Carlo and Jarul were shocked as they watched the footage of Layla taking on eight of Hobo Alvarez's men effortlessly—breaking bones, crushing skulls—mercilessly, ruthlessly. They had already seen the first video, where Layla had taken down the four thugs on her way home from school with Asma. It had looked like she was swatting at ants. It hadn't even taken her a full minute.
"Can you repeat your words again?" Carlo asked Jarul, his eyes still fixed on the screen. "You can't waste your time playing with a high school girl?"
Jarul was speechless, unsure of what to say. Yes, he could take on eight of Hobo's men too—but not like that, not with such ease. He couldn't say he'd walk away without a scratch or make it look like a casual warm-up. That girl moved like a ghost and hit like a storm.
"Mahir, read your findings," Carlo ordered.
Mahir nodded and began his report. "Her name is Layla Aksoy. Eighteen years old. She lives with her widowed mother and younger brother. Her father died years ago in a car accident. She's a senior at Mamak Ankara High School. No official record of criminal activity. No history of violence."
He paused. "Even though she clearly looks trained, there's no record of any dojo, martial arts school, or military affiliation. If she was trained, it's either off the grid or self-taught. But that kind of precision doesn't come from random street fighting. That's discipline."
Mahir flipped a page. "There's something else suspicious. The man I sent to check her school records found something strange. She was once consistently in the bottom ten of her class. But now, she's topping every test in the senior classes. Her classmates say she used to be weak, fragile, and constantly on sick leave."
Carlo narrowed his eyes.
"It's confirmed in her medical history," Mahir continued. "She had chronic cerebral congestion. Serious stuff. But somehow, she healed—completely—without any proper treatment."
He hesitated again. "This morning, she skipped class and went to Ulus Antique Market. Specifically, she visited Velvet Relics. And she caused a major commotion there. According to what we gathered, she took down ten of Velvet Relics' trained guards effortlessly."
"What? What?" Carlo and Jarul said at once.
"She went to Velvet Relics and caused a commotion there?" Carlo asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Did she leave unscathed?"
"Yes. Completely unscathed. Later in the afternoon, she went to the OTC. After she left, our man asked around and confirmed—she went there to exchange cryptocurrency for fiat. The amount… was five million USD."
The room fell into dead silence. Carlo leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen that now showed Layla standing over the unconscious bodies of Hobo's men like it was just another day.
"This girl is dangerous," Carlo muttered, his voice low and calculated, eyes still fixed on the paused footage where Layla stood calmly amidst the chaos. "She even dared to mess with Velvet Relics?"
He turned slightly toward Mahir, who stood nearby, arms folded behind his back.
"Did you find the source of the commotion?" Carlo asked, his tone no longer curious—but cold and demanding.
Mahir hesitated for a breath, then shook his head. "No, we didn't. You know very well who's backing Velvet Relics," he said, measured and cautious. "We can't just go there and ask around however we want."
Carlo's lips curled with a mocking grin as he leaned forward slightly. "Yes," he said, then chuckled with rising disbelief. "We can't even go there and ask questions, while the little girl went there and beat the guards—then left unscathed."
He leaned back in his leather chair, laughter still lingering in his chest, but his eyes had already grown serious. The humor vanished just as quickly as it came, and silence settled in the room like smoke.
Jarul had been quiet, unusually quiet. His eyes hadn't moved from the screen since the moment they played the second clip. He had watched Layla fight—no, dismantle—eight of Hobo Alvarez's men like she was simply brushing dirt off her shoulder. And before that, she had crushed four thugs on her way home from school—brutal, decisive, ruthless.
And she did it with no hesitation.
Now, Jarul finally spoke, his voice cutting through the still air.
"So… what do we do about her?"
Carlo didn't answer right away. He turned away from the screen, walking slowly toward the tall windows overlooking the city. The room was silent except for the faint hum of electricity and the rhythmic tap of Carlo's fingers against his leg.
Then, his voice came—low, thoughtful, with a weight that pressed down on the room.
"We either make her our friend," he said, pausing deliberately, "or kill her before it's too late."
He turned back toward them, his eyes sharp and cold.
"We can't just sit here and relax just because she's not our enemy yet," he said. "What if she joined the enemy camps?"
Jarul's voice carried a weight of calm reasoning, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward.
"I think we need to investigate her more first before taking action," he said carefully. "Someone like that can't just appear out of nowhere. What if there's a dangerous force behind her that we're not aware of… just like how we didn't even know she existed until now?"
Carlo didn't respond immediately. He stood still, his back facing them, the silence stretching for a moment before he finally turned, expression dark with focus. He folded his arms and leaned his back against the edge of the table, staring into nothingness as the gears in his mind turned.
"I think you're right about that," he said quietly. Then his tone shifted, sharpening. "Whatever business the Angels of Death are doing… I want them back now."
Jarul raised a brow but said nothing.
Carlo continued, his voice colder now, laced with grim foresight. "Also send word to the Island. Tell them to be prepared. We may have to call them back at any minute."
He looked between the two men and let out a slow breath. "It looks like the days of peace… are coming to an end."
A heavy silence fell again, one only broken by Jarul's voice, steady and firm.
"Mahir," he said without looking, "send your man who's following Layla back."
Mahir turned to him, a slight frown forming. "Why?"
Jarul glanced at him now, his eyes grave. "Not just anyone can spy on someone like that. You've seen what she's capable of. If she notices someone tailing her... your man won't even know how he died."