My father sold me to the Mafia King

Chapter 14: 14/The Devil’s Lair

Chapter Fourteen

Julie’s Point of View

I leaned forward slightly with a theatrical, mocking gesture, then stepped off the stage and walked toward him with defiant strides until I stood directly in front of him.

I asked him, my eyes gleaming with rebellion:

— ”Did you like it?”

I was burning with longing to see the features of anger explode on his face; I was waiting for him to lose his usual control after I had described him as a devil in his own stronghold.

But he was very skillful—terrifyingly skillful at maintaining his composure. He looked at me with an unnerving coldness, then said in a calm tone:

— ”You were right, Julie.. your father’s information cannot be trusted, for he did not tell me that you have an angelic voice.”

My mouth dropped open in astonishment, and all the reactions I had prepared in my head vanished.

How could he ignore all those harsh words and the arrows I aimed at him, only to respond with cold praise for my voice?!

He had turned my attack into a mere enjoyable ”artistic performance,” as if my insult to him were nothing more than the chirping of a bird in his ears.

I ignored his praise, which I felt was just another way to assert his control, and walked away from him toward another door at the end of the hallway.

I pushed it hard and opened it, but I froze in my place and took a step back from sheer surprise.

It was a large room, but completely devoid of any furniture suggesting life, except for a massive bed sitting in the middle of the void like a platform for spectators.

What truly took my breath away was that giant mirror hanging from the ceiling, fixed with extreme precision directly above the bed to break the privacy of anyone lying there.

I felt a tightness in my chest as I looked at the reflection of the bed in the ceiling; the room suggested everything except comfort, and it seemed as if its silent walls hid bitter stories behind them that I did not wish to imagine.

I closed the door with a lightning-fast snap, as if I were closing a window overlooking hell.

I deliberately did not look at Robert; I was afraid my astonished eyes would meet his, and he would see in my face that weakness or questioning I did not want to grant him.

I walked with accelerated steps in the hallway, driven by a desire to get away from that disgusting room, until I reached the last door.

It was different from the rest, a pitch-black color like coal, suggesting privacy and awe. I opened it and entered, to find myself in a vast royal suite.

The first thing that met me was a seating area featuring an elegant gray sofa facing a huge television mounted on the wall, the corners decorated with paintings of mysterious and different geometric shapes.

I walked a little further inside, and the bed stopped me; it was massive, made of sturdy wood resting on large solid stones, as if built to last forever.

Above the bed hung a majestic painting that covered a large part of the wall, depicting a long path in a dense forest, where high trees intertwined to choke the light, leaving nothing but a black darkness swallowing everything.

The scent of oud and tobacco was much stronger here, as if the room itself were a factory for concentrating that fragrance that had begun to haunt my breath.

In that moment, I realized with absolute certainty that I was inside ”Robert’s Den.” He was standing behind me, silent as usual, watching me as I examined the finest details of his private kingdom.

I turned to him and said in a tone I tried to make sound natural despite the awe imposed by the place:

— ”You surprised me, Mr. Robert.. I didn’t imagine your room would look like this.”

He took a puff of his cigarette and then blew the smoke into the air, the fragrant mist thickening around us, and said in his deep voice:

— ”And how did you imagine it before?”

I scanned the vast room with my eyes, then fixed my gaze on him and said with biting sarcasm:

— ”I imagined some ropes dangling from the ceiling, with skeletons hanging from them, while other ropes held bodies that hadn’t decomposed yet.. but I see your floor is very clean and not stained with blood as I expected, and you have a bed too! I thought you didn’t sleep.”

He approached me slightly, and with cold eyes, he said:

— ”It turns out your imagination is very far from the level of this place.”

I didn’t answer him with words immediately; instead, I walked with deliberate coldness over the gray rug made of some animal fur, feeling its softness under my feet.

I sat on the edge of his massive bed and looked at him defiantly, saying:

— ”I truly wonder what made you grant me the honor of entering your room?”

Not a second passed before I found him in front of me; he drew closer to me, and with a sudden movement, he grabbed me by the hand and hoisted me off the bed with incredible lightness, so much so that I didn’t feel him exerting any effort.

He dug his gaze into my eyes and said in a tone as sharp as a blade:

— ”Your entry into my room is not a gift, Julie.. it is a punishment.”

I pulled my hand from his grip forcefully and said in a tone full of anger:

— ”Don’t touch me! In what language must I say it to you for you to understand?”

He didn’t seem affected by my anger; instead, he looked at me with deadly coldness and said in an insulting tone:

— ”I was afraid you would soil the bed with your clothes.. as for me, I have no longing to touch you.”

At that moment, I felt an intense embarrassment I cannot describe, as if an invisible slap had landed on my face.

My cheeks flushed deeply, and I glimpsed the reflection of my shame and brokenness in his large mirror hanging on the wall.

I turned to the other side immediately; I wanted the earth to split open and swallow me to hide from his mocking looks and from my appearance which he had ridiculed.

But my pride refused silence, so I said to him in a voice I tried hard not to let tremble:

— ”The filth inside you can never be cleaned, Mr. Robert.”

I left him behind and headed toward his large black closet that occupied a side of the room, as if searching for an escape from my embarrassment by tampering with his possessions.

I opened its doors without permission, and rows of luxurious suits appeared before my eyes, arranged with precise and obsessive order; shades of warm brown, sober gray, pitch black, and deep blue—every piece spoke of wealth and power.

I didn’t stop there; I opened another door in the closet to reveal a ”softer” side of his life: cotton and silk pajamas folded with extreme care, and beside them hung ties of all types and colors, lined up like a silent painting.

The closet perfectly reflected his personality: a strict system with no room for chance, and a calm that precedes the storm.

His hand suddenly extended from behind me to close the closet door forcefully, and in that moment, I felt his massive body completely covering me like an impenetrable dam.

I became extremely tense and my heartbeats accelerated until I thought they would expose me; my presence with him in this tight space was a ”real punishment” as he had described it.

His deep voice resonated directly behind my ear, sending shivers through my body:

— ”Do not meddle with things that do not belong to you.”

I couldn’t turn to him; facing him face-to-face at this proximity was beyond my capacity to endure. I said in a trembling voice I tried hard to hide:

— ”I want to take something to wear.”

He removed his hand from the closet and moved away slightly, and I realized that when the air began to flow into my chest again.

With a sudden boldness I regained, I opened the door again and pulled out a pair of silk pajamas in dark blue, then closed the door forcefully.

I heard him say in a tone carrying a mixture of wonder and sarcasm:

— ”Your closet is full of clothes.. and you take my pajamas?”

I turned to him where he stood loftily watching my movements, and said to him coldly:

— ”I didn’t like my clothes.”

Then I continued walking toward the room door with wide strides as I threw my final bomb:

— ”And anyway.. I tore them all up.”

I reached my hand to the doorknob to leave, but his firm voice stopped me in my tracks like a military order:

— ”Stop!”

I heard the sound of his steady footsteps on the floor approaching me slowly, then he whispered in a meaningful tone:

— ”Did you tear them with the scalpel you threatened the doctor with?”

I froze, my heartbeat suddenly loud in the silence of the room.

A cold shiver ran down my spine as I realized.. I wasn’t sure if he was angry... or amused.