“Excuse me to change then.”

Chapter Eleven

Ahmet sat on the sofa, humming a tune that had been stuck in his head since morning. He checked his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time, his eyes narrowing as he counted the minutes passing. She was late. But he knew she was coming. She had to.

His attention moved to the pen drive on the coffee table. He hummed the tune again with a sly smirk on his face. He had chosen the perfect tune for her. He was convinced the tune would complement her figure:

He had carefully chosen this music, visualizing it wrapping around her curves like a seductive caress. He believed that the way the notes swayed and undulated would match her beautiful physique.

Beautiful. He thought she was beautiful. Since when?

He imagined her on stage, her body moving in time, each stride a seductive invitation. But he didn't want her to dance for the audience; he wanted her to dance for him alone, her gaze fixed on him, her moves a seductive surrender. The thought sent shivers down his spine, and his smirk widened.

But what truly interested him was the incongruity of it all. She, the feared mafia boss, was the last person anyone would expect to see swaying passionately to a sultry melody.

He saw how she danced as Lisa, and those dance moves were nowhere near what he was expecting tonight and he knew she would never dance for him, not like that but he wanted to push his luck, to see how far she would go to protect the lives of those she cared about.

He imagined the rigidity in her gaze dissolving, her strong jawline relaxing, as she submitted to the music.

'Relaxing my ass! She'd rather throw a knife than please him.' he thought, almost excitedly. It was her ruthlessness that got him intrigued in the first place, wasn't it?

His excitement faded as the minutes passed, leaving him disappointed. She was not coming. He could swear she was going to. Wasn't she afraid of her father? He pulled away from the table, scraping his sofa against the floor. He rose, his motions deliberate, and started walking toward the door.

The door burst open, almost throwing him off balance. He braced himself, his gaze fixed on the woman standing in the doorway. She stood upright, her shoulders determined, and her eyes gleamed with intense drive. The gift bag in her hand appeared to quiver as tension emanated from her body.

His gaze swept over her, drinking in the sight of her. Her hair was unkempt, her cheeks heated, and her lips pursed into a tiny line. She looked like she'd been carried through a hurricane, but she still exuded authority.

Her voice was filled with hatred. "I do not take instructions, Ahmet. I give them."

Ahmet's eyes flashed with accusations. "Well, I am not the one who is planning to overthrow his father."

Her face twisted in outrage. "I am not planning anything! I don't know where you got that from but you…"

Ahmet cut her off with a dismissive wave. "None of my business. Wear it."

He went back to his chair and settled in, as he relaxed in it, and pointed at what she held in her hands. Her gaze followed his every movement, and her expression darkened.

"I will be damned if I wear anything like this," she spat, her voice trembling with rage.

"We shall see about that," Ahmet sneered, his eyes glinting with malice as he immediately pulled out his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. "Guess who I'm calling..."

Asli's gaze snapped to his hand, her instincts on high alert.

"Who are you calling?" she demanded, her voice low and deadly.

Ahmet's smile grew wider. "Guess whose number it is."

In a flash, she drew her gun from her pocket, aiming it squarely at Ahmet's forehead. "I don't care," she hissed.

He chuckled, unfazed. She cared and it excited him that she did.

Her finger tightened on the trigger. "I don't miss."

"True," Ahmet acknowledged, "but my men surround this building. If I don't walk out alive, they'll take you down. I'll pardon you for pointing a gun at me. Don't be stupid. I entered this room without a weapon. I was hoping you'd do the same thing. But that is fine. Knowing how skilled you are, I'm sure you will kill a bunch of them should you decide for a war to break out tonight."

"You got that right!" She exclaimed.

"There are a lot more than you think," he attempted to warn even though it sounded like he was teasing.

Her eyes narrowed. "You're betting on numbers? I'll kill them all in less than five seconds."

"I'm counting on it," Ahmet said, his voice dripping with confidence. "Just that, unfortunately, I have another few men, sending your father some gifts. If they fail to hear from me, they will send them all the evidence showing you have unregistered men and well, pictures of you entering here after I did. Let me spare you the rest. Either way, you won't be free after tonight if you plan anything stupid." He explained while going back to his seat.

He admired how she maintained her composure, gun still trained on him, her expression icy. As if she had the upper hand.

The tension between them crackled like a live wire. Her fierce demeanor drew him in, and he couldn't help but be captivated by the sparks flying between them.

As he expected wrath, he was met with something more - a seething rage that seemed to simmer beneath her surface. Her eyes flashed, and for a moment, he thought she'd pull the trigger.

But then, slowly, she lowered the gun and a cocky smile left his lips. Her jaw clenched, her gaze burning with resentment. He sensed her hesitation and her awareness that she couldn't outmaneuver him.

"Good girl," he said, his voice low and husky, intentionally provocative.

Her eyes narrowed, her face twisting in disgust, unappreciated of the name he had just called her. "Come here kitten." He knew he was pushing too hard, but her reaction was intoxicating.

She stood firm, her feet rooted to the spot, refusing to yield. She refused to take an inch. Undeterred, he rose from his seat, his movements swift. He gently pried the bag from her grasp, extracting the lingerie from the gift bag. The silk fabric rustled as he held it up, his eyes locked on hers.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" He commented as his hand hovered near her cheek, the proximity sending a shiver down both their spines. He sensed her revulsion, but also a spark of fascination. "Dance for me, kitten."

"Cut it out! If you needed a whore, you could get one. I'll arrange for someone to come dance for you." She spat, her voice still commanding. She turned to leave, but Ahmet's words halted her.

He did not break her… yet. Oh, how he loved that.

"I think you have a fair idea of why I want you to dance for me. So do you want me to hit the call button? It's your dad's number." For an instant, a flicker of defeat danced in her eyes, before her gaze hardened. Ahmet's heart skipped a beat; he had her right where he wanted.

"Excuse me to change then," she whispered, so low he almost would've lost it if he had ordinary ears.

"Use the washroom," Ahmet ordered, his tone intentionally dismissive. He could tell from the look on her face that she hated his tone if not the words.

Her eyes flashed, her face twisted in revulsion. She snatched the lingerie from him, clutching it tightly.

She walked away silently. Ahmet's eyes followed her with a smile. He loved how hot her temper was, even as he sensed her desperation.