’d split up. Or maybe Mostafa was freaking out for a reason. Either way, they’d spotted us.
“Go, now,” I barked at my men.
They poured past me. I whipped back to grab the little Egyptian, but he was already gone. Motherfucker. The brick next to me shattered as a bullet impacted. I ducked and raced forward, hoping I could find Mostafa in the fray. My knees ached as I pounded down the asphalt, but I’d forgotten how alive a firefight made a man feel. I splattered one of Zahur’s men with a single press of the automatic trigger, then whirled for another. Everywhere I looked, I saw men in the flat black Tommaso had picked out. We outnumbered Zahur’s men. By a lot.
“Turn!” someone yelled in English.
I whirled just in time to get my gun between me and a man leaping at me with a long, jagged knife. The blade bounced off the barrel, and I dropped my gun onto its strap to pull out a knife of my own. We circled each other, looking for an opening, like boys scrapping with pocketknives. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face, even as I scanned the crowd behind my opponent for Mostafa. Something was happening.
Zahur’s man saw my distraction and struck. His blade whipped across my arm like a line of fire, but he didn’t bring his guard up in time, so I jabbed my knife directly into his gut. He slumped, and I slit his throat to make certain he was dead.
When I popped back up, a trio of Zahur’s men advanced through my army, spraying automatic bullets in every direction. My men fell, but one of the trio dropped, then another. I grinned. We had much better training, thanks, hilariously, to a tiny Italian mom back home. I raised my gun, inhaled sharply, and fired a single shot. The third man dropped in a spray of blood.
A new burst of gunfire sprayed from the doors. Someone had pissed off Rahim’s men inside. The need to warn Tommaso before protecting any women that they might be keeping here became my highest priority. I ducked behind a small squadron of men.
“Cover me,” I said. “I need to place a call.”
They fell into position as if to say, “Sure, old man,” and surrounded me. Mercs. After tonight, I’d never see them again. I dialed Tommaso and pressed the phone to my ear.
It rang through. Something exploded in the distance, making me jump, but I didn’t hear any feminine screams. Hopefully, that meant any women here were still fine. I dialed Killian. Nothing. Teddy didn’t pick up either. Nor did Carp, or therandom handful of men whose numbers I happened to have. My heart thudded in my ears.
“Stan!” someone called.
I turned to see a man in black, dragging one of Zahur’s goons by the neck of his shirt.
“I got a talker,” he said. “And I think you’re gonna wanna hear this.”
I texted Tommaso and crossed my arms. It had better be good. I needed to figure out what the fuck was going on here.
The merc shook Zahur’s man. “Tell him what you told me.”
“Zahur’s not here,” he said shakily.
I smacked the merc on the side of the head. “Are you fucking stupid? We knew he wasn’t going to be here.”
The merc gritted his teeth. “That’s not all, if you fucking listen?—”
I hefted my gun. “I’m not going to listen to this bullshit. There are real problems here, and Tommaso is already at Zahur’s house. Can you find me that little Egyptian man, Mostafa, so I can get some real answers? Kill this bastard.”
“No, no, no,” Zahur’s man blubbered. “Please, do not kill me. I have a wife, three beautiful children.”
