Top Assassins Call Me The Lady Boss-Chapter 177: "Must be nice."

Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Seven

Ahmet let out a long breath, the kind that dragged something heavy out of his chest.

"She just left," he said.

Markus’s grin widened. "She just left?"

Ahmet nodded once, then leaned back against the counter, rubbing a hand over his face. The words came slower after that. Not everything. Ahmet dragged a hand down his face. "She missed her period."

Markus stiffened. "What?"

"She had come here, panicked," Ahmet went on, staring at the floor like it might give him answers. "She thought she might be pregnant. I had to get a test." He let out a humorless breath.

Markus swore under his breath.

"She wasn’t," Ahmet said. "The test was negative." He paused, jaw tightening. "I should’ve felt relieved. I did, initially, but not the way I expected to."

Markus glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"She looked at me like she didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful," Ahmet said quietly. "Though she was guarded and soft. Like she’d braced herself for something worse and didn’t know what to do when it was even negative." He shook his head once. "Then she left."

Markus didn’t interrupt. He only listened, jaw tightening with every sentence.

When Ahmet finished, silence stretched between them.

Markus finally exhaled through his nose. "Don’t think it," he said quietly.

Ahmet looked up.

"I mean it," Markus went on, tone stripped of humor now. "Don’t let your head go there. Not with her. Not right now." He shook his head. "That road doesn’t end well for anyone."

"I know," Ahmet said, though his voice lacked conviction.

Markus straightened. "You care, fine. But you don’t get to be reckless about it. Not now." He paused, softer. "Especially not with Marco still breathing."

That did it.

Ahmet pushed off the counter. The softness drained from his posture, replaced by something colder, sharper, and familiar.

"Mission," he said.

Markus nodded and pulled out his phone, already moving. His thumb flew over the screen as he walked. "I’ll gather the men. Warehouse Three."

Ahmet went inside and grabbed his jacket, his keys already in hand. "We’ll meet them on the way."

Markus ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. "I hope this ends soon."

"It has to," Ahmet said.

Floodlights carved harsh white scars across the compound, mounted high on rusted poles. Cameras swept back and forth in slow, deliberate arcs. Armed men stood at intervals along the fence line, rifles loose but ready.

Ahmet slowed the car before the turn-in.

"Security’s been multiplied," Markus muttered. "Just like Marco ordered."

Ahmet didn’t answer. He was already mapping the blind spots, overlapping camera paths, and the containers stacked too neatly to be a coincidence.

They didn’t use the main gate.

They slipped in through the rear perimeter, where motion sensors blinked faintly along the walls. The air hummed with charged power.

A guard rounded the corner.

Ahmet caught him before the man could inhale to shout. Markus dragged the body into the shadow, fingers already killing the radio.

Inside, the warehouse throbbed.

Generators roared beneath the floor, overworked and relentless. Heat clung to the air, thick with sweat and recycled oxygen.

They passed a control station where two men were seated behind monitors, watching every camera feed in the building.

Not anymore.

One sharp strike, and the screens flickered, then died, reflecting Markus’s face for half a second before he yanked the power.

Then the sound reached them.

Voices. Dozens of them. Sounding, layered, rehearsed, and urgent.

"Yes sir, your account has been compromised..."

"...we just need verification..."

"...don’t hang up..."

Rows of desks filled the warehouse floor.

Computers packed tight, screens glowing sickly blue. Young men and women sat shoulder to shoulder, headsets clamped on, scripts taped to desks, creased, rewritten, and stained. Their voices never stopped.

Behind them, supervisors paced with batons tapping against their palms. Hesitation earned a sharp crack against a table. Or worse.

Along the walls, armed guards stood watch.

Not over the exits. Over the workers.

Chains ran low along the floor, locking chairs in place. Some wrists bore raw marks. Some eyes didn’t look up at all.

Ahmet’s jaw hardened.

One supervisor sensed the change, he sensed the wrongness of the air, and the sudden silence in the feeds. So he turned.

His baton slipped from his fingers.

Chairs scraped back as panic rippled through the rows, sudden and jagged, restrained only by the rifles lining the walls.

Ahmet stepped into the light.

"End the calls," he said.

His voice was calm. It didn’t need volume. Just a glimpse of him and it was enough.

A guard shifted and another tightened his grip.

Ahmet picked up a phone from the nearest desk, listened to the trembling voice on the other end for a heartbeat, then disconnected it and placed it down gently.

"Now."

One by one, the screens went dark and the headsets dropped. The generators thundered on, suddenly too loud in the exposed quiet.

Markus scanned the room. "These are forced labor. Probably trafficked. He’s running a scam industry nonstop."

"His cash machine," Ahmet said, agreeing with what Markus commented. "Built on fear."

His men moved.

Exits were sealed. Guards disarmed. They freed them from the chains and shackles. Marco’s men who resisted were put down quickly.

A young man with a headset still crooked over one ear just stood there, hands trembling at his sides, staring at Ahmet like he wasn’t real. A woman also sank to her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor, breath breaking out of her in sobs she’d clearly been swallowing for weeks.

Someone whispered thank you once, then again, like a prayer they were afraid would jinx the moment. Eyes followed Ahmet as he moved through the rows, wide and shining, fear slowly loosening into something fragile and aching, something that looked almost like belief.

For the first time since they’d been dragged in and chained to screens and scripts, the guns were no longer pointed at them, and the people who’d ended the calls hadn’t come to hurt them, but to open the doors.

When the last of them were clear, Ahmet stopped at the entrance. Markus brushed past him, striking the flare and tossing it inside without ceremony. It clattered across the concrete, rolled beneath a desk, then bloomed. Fire caught fast, wires hissing, fuel-soaked papers flashing bright.

Ahmet stayed where he was as the first wave of heat surged out, as flames crawled up chair legs and leapt to the hanging cables. Screens burst one by one, sharp pops slicing through the roar. Only then did he lift his gaze, watching the blaze take its first full breath and spread, until the warehouse was no longer a place, but a furnace chewing itself hollow.

This was the only warehouse they burned and even watched. Maybe because this time, he wished they had destroyed the rest too.

Ahmet stopped just outside the glow of the fire and turned to Markus.

"Did you plan this?" he asked, voice low. "Burning the place."

Markus glanced back at the warehouse, flames crawling up the metal frame. He shook his head once. "No. I found the petrol inside. The containers were stacked near the back. And a lighter in one of the offices."

Ahmet’s eyes narrowed. "Already there?"

"Yeah," Markus said. "Like they’d been waiting to use it."

Ahmet went quiet for a moment, the crackle of fire filling the space between them. Then, "So who was it?" he asked. "One of the hostages? Someone desperate enough to torch it all and run?"

Markus exhaled slowly. "Or Marco," he said. "Was it an order? If the place was ever compromised, they were to burn everything, evidence, people, and machines before we came."

Ahmet’s jaw tightened. "Meaning if we’d been late..." 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

"It wouldn’t have been a raid," Markus cut in. "It would’ve been a grave."

Markus broke the silence first. He nudged Ahmet lightly with his elbow.

"Come on," he said, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth. "Let’s go for a drink. You look like you need one."

Ahmet didn’t look at him. His eyes were still on the dying fire. "No." Then he finally turned, the corner of his mouth lifting. "I’m planning a date with Asli. At my place."

Markus stopped short. "A date?" He laughed softly. "You? Do you even know how to do that?"

Ahmet shot him a look. "Watch it."

"I’m serious," Markus went on, clearly enjoying himself. "Candles? Music? Food? Or are you just going to stare at her until she figures out you’re in love?"

Ahmet exhaled and rolled his neck, stretching the tension out. "I haven’t had time to plan anything," he admitted. "She’s coming later. Maybe near dawn. Early morning, at the latest."

Markus’s brows lifted. "You’re hopeless." He pulled out his phone before Ahmet could respond and stepped a few paces away, already dialing. His voice dropped as he spoke, quick and efficient. "Yeah. I need a pickup. Now. Same place. Bring what all I asked for."

He ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket, turning to Ahmet with a satisfied smile.

"I got you," he said and then chuckled, shaking his head. "Must be nice," he continued lightly. "Ending a mission knowing there’s a woman waiting for you at home."