Top Assassins Call Me The Lady Boss novel Chapter 147

Chapter 147: "I’d kill her if I get the chance"

Chapter One Hindred and Forty -Seven

Markus gave a short, humorless laugh and stepped closer to the bed.

"You just came back from the dead," he said. "Try recovering first."

Ahmet’s eyes flicked over him, sharp despite the pallor of his skin. He shifted, testing his weight, and the slightest hitch in his breath betrayed the pain he refused to acknowledge.

"I’m fine," Ahmet said. His voice was rough, scraped raw by blood loss and stubbornness. "Where is it?"

Markus shook his head. "You were shot in the chest. You lost more blood than you’d like to admit. You’re not even supposed to be sitting up."

Ahmet swung his legs over the side of the bed anyway. The motion was careful and controlled, but it cost him. His fingers dug briefly into the mattress, knuckles whitening, before he straightened.

"I didn’t survive this to lie down and wait," he said. "If I’m breathing, I’m moving."

Markus swore under his breath. He moved in instinctively, a hand hovering near Ahmet’s shoulder, ready to steady him if he fell. "This isn’t bravery. It’s stupidity."

Ahmet shot him a look that would have silenced most men. "You don’t get to lecture me on survival."

Silence stretched between them, thick and brittle.

Markus exhaled slowly, then reached into the drawer by the bed. He didn’t hand the gun over immediately. He held it there, resting in his palm, a quiet test.

"Tell me one thing first," Markus said. "Did you really think she wouldn’t pull the trigger?"

Ahmet’s jaw tightened. For the briefest second, something dark crossed his face... disbelief, regret, something far more dangerous than pain.

"I thought," he said carefully, "that she would hesitate."

Ahmet looked past Markus, his gaze drifting to nothing at all. The memory rose without invitation; the weight of the gun in her hand, the steadiness of her stance, the way her eyes had gone eerily calm. Not wild. Not furious. Certain. That was what had undone him. Not the pain and not even the bullet. It was the certainty.

He had built his life on reading people. On knowing what fear did to them, how anger sharpened or ruined them, how desperation made men reckless. Those things he understood. They were currencies he had traded in since his first kill. But whatever had lived between him and Asli had not fit into any of those categories, and he had walked into it blind.

He had expected hesitation without knowing why he expected it. Had mistaken proximity for control. Familiarity for safety. And when the moment came, when the world narrowed to her breathing and the pull of the trigger, he learned... too late... that there were forces he had never studied and could not predict.

And when it hadn’t come, something inside him had split open wider than the wound in his chest. Not because she had shot him but because she had done it without flinching. Because the woman he thought despite everything, they had something special going on, had chosen the kill shot and lived with it.

For the first time since he was a boy, Ahmet realized how close he had come to being wrong about someone who mattered. And how deadly that mistake had been.

Ahmet said nothing to Markus.

The words stayed lodged in his chest, heavy and unspoken, where everything else had been settling since he woke. He kept his face still, his breathing even, refusing to give the thought shape or sound. Some things lost their power the moment they were spoken aloud, and this, this was not something he was willing to hand over.

Markus didn’t push. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t make a joke sharp enough to cut or cruel enough to stick. He busied himself instead, adjusting the chair, shifting his weight, and pretending the silence was nothing more than a pause between men who had survived worse.

Ahmet noticed.

He noticed the absence of mockery, the way Markus chose not to look at him too closely, the deliberate respect in the space he left untouched. Gratitude was not something Ahmet ever wore openly, it was a weakness, and an admission but it settled quietly all the same. It was a small, steady thing beneath the pain.

Markus nodded once. "She thought she did."

Something ugly tore loose in Ahmet’s chest.

His breath stuttered, not from fear, but from the effort of keeping his hands still. They curled anyway, tendons standing out, and his knuckles whitening as if his body hadn’t gotten the message that the fight was over.

"I don’t know what I feel anymore," he said, and the words scraped their way out of him. His voice trembled feral, like an animal pacing the bars of its own ribcage. "I don’t know when it stopped being... anything."

He swallowed hard, jaw ticking.

"But I know this," he went on, the quiet sharpening into something dangerous. "If she were standing in front of me right now, if I had the chance..."

His teeth clicked together. The sentence broke off, unfinished, because finishing it would mean admitting how easily it would come.

"I’d do it," he said instead. Flat. Honest. No drama left in it. "I wouldn’t think. I wouldn’t hesitate. I will kill her."

Markus didn’t move. He didn’t flinch and knew he would’ve done the same thing.

Ahmet dragged a hand down his face, breathing through his nose now, forcing the beast back where it belonged. "Not today," he muttered. "Not tomorrow. I don’t even want to look at her. I don’t want her voice in my head again."

He looked up then, eyes burning, and stripped of illusion.

"But if she tries anything again... anything worth killing over, no one would survive either." A pause. Then, colder. "I’ll end it."