Chapter Twenty-Three
With the Kendrick Lamar song still looping in my head, I leave our shared room and tentatively approach the guards standing at the other end of the hallway outside a mahogany door. I’m not sure if what I’m doing is allowed. Zahir has always come to me, never the other way around. And even on the plane, I had to be invited into his room.
But before I can even say a word, one of the guards steps aside, while the other gives me a polite nod and opens the door leading into Zahir’s suite. Like I have every right to be there, and am in fact, expected.
“Thank you,” I murmur, walking into the suite only to stop short. Zahir is standing at the head of a huge conference table with Luca, of all people, and another white guy in a brown work jacket. He’s older with a pot belly a
