My father sold me to the Mafia King-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:

"Do you really think you can kill me?"

I swallowed hard as I looked at his massive body that filled the space. The truth was stabbing me; compared to him, my body seemed frail.

But I tightened my grip on the cold metal and said stubbornly:

"Yes, I will."

He lowered his gaze toward the scissors that were shaking in my hand due to the trembling of my arm, then pointed to them with the tip of his finger and said:

"With this?"

For a moment, I felt the insignificance of what I was carrying; these scissors would be no more than a small pin before a giant like him.

Perhaps I needed a heavier weapon to defeat him. I said, trying to hide the tremor in my voice:

"This is what I have available."

He opened his arms wide and said defiantly:

"Go on... show me."

Questions swirled in my head about how I had entangled myself with this lunatic, and I said while struggling to draw air:

"I can’t reach you... do you think I’m carrying a gun?"

His lips parted into a smile and he said:

"Shall I bring you one?"

While I was trying to process his offer, he lunged with one swift step and was directly in front of me.

In an involuntary motion, I pointed the scissors toward his chest, and I felt the metal blade scratch his skin, and the redness of blood seeped over his hand.

In the same moment, his hand clamped down on my wrist with force, my balance on the bed broke, and we fell together onto the mattress.

His weight hit me like a mountain falling over me all at once, and I felt the vertebrae of my back groaning under his weight.

A muffled scream of pain escaped me; it wasn’t a human body as much as it was a snow avalanche crushing me beneath it.

He was still gripping my wrist, and he fixed his eyes on mine from a close distance while panting:

"I didn’t expect you to have the courage to kill me."

My lungs began to tighten, and I felt the pressure of his body crushing my ribcage and preventing air from reaching my throat.

I tried to push his chest with my free hand but failed, so my words came out broken and choked:

"Get up..."

In that moment, suicide no longer occupied my mind, but the thought that I was actually suffocating under his weight.

I pressed with my collapsed body beneath him and repeated with extreme difficulty:

"Get up..."

He seemed to realize my color was fading, so he pulled his massive body off me and stood up suddenly.

Air rushed into my lungs all at once, and I began coughing violently.

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."