Top Assassins Call Me The Lady Boss novel Chapter 146

Chapter 146: “Where is my Gun?”

Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Six

The door had barely settled behind her when Asli finally let her breath come back to her.

Not because of fear. It had never been that.

Because for the first time in a long while, aside Ahmet, someone had met her head-on and forced her to fight instead of finish. Markus hadn’t been reckless. He hadn’t been sloppy. He had been strong. Stronger than she thought. Stronger than he made her believe he was.

Asli also pondered Cole’s restraint, his hands wrapped around Markus’s, ensuring the gun remained pointed away from both of them. It was almost as if he’d been conditioned to avoid violence, a thought that had crossed her mind when he was taken. But his words, laced with concern for her father’s reaction, reassured her. At least he wasn’t brainwashed by them when they kidnapped him. She needed to let go of the thought that Cole would one day betray her.

She appreciated the absence of chaos in her apartment, courtesy of Matilda’s mother’s influence. Unnecessary fights were a luxury she couldn’t afford, not here, not now. Yet, this confrontation was necessary. Her eyes flicked between the two men, her mind thinking about how she shot Ahmet without looking back.

She rolled her shoulder once, testing the pull there. Pain answered, bright and clean yet she welcomed it. It reminded her she was still in control even though he was stronger than she expected.

The thought slid in uninvited, followed by another, darker one; how easily Markus could be erased too. Per her investigation, Ahmet’s shadow had always clung to him. He was his accomplice in everything that mattered. She needed to clean the rot at its root. She was already mapping it in her head, already seeing where he’d bleed, how long it would take before their Villa adjusted to his absence as well.

But immediately, another thought crept in, colder than the ache. Ahmet hadn’t been in the warehouse. The realization landed slowly, then all at once.

If he had crawled away on his own, she could live with that. A wounded king bleeding out somewhere in the dark was still a king losing ground. She would hunt him again and finish what she started.

But if someone else had pulled him out...

Her jaw tightened.

Someone else meant witnesses. It meant intervention. It meant a hand bold enough not to care about her consequences. If it was not Markus, then who was it? Considering he came to attack her then it meant the person who saved Ahmet was not from their Villa.

Who had saved him?

Had they heard anything? Her voice. His. The truth she had not meant to spill. The intent she never explained. Did they hear the conversation? Did they get to know that Ahmet and her were having an affair?

Asli turned sharply and crossed the hall, her fingers already dialing.

"Pull the warehouse footage," she said the moment the line connected. "From the moment I entered."

A pause followed her command. Then another.

Her steps slowed in the corridor, the echo of Markus’s words catching up to her now that the noise had faded.

"It’s gone," the tech said carefully. "All of it. It’s as clean as it can ever be. It’s not corrupted. Everything just erased."

Her fingers stilled.

"Impossible," she said softly.

"Not impossible," he corrected. "Just... expensive. Whoever did it knew exactly where to cut. There were no access logs. No residual trails."

Only a handful of people could do that. Fewer still would dare.

Her father’s name brushed the edge of her thoughts. She shoved it away. It couldn’t be him, or else he would’ve broken loose. Demir followed, just as unwelcome.

No. Not yet. She refused to believe either of them had reached that far into her night. After all, Demur was here when she arrived.

Asli ended the call and stood there for a long moment, staring at nothing, forcing her pulse back into its familiar rhythm.

Whoever had intervened was powerful and skilled. And reckless enough to challenge her.

She would deal with that later.

For now, there was only one truth that mattered.

Ahmet was still alive.

Her lips curved, slow and dangerous.

"Jesus," he muttered, adjusting his grip. "What the hell have you been eating?"

He tried again, bracing himself properly this time. Ahmet was solid in that infuriating way only men who lived on excess could be. Muscle, weight, stubbornness. Markus grunted as he hauled him up.

"Steaks at midnight," he went on under his breath. "Wine like water. I told you it would catch up with you."

It took effort, more than he would ever admit out loud, but he was stubborn himself, he didn’t want to ask for help. He managed to get Ahmet over his shoulder and out to the car. The old man watched them go without a word.

Markus drove home slower than he liked, every turn peaceful, every bump in the road a threat he wished he could punish the ground. He didn’t speak. He didn’t curse. He kept one hand steady on the wheel and the other resting back, as if touch alone could keep Ahmet tethered to the world.

The next two days passed in fragments; checking vitals, changing bandages, pacing rooms he’d never known could feel this small. Markus slept when his body forced him to, ate because habit demanded it, and stayed close enough to hear every shift of breath.

He didn’t want anyone to know about this. How many times has Ahmet slept this long after a gunshot?

When Ahmet finally woke, it was quiet.

No dramatic gasp. No groan.

Just eyes opening slowly, unfocused at first, then sharpening with awareness.

Markus didn’t speak. He only watched.

For twenty minutes, Ahmet said nothing. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, with his jaw tight, breathing shallow but steady. Then he moved. Pushed himself upright with a wince that never made it to his face.

His gaze snapped to Markus.

"Where is my gun?"

Markus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

"Good morning to you too," he said dryly.