Top Assassins Call Me The Lady Boss novel Chapter 155

Chapter 155: "Who is it?"

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Five

Asli was halfway down the front steps when she noticed the movement.

Engines idling. Men strapping on weapons. Denied standing near the convoy, issuing clipped instructions with his usual precision. It was already edging toward afternoon, the sun high enough to cast hard shadows across the Villa grounds.

She slowed.

Her lips curved. It was not in amusement, but in quiet contempt.

So this was when they chose to move. She stopped just long enough for the thought to sharpen, to settle properly in her mind. If the order had been hers, the man responsible would already be on his knees in front of her father by now. Delivered before dawn. Wrapped and bleeding if necessary. That was how it was done. That was how Marco had taught her.

Orders received before sunrise were executed before the sun could witness them.

Yet here they were. Late. Careful. Almost... restrained.

Late?

Since when did Mafia orders wait?

Careful was one thing. It was being tactical. Careful meant you planned, calculated, and survived. But this, this was different. This was slow. Deliberate in a way that felt almost ceremonial.

And restrained?

Her lips curved faintly, without humor.

Mafia men weren’t meant to move like this. Orders were given before dawn. Things should’ve been finished before the city woke up. By morning, there was nothing left to trace, nothing left to question.

Yet here they were, still assembling, still taking their time, and still moving as if the moment could afford patience.

Weak.

Her gaze swept over them once more, cool and assessing, before she turned away. She didn’t greet Demir. She didn’t even look for him.

The absence registered and passed just as quickly. He should have moved when ordered. If he hadn’t, there was a reason she didn’t need it explained. She wasn’t about to ask where he was or slow herself down searching for him.

Didn’t slow to exchange words with the men either. It wasn’t a habit she had ever cultivated anyway, pleasantries were a luxury for people who weren’t constantly calculating survival.

Her heels struck the stone path with purpose as she headed for her car.

The engine roared to life, and moments later, the Villa disappeared behind her. She didn’t look back.

The warehouse greeted her with silence. Too much silence.

Asli stepped inside, her senses sharpening instantly, as the faint smell of dust and cold metal filled her lungs. She went straight to the place where Markus had fallen, where the gun had kicked against her palm, and where the echo of the shot had rung too loud in her ears. That night was immaculate. She remembered and a satisfying smile crossed her lips.

She stepped forward slowly, boots echoing in the space, her gaze tracing the emptiness.

Everything was swept clean.

There were no shell casings, no blood, and no overturned crate.

Not even the scuff marks she remembered on the concrete floor.

She stood there for a moment, taking it all in, her expression unreadable.

It didn’t shock her.

Ahmet’s men were thorough. Brutally so. If he had lived and she hadn’t waited around to confirm it then this was exactly what would follow. Evidence erased. Loose ends tied. Silence imposed.

Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

So Markus knew. Or at least, Markus knew enough. Why did he come to her room barking like he didn’t know then?

Her gaze drifted across the empty space, her mind already moving ahead of her. If the warehouse had been cleaned, then Ahmet had indeed survived and probably come back here to clean it all up. There was no other explanation she was willing to entertain. Markus would never bother otherwise. Not for sentiment. Not for mercy.

Did they clean up?

Why did they clean up? They could’ve left it to tell her something. But cleaning it all up as if it never happened? What did they want to do next?

Could they be behind her father’s anguish to send her a message? Or was it someone else?

Who would be bold enough to do this?

A slow breath slipped past her lips.

The thought slid in uninvited, sharp and immediate:

If not, then who was undoing my father’s work?

The question didn’t linger gently. It pressed and demanded an answer. It had to be one of them or someone else.

Was it Markus, moving in the shadows with that infuriating patience of his?

Or Ahmet, wounded, furious, and far more dangerous now that he had something personal to burn for?

Her eyes narrowed.

If this was retaliation, it was subtle. Too subtle. There was no message carved into the walls. No warning scrawled in blood or ash. No calling came to announce dominance.

She searched anyway.

Old instinct.

She walked deeper into the warehouse, her steps measured, her gaze flicking to corners, to beams, to the places where men like Markus liked to leave their mark when they wanted to be understood.

Nothing.

The absence settled heavily in her chest and then, unexpectedly, so did something else.

Disappointment.

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