My father sold me to the Mafia King

Chapter 27: 27/Poisoned Antidote

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

Julie’s Point of View

I felt a constriction in my chest, and terror began to seep into my body, inch by inch, replacing my very blood. He stood there, watching me as if my punishment was his mere presence.

He began to approach with small steps those steps that made me see the shadow of death calling my name.

He stood a meter away from me and spoke in a voice that resembled a hiss:

”Your little performance in my office, Julie... is this your new talent?”

He then continued,

”Or did your excitement get the better of you because you’ll be standing on stage tomorrow?”

I told him, trying to suppress the fear within me:

”I told you, I was just bored.”

Yes, a pathetic excuse he couldn’t possibly believe, but it was the second time I used it. He ran his hand through his hair, brushing it back, and said in a tone dripping with sarcasm:

”Why didn’t you ask me for some dolls to entertain yourself? That’s how you break your boredom.”

The scoundrel! Does he mock me and think I’m a little girl playing with toys? I answered him, softening my words as much as possible:

”I don’t like dolls... thank you for your generosity.”

He placed his hand in his pocket and said in a mysterious tone:

”And how was your chat with Carlos Mendoza? Did he manage to entertain you?”

I looked at him, raising an eyebrow in defiance and narrowing my eyes, saying briefly:

”A little.”

He smiled and said,

”I think you’re the difficult type, Julie.”

I didn’t quite understand what he meant; his words were vague. But I answered based on what I grasped, saying defiantly:

”Of course.”

He sighed slowly and said,

”You said my office is a snakes’ den, didn’t you?”

The blood froze in my veins, and I answered with difficulty:

”It was a metaphorical expression.”

A smile played on his lips the kind that told me I don’t believe you and he said,

”Hmm... a metaphorical expression.”

Then he added:

”And whoever enters a snakes’ den dies poisoned, Julie.”

Yes, he had started throwing lethal words at me. I smiled defiantly and said how I wish I had been mute and never uttered it:

”Poison in your presence becomes an antidote, Mr. Robert.”

After that sentence, a suffocating silence fell, as if the air had been sucked out of the room at once.

His sarcastic smile vanished, replaced by that terrifying coldness that precedes a storm.

He looked at me with his black eyes that dragged me to the depths of hell in the blink of an eye, and said in a tone that was a mixture of calm and threat:

”Are you trying to test the limits of my patience, Julie?”

His question was a clear warning that what was coming did not bode well. I swallowed hard and tried to cling to the bed with both hands as if I were being dragged away, and said:

”You are the one who provoked me by giving me the room key that only allows me to stay in the hallway.”

Yes, the reason was convincing and frank, but not to him. He replied in his raspy voice:

”You’re saying that I am the guilty one for allowing you to take the key?”

I shook my head in refusal; that was all I could do now. He then continued:

”I gave you books, a watch, clothes, and your room key, and you thought this place became yours, didn’t you? Did you feel that this rebellion of yours makes you the invincible girl?”

Volcanoes began to boil inside me, threatening to burn everything.

He was holding me accountable for things that were my right simple things he treated as if they were an entire life, while he had robbed me of my life and freedom, stripping me of the word ’human’ in this place.

I wanted to slap him, to curse him; perhaps if I had the physical strength, I would have killed him... but I suppressed it forcefully; my current position did not allow for an explosion.

I said calmly:

”Those are ordinary things, Mr. Robert. Don’t think you’ve bought me with them.”

Damn! That wasn’t the answer I wanted to give. Why did it come out so provocative? Why?!

He moved closer and said:

”But I did buy you, Julie.”

The jerk! He doesn’t let me forget it; he reminds me every time. I then said, looking at the floor as if it were my only savior:

”But you didn’t buy my soul... and you can never buy it.”

Here we go; I let my volcanoes erupt. Damn me! Why can’t I hold my tongue? Why didn’t I stay the fearful Julie I was at the beginning?

I felt his hand reach out; he grabbed my jaw and lifted it upward until our eyes met, and said:

”I don’t care about buying your soul... all I care about is burning it.”

Yes, he succeeds in burning me every time, and how skillful he is at it. But of course, I won’t admit it even if I turn to ash. I said to him, pulling my jaw from his grip:

”I didn’t know Mr. Robert would be so bothered just because I sat in his chair.”

Then I added:

”Or perhaps because I crushed your prestige in front of your friend Mendoza, whom I told you were trying to tame me, but today I proved to him how much of a failure you are at it!”

Oh my God, what have I done? What did I say? What did my cursed mouth utter?!

I trembled as I spoke the last word; I hadn’t just talked back to him I had tied the noose around my own neck.

I didn’t have the courage to look at him; I couldn’t bear to see his face after those words.

The moment the word ’failure’ left my lips, a terrifying silence filled the room, so heavy that I could hear the grinding of his teeth as he clenched his jaw in suppressed rage.

I didn’t need to look at his face to know that I had awakened a beast that should have remained dormant; the very atmosphere around us shifted, turning icy and sharp.

His shadow loomed over me, and as his hot breath fanned my face, I realized with a shuddering heart that I hadn’t just crossed a line I had invited the storm itself.

I heard his deep voice saying:

”Do you think my kindness in giving you time is a failure? Shall I show you now that it is my indulgence that made you so confident, not your little rebellion?”

My heart began to race madly. Hundreds of possibilities leaped into my head, battling one another, but one possibility prevailed the one that proved true not just in my head, but in that cold hand that touched my neck.