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Deal with the Devil

Tommaso

Zahur laughed and stuck his hands in his pockets. “That is very possible, Mr. Conti. I have a great many things. But why would you wanting one of them convince me not to kill you?”

I swallowed. This close, I could see the hard glint in his eye. Zahur Farhat didn’t waste words. When he said he would kill me, he meant it.

“I’m the right hand of the mafia king of Philadelphia.” I put my hand in my pocket to grab the Polaroid. “He and I are willing to do a lot to get her back.”

Guns rattled behind me. At least five, more than the two guards behind me could hold. No safeties came off, but I doubted a man like Zahur bothered keeping them on. I slowly pulled the picture out of my pocket and held my hands up.

“No weapons,” I said. “Just a picture.”

“Ah, let him. He knows the mafia king.” Zahur laughed. “For a title like that, I can look at something before I kill you.” He snatched the picture.

I watched his face closely. He didn’t lose any of the hardness, but one of his eyebrows twit
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