My father sold me to the Mafia King-Chapter 60 - 61/Task execution day

Chapter 61:

Julie’s Point of View

I stepped out of the room, feeling my body stagger under a weight invisible to the eye; that small bag nestled in my pocket was pressing against my thigh as if it weighed tons of lead.

Every time I moved, I felt a sting in my chest, as if my conscience had become a dagger plunging into my heart with every beat, silently screaming deep within me:

"Don’t do it, Julie... go back."

I walked behind Robert’s towering figure in that long hallway; the silence between us was so thick that I could hear the creak of my shoes on the marble floor and the chattering of my teeth,

which I tried in vain to suppress. We reached a steel door; Robert’s fingers moved mechanically over the keypad to enter the password,

and the lock recoiled with a dry, metallic sound.

We rode a secret elevator in which I felt my being descend and rise in a desolate void,

then we climbed narrow stairs that finally led us to a place whose walls felt like they were pressing against my breath;

it was the same restaurant.

The place that witnessed my final moments before my father uprooted me from my life and threw me into the slave market.

For the first time since that ill-fated day, my eyes touched the outer space stretching behind the massive glass facades.

Although the restaurant was closed and empty of noise, as I approached a slightly ajar balcony, a refreshing breeze brushed my face.

I closed my eyes and inhaled it deeply until my chest ached; the air was cold and pure, but it failed to cleanse the scent of fear exhaling from my pores,

nor to remove the bitterness of the truth: that I had returned to square zero, but this time, I wasn’t the victim being sold, but the hunter setting the nets.

The clamor of jazz music suddenly exploded to pierce the silence of the place, 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

and the scent of aged tobacco mixed with the aroma of fine wine filled the lobby and brushed my face.

The restaurant was teeming with bodies moving with vanity; men in their polished formal suits and mysterious masks that turned them into a unified aristocratic monster.

Before my feet could move a single step toward that crowd, I felt Robert’s fingers dig into my arm like iron hooks, pulling me toward him.

He leaned in until his cold breath touched my earlobe, and whispered in a tone carrying an implicit warning:

"Don’t you dare do anything crazy, Julie."

He paused for a second, while I felt my heart beating violently against my ribs, then continued with words that made my limbs freeze:

"Guards are surrounding the entrances from the outside, and most of those you see here are our customers... so, be careful."

I swallowed hard, feeling a sharp dryness in my throat as if a lump had stuck there.

I looked toward the distant doors, then at his firm grip on my arm;

the weight of the cocaine in my pocket reminded me that I was trapped between the jaws of a pincer,

and that the idea of escaping now was nothing but a delayed suicide.

I whispered in a faint voice that I tried hard to keep steady:

"Yes... I don’t intend to escape."

A mysterious smile formed on his lips, then he tilted his head slightly,

gesturing with his eyes toward the far corner:

"Now, look at that man standing by the bar on the left... the one wearing a white mask and a black hat."

I shifted my gaze toward the place he pointed to; he was a tall young man, slender of build, his hat and mask hiding every detail that might indicate his identity.

He seemed like just another statue in this masquerade.

I shook my head slowly, feeling a coldness running through my limbs:

"Yes... I see him."

Robert moved closer to me and whispered his final instructions:

"You will sneak toward him and put the bag in his pocket with utter calmness... don’t let him feel your movement."

I felt my heart jump into my throat, and said in a tone full of tension:

"And if... if I fail?"

He fixed his piercing gaze on my eyes and replied in a decisive tone that knew no jesting:

"Then you will fail to save yourself, and as for him... he will get a bullet in the head immediately."

I swallowed a bitter lump, feeling the weight of the bag in my pocket as if it were an ember burning my skin;

it was no longer just a mission, it had become a choice between two souls, and my soul was the price.

Suddenly, a waiter emerged from among the crowds and placed a heavy tray loaded with glasses onto my palm;

I felt my arm shaking and my breath catching as I watched the liquid inside the glasses swaying left and right, as if I would drop them at any moment.

Robert shot me a look as sharp as a blade and said in a tone that accepted no argument:

"Now... take him his drink, and execute what we agreed upon."

My feet froze in their place, and I felt as if the ground had swallowed my movement.

Robert leaned in again, his breath huffing beside my ear in a commanding whisper:

"Go on, Julie... move."

I began walking with stumbling steps amidst the crowd of masked men,

as if I were crossing a minefield or walking over embers stinging the soles of my feet.

Fear was gnawing at me from the inside; a double fear of failure which meant my death,

and of success which meant the destruction of my soul, for both were an inescapable hell.

I tightened my grip on the tray with one hand, while my other hand sneaked into my uniform pocket to rest over the folded paper there.

I felt the texture of the rough fabric and felt as if the letters of the message I wrote to myself were seeping through my pores and piercing my fingertips.

I recalled those words I carved into my mind, and said to myself like one reciting a final incantation before the fall:

"Julie... always choose yourself."

I closed the distance between us until I was within his reach.

I extended the tray with a stiffened body, and from the intensity of my confusion, my tongue betrayed me and the words slipped out in Spanish without awareness:

"Aquí tiene, señor" (Here you go, sir).

The young man stopped moving and tilted his head slightly as if the word hadn’t reached his ears clearly, and muttered in confusion:

"What?".

I felt my cheeks burning behind the mask, and regained my balance in English with a stifled voice:

"Sorry... here you go."

He extended his hand slowly toward the tray, and as his fingers approached the glass,

I felt my body turn into a block of ice; my other hand, nestled in my pocket, was completely paralyzed, as if my nerves had been cut off from it.

I tried to move my fingers to pick up the bag, but they refused to respond; they remained cramped over that cursed powder.

He took his glass, and I heard the sound of ice hitting the glass wall as he took a quiet sip,

then turned coldly and walked away to disappear amidst the crowd.

I remained frozen in my place, my arm holding the tray trembling violently, and my eyes following his back in shock;

the opportunity was lost, and I felt Robert’s gaze piercing my back as if they were real bullets.