Chapter 223: "How old are you?

Chapter Two Hundred and Twenty- Four

’Ahmet is your...’ The thought hit again, sharp and unwelcome, and she swallowed hard like she could force it back down. It didn’t stay gone for long.

"And while at it, I want you in the top list," she said instead, her voice steady, deliberately ignoring the unease curling in her chest.

The man let out a sound; it was a half laugh, half disbelief. There was even something like satisfaction in it. "Huh!" He shook his head. "So you don’t even know who the father of your unborn child is. All this drama... this is you trying to find out, isn’t it?"

His eyes lit up as if he had solved something important.

"I knew nothing good comes from Marco’s people. Let alone his daughter. You need a DNA test, that’s what this is. To prove who..."

She hated that she was still standing there listening to him. Every word should have meant nothing. They should have rolled off her. Instead, they lodged somewhere she couldn’t reach.

Her hand flew to her waist on instinct. It was empty. She had handed her gun over at the entrance.

A cold smile ghosted across her face. Lucky him.

"You want to silence me because I’m saying the truth? Ahmet leaves on a mission and suddenly you show up here rushing answers before he returns..."

He straightened, finding his composure again.

"Listen here, you..."

"Shut up!" Her voice cracked like a whip. "How dare you?" she said, low now, dangerous in its calm.

His expression twisted immediately. "How dare I? You imbecile"

She moved before anyone realized she had. Her hand shot toward Philip’s holster. The pistol slid free in one smooth motion. In the same breath, she leveled it at the older man’s forehead.

Click.

No sound came. Her brows knitted. She pulled the trigger again.

Still nothing happened.

"The magazine’s empty." Philip’s voice came from beside her, calm despite what had just happened. "Boss Ahmet warned me not to trust you with a loaded gun." A faint, apologetic smile tugged at his lips. "I removed the bullets before we entered."

She heard him. Or perhaps she didn’t. Her eyes never left the man standing across from her. He hadn’t moved or dodged.

Not when she had snatched the gun. Not when she had aimed it. Not even when the trigger clicked.

He didn’t so much as blink. Not a flicker crossed his face, not a muscle tightened in his shoulders. He simply stood there, looking straight down the empty barrel as though she had pointed a finger at him.

He had fully believed the gun was loaded yet he hadn’t flinched. Even her adoptive father would’ve flinched.

The insult of his accusation still burned beneath her skin. Him implying she didn’t know who the father of her child was made her want to rip the walls apart.

Yet...

Against her own will, a sliver of respect crept in. No wonder Ahmet carried himself the way he did. Supremacy wasn’t learned overnight. She was staring at the man who had raised the man she was in love with.

How different would her life have been if this man had been her father?

The thought alone made her stomach churn.

She had spent years hating him. Years of hearing his name with nothing but resentment. And yet... she considered the possibility of him being her father.

He was Ahmet’s father. The father of the man she had shared a bed with for months. The grandfather of the child growing inside her.

If fate had somehow twisted itself even further... if this man turned out to be her father too...

She almost gagged.

There couldn’t be a crueler joke.

Her fingers curled into her palms.

Was that why she had insisted he be included among the samples?

She didn’t know.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

"I admire your courage," the older man said at last, breaking the silence. "No wonder my son believes he loves you."

He lifted a hand.

Philip hesitated, his eyes flicking between them before giving a respectful bow. The guards followed him out one after another until the heavy doors closed, leaving only the two of them inside the hall.

"I’ve wanted to meet you after Ahmet disclosed this... mistake," he continued. "I’m willing to raise the child myself. Your life in the Mafia..." His gaze settled briefly on her stomach. "It would be far more effective without the burden of motherhood. If that child truly belongs to my son, then I’m willing to..."

"Give me the samples." She cut him off through clenched teeth. "I’ll be out of your house immediately I get them."

The words came out hard. But something inside her cracked anyway. Without warning, her vision blurred.

No. Not now.

She swallowed once.

Twice.

The tears ignored her. The first one slipped free. Then another. She shut her eyes for the briefest second, furious at herself.

Not here. Not in front of him.

When she looked up again, the older man was watching her differently. The steel in his expression had softened.

Only slightly. Only for a moment. It was long enough for her to notice.

Then it was gone.

Even Marco had never looked at her like that.

"I..." Her voice caught.

She hated that. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I just want to know who my parents are."

Another tear escaped before she could stop it. "I just want to ask them why they stopped looking for me."

She laughed bitterly through the ache in her chest. "...And whether they’re worth killing."

Silence settled between them. When he finally spoke, his voice no longer carried the cold authority from earlier. "Is killing the only thing you know? Is that all you’ve been taught?"

She didn’t reply. He studied her for a long moment. The questions landed heavier than accusations. She found herself looking away.

He exhaled quietly.

"Fine." His voice returned to business. "You’ll have the samples."

She looked back at him.

"But not today. Most of the men from my generation have long retired. They’re scattered, resting with their families."

He paused.

"I’ll have every one of them summoned tomorrow."

His gaze remained steady.

"I’ll collect their hair samples myself, label each one, and have Philip deliver them to you."

For a heartbeat, she simply stared.

Then she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand almost impatiently, as though the tears had never belonged there.

"...Thank you." The words escaped before she realized she’d spoken them.

For the first time since she’d walked into his house...

Neither of them knew what to say next.

His gaze lingered on her a moment longer than before, as if he were contemplating whether to ask a question or not.

Then, almost casually, he asked, "What do you mean... finding your biological parents? You mean your mother?"

Asli didn’t hesitate. "Parents. The ones you killed, or thought you killed."

A faint crease formed between his brows. Not anger yet, more like irritation at a misunderstanding he didn’t like.

"I keep being accused of things I didn’t do," he said, voice even. "And if I did kill your parents... then they must have done something to deserve it. If they didn’t... then it wasn’t me."

Her lips curved slightly, but there was no humor in them.

"We’ll see."

A short silence settled between them.

Then he tilted his head, studying her more closely now. "If Marco isn’t your father..." His eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but in calculation. "Then what is he?"

Asli’s fingers tightened once around her sleeve before she released it again. She turned slightly toward the door, already half out of the conversation.

"He doesn’t look like a man who wanted a child," he added, almost to himself. "So if he ended up with one that isn’t biologically his... there has to be a reason."

"You should ask him," she said flatly, stepping toward the exit.

"Wait." His voice stopped her just as her hand reached the handle.

She paused without turning.

"How old are you?"

The question hung oddly in the air.

For a moment, she didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed on the door as if it might open itself and pull her out of the conversation.

"I’m not sure," she said at last.

Then she left.