My father sold me to the Mafia King

Chapter 281:

Julie’s POV

The woman slowly removed that heavy black cloak and the veil, revealing sharp, uniquely sculpted features. Although she looked to be in her mid-forties, she possessed a breathtaking, captivating charm, with wide charcoal-colored eyes and long black hair like the night that flowed smoothly over her shoulders. Noticing my stunned gaze, she said in a calm, soothing voice: ”I wear this clothing because it is related to my worship and my religion.”

I tried to process the matter, observing her appearance with a curiosity overtaken by wonder: ”It is strange and beautiful at the same time... it looks a bit like the nuns’ habits we see in churches, doesn’t it?”

A dignified smile formed on her lips, and the wisdom in her eyes sparkled: ”Yes, there is a great similarity in terms of modesty, but we cover the face as well.”

I nodded, feeling the ghost of fear of strangers begin to fade: ”Yes, I understand the intent.”

Salma moved gracefully as she prepared to stand up: ”You are very pale. I will go immediately to bring you a warm dinner to strengthen your body.”

I objected at once, raising my hands in a quick negative motion: ”No, no, please, ma’am... don’t trouble yourself for my sake. What you’ve done is already enough.”

She insisted with features that brooked no argument and continued her way toward the kitchen: ”There is no trouble in honoring a guest; it is our duty.”

I said with a plea born of a lump in my throat: ”I truly beg you... I’m not hungry. I feel my stomach is completely constricted and won’t accept food.”

She stopped and contemplated my condition with deep understanding, then said: ”Fine, I won’t pressure you with heavy food. I’ll bring you some cold juice and some refreshing fruit; you surely need some sugar.”

I found no choice but to agree before her gracious insistence, so I nodded submissively. When she left the room and I remained alone with the silence of the walls, the nightmare of Robert began to haunt me in every corner of the room. My body spasmed violently as I replayed the words of his treacherous phone call.

I couldn’t accept the idea that he was pricing me like a commodity, or that he was planning to sell me. How could he act out love with such perfection? How did I not smell the venom of betrayal in his breath?

Salma returned carrying a tidy tray with juice and fruit, placing it quietly on the table before me. I took the glass with trembling fingers that could barely hold it, and took a small sip just out of politeness and so as not to disappoint her. She sat beside me and remained still, watching me with eyes full of mercy without uttering a word. I wondered at her silence; she didn’t flood me with prying questions or try to dig into my wounds as the curious usually do.

Half an hour passed in that majestic silence, then I stood up with tension and anxiety: ”I think I’ll go now to check on my brother, Steve. Maybe he’s just returned.”

She nodded with dignity and stood with me: ”Of course, my daughter. Go, and I am here if you need anything.”

She accompanied me to the threshold, and I went out knocking on Steve’s apartment door with all the strength and despair I possessed. The door finally opened to reveal Steve, who froze in his place, his eyes widening in thunderous shock as he shouted: ”Julie! What are you doing here at this hour?”

I didn’t wait for his response; instead, I threw myself into his arms with a force that made him stumble, as if I had finally found dry land after a long drowning. I cried out with stifled sobs: ”Brother Steve! Thank God you’re here!”

I turned toward Salma, who was watching the scene with a sad smile, and said with sincere gratitude: ”Thank you from all my heart, ma’am. I will never forget your kindness.”

She replied tenderly as she bid me farewell: ”No need for thanks. We are neighbors and family... if you need anything, one knock on the door and you’ll find me by your side.”

I said goodbye and entered with Steve, who immediately locked the door and pulled me inside. He asked in a tone full of anxiety and agitation: ”Julie, tell me what happened? And why did you come out of the neighbor’s apartment? Did something bad happen to you?”

I began to shake as if I were in the middle of a blizzard, and said in a broken voice: ”I came here escaping and didn’t find you. I was collapsing... that kind woman took me in so I wouldn’t stay in the hallway.”

I buried my face in his chest again, feeling the bitterness of betrayal overflow from my eyes like lava: ”Steve... I was a fool and completely wrong... Robert doesn’t love me. He was only using my stupidity to his advantage!”

Steve patted my back firmly, trying to gather my shattered pieces: ”Calm down, Julie. Breathe deeply... you’re safe now. No one will touch you.”

I exclaimed, my sobs choking my breath and preventing me from speaking: ”Everything was a sham... every touch and every ’I love you’ was a lie wrapped in poison! He broke me, Steve!”

I began to sob hysterically, my body jumping in his hands like a slaughtered bird, to the point that I felt a dizziness clouding my vision. Steve tried to calm me with gentle words repeatedly, but despair was stronger than me. He said in panic: ”Julie, stop! You’ll hurt yourself and lose consciousness. Please, pull yourself together!”

I screamed with a bitterness that tore the silence of the place: ”I’m burning from the inside, Steve! The pain is gnawing at my heart and I can’t stop it!”

Steve carried me in his arms and placed me gently on his bed. He covered me well and sat beside me, stroking my head. I closed my eyes, trying to escape, but the cursed memories attacked me like an invading army; every memory increased the tearing of my heart.

I spent long hours in bitter weeping until my strength completely failed and my tears dried up. Finally, I surrendered to a heavy sleep, burdened with worries and nightmares, fleeing from a reality that shattered all my hopes.

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One Week Later

Steve’s POV

A whole week had passed, and Julie was still a prisoner behind this wooden door. She was locking herself inside that dark room as if trying to hide from the world and from herself. She wouldn’t get out of bed, she didn’t laugh, and she wouldn’t utter a single word unless I pressured her.

The silence that prevailed in the place was heavier than could be endured. I carried food trays to her bed every day, forcing her to swallow a few bites with great difficulty. Sometimes I had to push her toward the bathroom to shower and wash her pale face; she had become like a child devoid of will, dragging the tails of disappointment behind her.

I bought her some new clothes bright colors, perhaps to bring a glimmer of life back to her extinguished eyes but she wouldn’t even look at them. Meanwhile, my phone wouldn’t stop ringing; Max called me every day with eagerness and anxiety, his trembling voice telling me that Robert had lost his mind. He described how Robert was searching for her like a madman in every corner, turning the city upside down to find a trace of her.

Max never believed that Robert would think of selling her. He would shout over the phone: ”This is impossible, Steve! Robert loves her; he couldn’t do that!” But Julie refused completely to speak with him or anyone else. Even I, her closest brother, hadn’t been told the full details of what she heard or how she discovered Robert’s hideous intention.

I warned Max strictly against coming to my apartment, fearing that Robert’s men might follow him, especially since the latter had interrogated him with terrifying severity, trying to extract any information about her hiding place.

I entered her room and found her huddled on the bed as usual, her eyes red and swollen from a silent, non-stop weeping. I felt helplessness gnawing at my heart, so I said in a low voice worn out by anxiety: ”Julie... aren’t you tired of this situation? Please, say something... scream, reproach me, just don’t stay silent like this.”

But she, as usual, settled for staring into the void and didn’t answer with a word. I sighed bitterly as I dragged my steps toward the kitchen. I prepared a light dinner for her, carried the tray back to her room, placed it beside her, and said in a tone I tried to make firm: ”Julie, get up at once... you must eat something to support your frail body.”

She turned her head toward me with difficulty, replying in a weak, faint voice that was barely audible: ”I don’t want to... I’m not hungry, Steve.”

I knitted my brows and said with a feigned sharpness to provoke her: ”And then what? Do you want to die of hunger and wither away before my eyes? Come on, don’t be stubborn and get up!”

She pushed herself and stood up very slowly. As soon as the smell of the food’s steam hit her nose, her face turned pale to a frightening degree. She placed her hand over her mouth quickly, her eyes widening with terror, then she ran toward the bathroom as if her life depended on it.

I followed her immediately, my heart leaping in my chest. I found her hunched over, vomiting with all her might until her small body shook. I asked in panic while holding her shoulders: ”Julie! What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

After minutes of agony, she finally stopped and wiped her face weakly. I helped her stand and said with a reproach tinged with fear: ”Julie, look at what you’re doing to yourself! You’ve become sick from lack of food and grief... your body can no longer take it.”

She whispered with extreme exhaustion, leaning her back against the wall: ”I’m tired... very tired.”

I washed her face with cold water and supported her until she returned to the bed and threw herself onto it. I covered her, and she said with a broken plea: ”Please, Steve... take this food away from me... its smell is killing me and making me feel an unbearable nausea.”

Anxiety clouded my eyes as I asked: ”Won’t you eat even one bite? How will you regain your strength?”

She replied in a tone full of pain: ”Steve... please, just do what I ask of you.”

I carried the tray to the kitchen with doubts crossing my mind, then returned to her and asked seriously: ”Julie, honestly... how are you feeling now? Describe to me what you’re feeling.”

She muttered while closing her eyes: ”I’m fine... I just need rest.”

I said with an insistence that brooked no argument: ”No, you’re not fine! Tomorrow I’ll take you to the hospital. I don’t like this condition at all; you might have a stomach infection or something more serious.”

She jolted in her place and insisted frantically: ”Steve, I told you I’m fine! No need for the hospital.”

I covered her well and left, thinking deeply about her condition. I was convinced she was suffering from severe depression and needed a psychiatrist to save her from this drowning. The next morning, I prepared the usual breakfast and carried it to her. I woke her gently, shaking her shoulder: ”Julie... wake up, the sun has been up for a long time.”

She opened her eyes with annoyance and said: ”Leave me to sleep, Steve... I don’t want to wake up.”

I replied calmly: ”It’s nine in the morning, Julie. Come on, get up, I’ve brought you a fresh breakfast.”

But as soon as her eyes fell on the food, the scene from last night repeated itself exactly; she ran to the bathroom, struggling with vomiting. I stood at the door, fear gnawing at me: ”Julie, you’re truly sick! This isn’t just something normal; we must check you at the hospital immediately.”

She wiped her mouth, panting, and said weakly: ”I’m fine, Steve... believe me.”

I shouted with a frustration I could no longer contain: ”No, dammit! You’re not fine at all! Look at yourself in the mirror; your face is yellow, and you look like a corpse that just crawled out of the grave! Do you think I’m blind?”

She replied with an irritating indifference: ”You’re exaggerating as usual... it’s just exhaustion.”

I said, placing my hands on my hips: ”Fine, if you’re okay, then why are you vomiting? Tell me, what is the scientific explanation for this?”

She tried to evade, saying: ”Maybe... maybe just a stomach flu or a cold.”

I insisted on going to the hospital, and she shouted with real dread: ”Steve! I cannot leave this house! Have you gone mad? Robert will find me the first second I set foot in the street. Don’t you understand how dangerous he is?”

I punched the wall in anger: ”Damn Robert and your fear of him! I won’t stand by and watch you die in front of me!”

She said with a sudden, cold decisiveness: ”I’m not going out.”

I sighed desperately and said: ”Fine, Julie. You’re stubborn and I’ll indulge you... I’ll go now to the nearby pharmacy. I’ll describe the symptoms to the pharmacist; maybe he’ll give me a suitable medicine. Tell me, do you feel anything else besides the nausea?”

She said: ”Just this cursed nausea and vomiting whenever I smell food.”

I asked her: ”And is there pain in your stomach? Cramps?”

She shook her head: ”No... no pain.”

I said: ”Fine, I’ll go quickly and come back.” She said with disgust: ”Please, take that food out of the room; I can no longer stand the smell in here.” I took the food out of the room, then ran to the pharmacy. There, I described my sister’s condition accurately to the pharmacist. The man looked at me intently and asked seriously: ”How old is this girl?”

I answered quickly: ”18 years old.”

He was silent for a bit, then asked in a formal tone: ”Do you know the date of her last period?”

I felt an intense embarrassment and stammered: ”I... no, actually I don’t know.”

The pharmacist shook his head and said in a confident tone that left no room for doubt: ”The symptoms suggest one possibility. Go to the fifth aisle; you’ll find accurate home pregnancy tests there. That is the first thread you must start with.”