Later that evening

The Sultan knocked on Nico Gratzano’s door, and a woman answered. She was in her mid-twenties and was dressed in black.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

Before the Sultan could respond, he heard a familiar voice calling for him.

“Nas, welcome to my home. Would you let our guest in, dear?" Nico said.

The woman stepped aside. She had the starstruck look of someone who was in the presence of a celebrity. The Sultan entered, and everyone gave him a wide berth. He was dressed in clothes that people in New York weren’t used to seeing. The djellaba made Nas look like royalty. Many of the Sultan’s men stood guard at each of the house’s doors.

“I’m Irene,” the woman said. “It’s good to meet you. Is Nas your proper name?”

“Nasri Zubayr Hadad is my birth name, but you may call me Nas, or the Sultan if you prefer.”

Nico motioned Nas to follow. Moments later they were seated in Nico’s study, which contained thousands of books and ancient-looking artifacts.

“I’m impressed with your library,” the Sultan said. “There are many first editions I’m familiar with, and others I’m not.”

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“Yeah, Dad was obsessed with reading, and he made sure I had the best education. I learned so much from him. I’m going to get the person responsible for his death if it is the last thing I do!” Nico said.

“I have the camera footage you were interested in. It was taken just outside where my yacht was docked in Morocco,” the Sultan said.

Nico looked at him expectedly. The Sultan waved a hand, and a Middle-Eastern looking man with a suit produced a small tablet and handed it to Nico.

“The image is dark,” Nico said. “I can hardly see anything.”

“Give it a minute. The video gets better, as we cleaned up the noise,” the Sultan assured him.

Nico watched his father fiddle with the chair at some kind of gate. After several moments, his father turned. A tall, teenage-looking girl approached him from behind. For a long moment they appeared to be having a discussion. Suddenly the girl performed a full roundhouse kick to Nico’s father’s head. He fell to his knees. He held up his hands, perhaps pleading with the girl to let him go—but Nico wasn’t sure. A moment later she kicked him again, and he went down and never got back up. Nico frowned as a rush as blood flushed through his face.

I’m going to hunt that little bitch down and kill her for what she’s taken away from our family, he thought with rage, then demanded aloud, “Who is she?”

The Sultan gave Nico a sympathetic look and put a hand on his shoulder. “Her name is Josephine Smith, and she is close.”

“How close? I want her dead.”

“She lives in the tri-state area. I can help you find her, but I need to attend to something first. I hate to discuss business while you are mourning your father, but would you be willing to accompany me to a meeting with some of my associates in two days’ time? It’s concerning the opportunity we discussed before your father passed,” the Sultan said.

Nico nodded. “We will take care of business first,” he said, “and then this girl is all mine.”