Looking For His North Star

Chapter seventeen

He couldn't shake the bad feeling crawling down his spine.

Yaman turned off the ignition and got out. The feeling had followed him like a shadow for a few days now. Intuition, instinct- call it whatever you want- a remnant from a past he'd left behind. He'd often felt it during the gang wars and gun fights he'd so eagerly led, the adrenaline rush, guessing where the next bullet would hit, taking careful aim....

But now it felt alien to him, after such a long time.

He walked inside. The strange feeling didn't belong in his cosy home, where the smell of freshly baked bread wafted around and tiny footsteps pattered overhead. Yaman followed the sound of a toddler crying that echoed from upstairs and almost collided with the little boy who came running from the opposite direction, carrying a soccer ball. Yaman grabbed the back of his t-shirt and held him before he could somersault down the stairs.

"What did I tell you about playing soccer in the house?" Yaman plucked the ball out of the boy's hands.

Arif grinned up at him. At three years old, it was still too early for him to lose milk teeth, but there was a big gap in the boy's front teeth, where he'd run into a tree and knocked out two of his pearly whites. Seher had almost lost her mind over his bloodied, swollen mouth.

"No playing in the house," he replied dutifully, baby soft syllables rolling over his tongue in an adorable way.

Yaman raised his eyebrows. He was a little daredevil- his son, who liked to climb the tallest tree in the garden, who heaved himself up to the wall to pluck ripe pomegranates and crawled into ditches to rescue stray kittens. The boy was completely fearless- it was a little unnerving.

Yusuf followed him, still in his dusty soccer uniform, almost ten, tall and lanky and tanned after hours of playing outside. He halted, panting.

"I'm sorry, uncle!" He gasped. "He's so freaking fast!"

"We'll play outside, baba," Arif said immediately.

Yaman fought the involuntary smile which came over his lips and tossed the ball to Yusuf.

"Keep an eye on your brother."

"Okay."

The two boys ran down the stairs, shrieking.

"And be careful!"

The crying was coming from the nursery. Yaman walked over and threw the door open.

Inside, Seher stood in a pool of sunlight, with a crying Yildiz in her arms, rocking her softly and murmuring soothing words.

She was still clad in her office clothes, a neat white blouse tucked into a burgundy pencil skirt, which complimented her slender figure. Her hair was twisted up with stray ringlets curling behind her ears. Yaman was really appreciating those stilettos she'd come to wear- now he could kiss her without getting a crick in his neck because of all the craning.

Her working had not exactly being planned. Since the accounts had been set up, Iqbal had been the one to handle all the charity work and donations done by the company. As far as Yaman knew, she'd been an excellent and generous hostess.

But after her death, he'd handed the finances over to a separate group and they'd made a shocking discovery- instead of making donations, Iqbal had been laundering money from the company to offshore accounts under fake names, for years. She'd even bought a lavish island house with that money, unbeknownst to him.

Yaman had been livid, disappointed at himself for being so completely fooled by a woman, for such a long time. He'd immediately decided to close all the donations and charity work, until Seher had volunteered to handle it for him.