My father sold me to the Mafia King

Chapter 28: 28/I Only Win

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

Robert’s Point of View

She was telling me that I had failed to tame her, that I couldn’t break her pride, believing that my indulgence gave her power and authority over me.

How naive... she thinks that screaming and rebelling are what prove one’s existence.

She hasn’t realized yet that I’ve been watching her like one watches a bird that thinks it flies freely inside a cage whose bars it hasn’t touched yet.

The words she spat in my face were insolent, provocative, and carried a level of audacity sufficient to end anyone else’s life in this place just for thinking them.

”Failure?”

I repeated the word in my mind as I contemplated her trembling features despite her sharp tongue.

She doesn’t understand that the patience I granted her wasn’t weakness; it was part of the game.

She thought she had crushed my prestige in front of Mendoza, while in reality, she did nothing but awaken a sleeping beast a beast that knows no mercy when its pride is touched.

I slowly extended my cold hand, touching the delicate skin of her neck.

I felt her pulse quicken under my fingers like a drum beating in a battlefield.

The heat radiating from her clashed with the coldness of my limbs, as if trying to tell me she was still resisting.

I moved closer until I felt her rapid breath fanning my face, and said in a calm tone devoid of any shred of pity:

”If I tighten my hand around your neck now... the taming ends.”

The words were clear and harsh; I was telling her that the ”taming” she described as a failure is actually the only thread keeping her alive, and that with one squeeze, I could turn this challenge into a lifeless corpse with no tongue to speak.

Her breathing faltered under my hand, and her green eyes told a story of terror her sharp tongue didn’t dare utter.

I pressed my thumb slightly against her racing pulse; I wanted her to feel how close she was to the edge, how fragile that rebellion she boasted of truly was.

Then I continued with an unshakable, icy coldness:

”Luckily for you... I don’t kill women.”

I said it while looking deep into her eyes, letting the words sink into her mind. It wasn’t out of mercy, but rather my own law that grants her life on my terms.

She now realizes that her survival isn’t due to her strength, but due to a ”principle” I hold, and that I can replace death with something far worse... the real taming that begins now.

I withdrew my hand from her tensed neck, leaving her trying to regain the breath I had stolen with a single touch.

I looked at her stonily, regaining that terrifying calmness that envelopes my persona, and said in a voice sharp as a blade:

”Failure does not exist in my dictionary, Julie... because quite simply, I only win.”

My words were the final judgment in this confrontation.

I wanted her to realize that every step she takes, every ”rebellious” word she utters, ultimately serves my interests.

I am not defeated, I do not lose, and what she considers ”failure” is but a Chapter in my play, whose strings I control from behind the curtain.

She stood before me, upright like a sturdy tree that had defied the wind for years; she was no longer that girl who was trembling seconds ago from the touch of my hand. She raised her voice and said sharply:

”Do you see yourself as successful when you end my life, Mr. Robert?”

I looked at her in silence, trying to fathom where she draws this strength that comes and goes so suddenly.

How can this delicate body carry all this stubbornness? Just moments ago, her breath was catching because of me, and now she stands to give me lessons on success and failure!

She continued in a confident tone:

”Killing me would be your only solution to make you think you’ve succeeded, but in truth... you simply failed in doing so.”

Her words were like lashes. She was trying to corner me; either I leave her alive and she considers it a victory for her rebellion, or I kill her and prove her point that I ”failed” to subdue her and found no solution but to get rid of her.

She dared to describe me as a failure twice in one night, and that is something that does not pass peacefully in my world.

I approached her until I felt the coldness of her body as she stiffened before me.

I leaned toward her ear and whispered in a low voice carrying the bitterness of the truth she was trying to hide behind the mask of strength:

”I remembered... you aren’t afraid of death.”

I paused for a moment, enjoying the sight of that slight tremor beginning to invade her features, then continued with lethal slowness:

”You are afraid of being touched, Julie.”

For a second, her breath stopped completely, as if she had become a soulless corpse.

That false strength vanished suddenly, and she took steps backward, trying to gather her scattered self, then said in a tone she tried to make strong:

”Threatening me with this every time has made it no longer scary.”

I saw everything; I saw her jaw tightening from tension, her trembling lip betraying the lie of her words, and how her face turned into the features of a hunted ghost.

Only her language was resisting; her tongue was the only soldier that hadn’t retreated from the battle yet.

Her words only increased my desire to shatter this stubbornness.

I moved closer, grabbed her hand, and squeezed it slightly a squeeze that reminded her of her place and status.

She took more steps back in confusion until she hit the wall.

I left her no room to breathe; I moved closer and closer until my body touched her small frame, and I felt her fleeing heartbeats crashing against my chest.

I leaned toward her again and whispered once more in a voice that was barely audible, yet enough to shake her very foundation:

”It’s not scary... is it?”