Chapter 240: Son of a bitch

Chapter Two Hundred and Forty

Ahmet’s hand remained over her stomach. His thumb moved

slowly across the fabric. Then he stopped.

Completely.

The smile disappeared from his face.

One thought slipped through the warmth in his chest. ’If

Asli isn’t my sister...’

His eyes opened.

He lifted his head.

’Then I’m not their son.’

The realization finally struck so hard his hand fell away

from her stomach.

He stared at nothing.

Settimo.

Rosalia.

His breathing changed.

"Asli..."

She looked down at him.

He slowly rose to his feet, but his face had gone pale.

"Wait a fcking minute."

He stepped away from her.

His mind raced.

"No."

He shook his head.

"Then who am I? Who are my parents?"

The question came out barely audible.

He pressed a hand against his forehead.

His entire childhood seemed to rearrange itself in seconds.

Asli let out a breath.

"Your father died. Settimo took you in." She said it as plainly as she

could.

Ahmet stared at her.

There was something in her face that didn’t belong in those words. A

hesitation. A weight behind her eyes. Like she was choosing what to tell him

and what to keep buried.

His stomach tightened.

"Are you joking with me?"

"No, Ahmet."

She stepped closer.

"Your father and Settimo were best friends. Markus’ father, your father, and

Settimo were very close. When your father died, Settimo adopted you."

The room seemed to tilt.

Ahmet didn’t hear anything after ’adopted you’.

He turned sharply.

His eyes searched the room until they landed on a pair of trousers lying

over a chair. He grabbed them, pulled them on with shaking hands, snatched the

first shirt he found and shoved his feet into his slippers without bothering to

check if he even wore them properly.

Then he was out the door.

"Settimo!"

His voice tore through the corridor.

"Rosalia!"

He didn’t remember the day he had called them by their names.

The sound was so different from the way he usually called them that the

guards came rushing out of their rooms.

Among them was Matilda. He knew they were coming. Her face was already

frightened.

"Ahmet?"

He barely looked at her and stormed past her.

The door to his parents’ bedroom stood open.

He pushed through it.

Rosalia was still in the bathroom, the sound of running water coming from

behind the closed door.

Settimo was waiting.

He sat in the armchair near the window, fully dressed, his hands resting

calmly on the arms.

Too calmly.

His eyes were already fixed on the doorway.

As though he’d been expecting him.

"My son."

Ahmet stopped.

The words scraped against something inside him.

"Your son?"

His laugh was short and bitter.

"Why is Asli telling me you’re not my father?"

Settimo didn’t move.

"Isn’t that what you’d want?"

Ahmet’s jaw clenched.

"Don’t be smart with me, old man." He stepped farther into the room. "What

play is this?"

Settimo’s expression barely shifted.

"Ahmet, we didn’t know this would happen. If we had our way, we would’ve

taken this truth to our graves."

Ahmet stared at him.

"To your graves?"

His voice rose.

"You would’ve lied to me about my own identity?"

He took another step.

"Who was he?"

Settimo’s eyes hardened. "I didn’t lie about your identity."

"You didn’t also tell me! Was he so undeserving of being spoken about?"

The words carried something Ahmet had grown up understanding.

In their world, some names disappeared when the men carrying them did.

Betrayal could erase a man from history. If his children survived, they were

sometimes spared the shame by never being told who their father was.

Ahmet’s fists tightened.

"Was that what happened?"

"No." Settimo’s answer came immediately. "Never. Your father was an

honorable man."

Something flickered in his eyes.

"We fought together. He was one of the best men I ever knew."

Ahmet’s throat tightened.

"Then how come you hid the fa..."

"I was protecting you."

"From what?" His voice cracked through the room. "From who?"

Settimo remained seated.

"You’ll understand someday. Perhaps when your own child is born."

Ahmet’s chest rose sharply.

"I had already lost my child... once and the one I never got to meet," Settimo

continued. "And when your father died, all I could think about was keeping you

alive. You became my responsibility."

Ahmet stared at him.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to feel.

Gratitude.

Anger.

Betrayal.

He had taken him in.

Raised him.

Loved him.

Really loved him.

So why did the truth feel like another wound?

Then something clicked.

His head lifted.

"Wait."

Settimo’s eyes met his.

"You said Marco started the fire."

The older man’s face changed almost imperceptibly.

"You said he took Asli and made everyone believe she died in it."

Ahmet’s pulse began pounding.

"And mum lost your baby as well." Ahmet’s voice dropped. "Was Marco the man

who killed my father?"

Settimo looked at him.

"Listen, my son..."

"Just answer me."

Nothing came.

Ahmet watched his father’s eyes.

Settimo held his gaze for several seconds.

Then he looked away.

That was enough.

Ahmet’s stomach turned.

He spun toward the door.

Asli stood there.

He stopped so abruptly his shoulder nearly hit the frame.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Ahmet stumbled backward into the room.

"Now I understand." His voice was shaking. "The bad blood between you two."

His eyes burned.

"He stole your daughter. Raised her. Trained her to kill you."

He looked toward Settimo.

"And what did you do?"

His breathing became ragged.

"It would’ve made sense if you also did the same. It would’ve made sense if you

had raised me to kill him too. He killed my father."

His voice cracked.

"And I’m sure my mother died thinking nobody was coming for her." His eyes

filled. "How did I never meet her?"

Settimo rose slowly. "Calm down. We thought your mother and aunt died in the

fire too."

Ahmet stared at him.

"But they didn’t. We found out only a few hours ago."

His lips parted.

"Where are they?"

Settimo hesitated.

Asli stepped into the room.

"They’re here." Also responded this time around.

Ahmet turned toward her.

"Where?"

Her eyes met his.

"It’s... my nanny."

His brow furrowed.

"What?"

Asli swallowed.

"Your aunt is my nanny. Georgia is your mother."

Ahmet stared at her.

Then he shook his head.

"What rubbish is that?"

Settimo moved closer.

"Ahmet..."

"My aunt is your nanny?"

His voice rose.

"What the hell does that even mean?"

Settimo began explaining everything.

The fire.

The families.

The people they thought they’d lost.

The years of believing the dead were dead.

Ahmet barely heard the words.

His mind had already gone somewhere else.

His mother had been alive.

All this time.

"She recognized me." He whispered. "She recognized me when she first saw me."

He remembered the woman in the wheelchair.

Her eyes.

The way she’d looked at him.

The trembling.

The tears.

His breathing stopped.

Then his hands curled into fists.

His head lifted slowly as another realization hit him.

"If he knew my mother then it meant he knew the and took them in when your

nanny... I mean my aunt asked him for help. And he fcking rped her! I’m killing

that son of a bitch."

The words came out almost too quietly to hear.