My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 55

Chapter 55: 56/Under his weight

Chapter 56

Julie’s Point of View

The sound of the door closing behind him never left my ears, and one sentence kept echoing in my mind like an endless resonance:

"My father sold me for the second time."

I felt a coldness creeping through my limbs, and in that moment, my hand reached toward the side table to grab the scissors I had used days ago to cut the fabric of my emerald dress.

Here I am, sitting on the bed, my knuckles turned white from the intensity of my grip on the cold metal handle.

I opened its two blades, placing one of them directly over my vein.

Robert stood at the entrance of the room, stiff as a marble statue, his eyes wide, darting between my face and the glint of the metal in my hand.

His facial features finally shifted; shock appeared in the arch of his eyebrows and the trembling of his lower lip.

Then he spoke in a sharp tone that pierced the silence of the room:

"What are you doing, you madwoman?!"

My mind was tossing between the image of my father as he left and Robert’s body standing before me;

I could no longer distinguish which of them deserved this anger, so I decided to end everything.

I raised the scissors upward with a shaking forearm and said in a broken voice:

"I’m going to kill myself... don’t you see that?"

I saw his jaw muscles tighten forcefully, and a silence prevailed that almost suffocated my breath,

before he spoke with a coldness I didn’t expect:

"Fine... do it."

My grip loosened slightly and my eyes widened in bewilderment; had his cruelty reached this extent?

I looked at him in a loss and said stuttering:

"You... you spent millions to buy me!"

He fixed his gaze on my eyes and answered coldly:

"I don’t care."

I pressed the blade of the scissors against my skin until I felt its sting, and I screamed at him:

"Your money will go to waste!"

A sarcastic smile formed on his lips, and he shrugged indifferently:

"I have plenty of money, don’t worry."

He paused for a moment, then tilted his head and looked at the watch on his wrist, continuing in a provocative tone:

"Are you going to make me wait here until morning? Go on... kill yourself."

My face turned completely pale, and I felt a chill running through my limbs, as if the blood had stopped flowing in my veins.

I fixed my sight on him, trying to comprehend whether what I was hearing was reality or a nightmare,

until his voice rose again, piercing my daze:

"Are you going to cut your wrist vein?"

I raised the scissors sharply and answered him in a tone I tried to make strong and defiant:

"Yes."

He ran his hand through his hair with indifference, tilted his head slightly as he examined the scissor blade, then said bluntly:

"Ineffective... you’ll live. The doctor is in the next room and will intervene to stop the bleeding immediately."

I moved back a little, staring at him in shock.

The letters didn’t come out of my throat, but he continued as if he were teaching me an anatomy lesson, pointing his finger toward the side of his neck:

"You should stab it in your neck... that’s faster."

Emotions crashed in my chest like raging waves, and I felt my breath tightening as I watched his terrifying steadiness.

I said to him in a trembling voice:

"You’re trying to prevent me from committing suicide this way... aren’t you?"

His smile widened slowly, and he nodded with a lethal calmness as he replied:

"I’m only giving you dry facts... and you’re smart enough to realize them."

Even though I was sitting on the bed, I felt a severe dizziness as if the ground were swaying beneath me.

Anger ignited in my veins, and I screamed in a choked voice:

"Is my life not important... even a little?"

He lowered his gaze toward the ground for seconds, then raised it to fix his eyes directly on mine, and said coldly:

"I am not pointing the scissors at you... you are the one doing that to yourself."

I tilted my head back as if a slap had struck my face.

He is manipulating me, turning the tables and making me the guilty one, as if I am the one who should be asked about the value of my life.

I jumped up, standing on the bed, and stepped until I reached the edge directly opposite him.

Then I brandished the scissors in his face and said in a sharp tone:

"You’re right... I should point them at you!"

There was one meter separating us, but I felt his breath coming closer until it seemed to me that the distance had vanished.

That smile returned to form on his lips, and he said in a mocking tone:

I turned on my left side on the bed, placing my hand on my ribcage, feeling my ribs while panting, as if I were making sure they hadn’t completely shattered.

After minutes of struggling to regain my breath, I raised my head and said in a hoarse voice:

"You were going to kill me, you bastard."

He replied in a sarcastic tone while watching the agitation of my chest:

"I wanted to achieve your wish faster."

I leaned on my hand to sit up on the mattress, and my eyes fell on his left hand, which was dripping with blood,

but I noticed that his right hand also carried a wound; even though I had only struck one side.

He leaned his massive body toward me until we were at the same level, and said:

"And now... how shall I punish you for what you did?"

A shiver ran through my entire body, and I retreated back a little while shouting:

"I wanted to kill myself! Why did you come to my room? Why did you stop me?"

If he hadn’t broken through the door at that moment, perhaps I would now be just a cold corpse they would discover with the first threads of dawn.

He smiled coldly and said:

"You don’t want to die, Julie."

My eyes widened; how did his sight penetrate that truth I was running from? I said in a sharp tone, trying to regain my pride:

"I don’t want to... but we are sometimes forced to accept things we don’t want, Mr. Robert."

I placed my hand over the place of pain in my chest and continued:

"I will always choose the path that is less painful for me."

He remained staring at my face in a silence that lasted for seconds, before saying:

"I will give you a chance to save yourself."

My breath stopped from astonishment, and I asked him in bewilderment:

"What? You mean... that I will leave this place?"

He straightened his posture and stood tall, then looked at me with coldness and said:

"You have lost your right to leave... but you can keep your body."

I felt a lump in my throat because I would remain a prisoner of his walls, but the idea of remaining a "human" and not a "commodity" was less heavy. I asked him stuttering:

"How... how will I save myself?"

A mysterious smile appeared on his lips as he headed toward the door, and he said:

"You will find out tomorrow."