Sahra Aydemir
"İsmail?"
"My dear little one!"
You know those moments when everything seems to move at the speed of light, yet time feels frozen? This was exactly one of those moments. Ortaç was talking on the phone with his back turned to me. To reach him, I would have to pass by İsmail—that creep. I would never go near him. Tim, who had been sitting at the table, stood up and started walking toward me. In that instant, I remembered my aunt's words: "İsmail has become like a mafia figure now, carrying both a gun and a knife."
I couldn't put Tim in danger.
There was another door leading to the restaurant's dining area—the one we usually kept slightly open for ventilation when cooking smells became too strong. It opened into the alley and was right beside me. These thoughts flashed thr
