Top Assassins Call Me The Lady Boss-Chapter 156: "That’s normal"

Ahmet pulled the SUV to a jerky halt on the shoulder of the dirt road, a few miles out from the second warehouse. The engine idled with a low, mechanical growl that he felt vibrating through his clenched teeth. Every throb of his heart felt like a sledgehammer striking the exit wound in his chest.

"Ahmet, let’s switch seats for goodness sake," Markus commanded, his voice tight with an uncharacteristic edge of panic. He leaned over, peering at his cousin’s profile in the light of the dashboard. "You’re gray. If you pass out behind the wheel, we’re both dead."

"I don’t fear death." Ahmet snapped.

"Neither do I but if it’s from a stupid cause, I wouldn’t want that. You are not too well. You have been unreasonable since you woke up. Let’s switch seats. Dying wouldn’t do me any good. It wouldn’t do the Villa good either."

Ahmet didn’t answer; he couldn’t find the breath. He reached up with clumsy, ice-cold fingers to unbutton his tactical vest. Underneath, his black shirt was no longer black; it was heavy, sodden, and clinging to his skin with a sickening, localized warmth. The bandage the doctor had applied had shifted during the violence of the raid. He knew this wasn’t the work of his Villa’ doctor’s hand. But, he wasn’t going to ask. He knew Markus needed to do what he needed to do.

As Ahmet peeled the fabric away, a hissed curse escaped his lips. The white gauze was a saturated mess of brilliant crimson.

"It’s reopened," Markus muttered. He reached into the back for the med kit, not waiting for Ahmet’s scolding. He ripped the adhesive back, and Ahmet’s head thumped against the headrest, a sharp gasp escaping him as the cool night air hit the raw, torn flesh. "You’re a fool. You should be resting and taking meds, not playing vigilante in your enemy’s backyard."

"It’s not just an enemy’s backyard anymore, Markus," Ahmet rasped. He closed his eyes as Markus pressed fresh gauze onto the wound, the pain blinding him, a white-hot galaxy exploding behind his eyelids. "You saw the girls in that first location. You saw the cages. If Marco is doing this and the ’Lady Boss’ is his accomplice, then she isn’t the woman I thought she was. She’s a goddamn butcher."

Markus’s hands shook as he taped the new dressing down, his voice unconvincing. "We don’t know what she knows."

"She knows how to pull a trigger!" Ahmet snapped, his eyes snapping open to glare at his cousin. The sheer intensity of his rage was the only thing keeping the world from fading to black. "She didn’t hesitate. She looked at me and saw a nuisance to be deleted. If she’s loyal to a man who sells children and women, then she’s my enemy. Period."

Markus exhaled loudly, the sound heavy with restraint. "Well... technically, she knows how to shoot," he said, voice playful, yet measured. "Maybe tangling with her clouded your judgment. Whether she’s her father’s accomplice or not, she’s still a Mafia leader. Shooting has been her daily food."

Ahmet’s gaze shifted to him. It was sharp, unreadable, and most of all, dangerous.

However , he said nothing.

"I know her shooting you," Markus continued quietly, "hurts more than the bullet itself, but..."

"It doesn’t hurt me," Ahmet cut in immediately, his voice rough, defensive, and too quick. "That’s not what’s hurting me."

Markus nodded once.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t press.

But the disbelief was there in his eyes, in the faint tightening of his jaw. The look of a man who heard the words and didn’t believe a single one of them.

Ahmet saw it.

His mouth hardened.

He turned his face toward the window, gaze fixed on the stretch of road ahead, pretending he didn’t care whether Markus believed him or not.

Then, he felt Markus’ hand again on his wound. He immediately shoved Markus’s hands away and refastened his vest, the pressure of the Kevlar agonizing against the fresh dressing. He slammed the car into gear, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.

"Where are we going?" Markus asked, checking his own weapon. "Warehouse number three?"

"No," Ahmet bit out. In his mind, he was already miles ahead, fueled by the conviction that Marco was running scared. "I am sure by now Marco knows what has happened to two of his warehouses. He knows we’re being systematic. He should be deploying men after us by now."

The thought of Asli or the stranger who called herself Asli, flickered through his mind. He could almost smell the jasmine in her hair, a scent that had once meant peace but now felt like a taunt. It was all a beautiful, lethal lie designed to distract him while her father built a throne out of bones. For all he knew, Asli had waited for him to enter her web and he did willingly while thinking he was blackmailing her.

Ahmet drove as if the road were an extension of his will.

His jaw was locked so tightly his teeth ached. Each breath dragged like broken glass through his lungs, shallow and uneven, as the pressure of the vest continued to grind mercilessly against the unfinished dressed wound. He felt every heartbeat now.

Markus watched him from the passenger seat, unease crawling higher with every mile.

Ahmet wasn’t slowing.

He was fading.

The world had narrowed for him, vision tunneling, edges blurring in and out of focus. The dashboard lights smeared faintly, glowing too light, and too far away. His hands still held the wheel steady, but the sensation had dulled, as if his body were slowly disconnecting from itself.

He refused to acknowledge it.

Weakness could wait and he wouldn’t show it.

The Villa’s gates loomed ahead, tall and unforgiving, iron bars parting smoothly at the sight of the approaching vehicle.

His SUV rolled onto the grounds and slowed to a controlled stop.

Ahmet killed the engine.

For a moment, nothing happened.

"Next time, I’m going with my own car!" Markus half yelled.

Then the door opened and Ahmet stood.

Or tried to.

His legs betrayed him immediately. The world tilted, lurched violently to the left, and suddenly gravity reclaimed its due. Markus swore sharply and lunged forward just as Ahmet’s knees buckled.

"Ahmet..."

He went down hard, consciousness slipping like water through his fingers.

Markus caught him mid-fall, the impact jarring them both as Ahmet’s weight sagged fully into his arms. His cousin was burning up, skin clammy, breath ragged and uneven against Markus’s shoulder.

"Get over here!" Markus barked, voice cutting through the night.

Two men moved instantly.

Together, they hauled Ahmet through the front doors of the Villa, boots echoing against marble floors polished to a reflective sheen. Blood smeared faintly against Markus’s sleeve where the bandage had begun to seep again, a dark bloom spreading despite their haste.

They barely made it past the grand hall before Ahmet’s head lolled forward, his body going completely slack.

Markus felt his pulse at his throat—fast. Too fast.

"Bedroom," he ordered. "Now."

They laid him carefully on the bed, stripping away the tactical vest and weapons with practiced efficiency. Ahmet didn’t stir. His face had lost all color, lips pale, lashes dark against ashen skin. He looked younger like this. More human. Dangerous in an entirely different way.

The doctor arrived within minutes. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

He was older, calm in the way men became after years of stitching broken kings back together. He peeled away the bloodied dressing, his expression unreadable as he assessed the damage.

"Hm," he murmured.

Markus hovered near the foot of the bed, arms crossed tight across his chest. "Well?"

"The wound reopened under strain," the doctor said, re-cleaning it carefully. "Not unexpected, given his... lifestyle."

Markus huffed a breathless, humorless laugh.

The doctor finished redressing the injury, hands steady, and precise. The fresh bandage was neat.

"I’d suggest he rests," the doctor said mildly, securing the final strip of tape. Then, after a pause, he added, "But knowing him, I’ll keep my words to myself. The wound is dressed neatly now."

Markus nodded once, but his jaw tight. "Can you make him sleep?"

The doctor glanced at him. "For a full day? No. Not safely."

Markus didn’t flinch. "Then for as long as possible."

The doctor considered for a moment, then reached into his case. "A long-acting sedative. It should keep him under for several hours. Eight, perhaps more, if his body cooperates. It’ll slow his system. Give him a fighting chance to heal."

"Do it," Markus said immediately.

The injection was administered smoothly, the doctor monitoring Ahmet’s vitals as the sedative took hold. His breathing gradually evened out, harsh gasps softening into a steady, and shallow rhythm. The tension in his face eased slightly, though even in sleep, his brow remained faintly furrowed, like a man still fighting battles behind closed eyes.

The doctor packed up his things.

"He’ll wake up groggy," he said. "Angry."

Markus exhaled slowly. "That’s normal."

As the doctor left, Markus remained at Ahmet’s bedside, watching his chest rise and fall. The Villa was quiet now, deceptively peaceful. He’d have time to look through the things they brought from Warehouse number two.

Ahmet slept soundly.