My father sold me to the Mafia King-Chapter 61 - 62/Collision

Chapter 62:

Julie’s Point of View

I watched his back as it vanished behind the shoulders of the masked men, dissolving into the crowd like a drop of ink in a black ocean.

In that moment, the lightning of realization struck me:

"I have failed."

My limbs stiffened, and the coldness of death settled in my veins, but soon the fear turned into a raging heat in my gut;

no, I would not allow this to be my end.

I would not become that submissive victim again.

With a nervous motion, I placed the tray on the marble of the bar, and out of the corner of my eye,

I caught a glimpse of Robert standing there like an awaited fate; his gaze was piercing through me with a terrifying coldness.

Without thinking, I lunged into the crowd, my steps accelerating while my eyes scanned the faces and masks, searching for his black hat and white mask.

I finally saw him.

There was no plan in my head, just a blind survival instinct pushing me forward.

I reached my trembling hand into my pocket and gripped the plastic bag so tightly my nails almost pierced the powder.

I increased my pace, and suddenly, I deliberately tripped my feet so that my body collided violently with his back.

I lost my balance completely and was on the verge of falling toward the hard floor,

but he turned with lightning speed and encircled my waist with his arms to prevent me from falling.

In those seconds where time stood still, I found myself so close to him that I felt the heat of his breath.

I looked into his blue eyes, which were shimmering with bewilderment behind the holes of his white mask,

and while he was occupied with saving me from the fall, my hand slipped with a lightness I had never known before and tucked the bag into the deep pocket of his jacket.

I muttered in a stifled voice, my eyes still fixed on the brilliance of his blue eyes:

"I... I’m sorry, sir, I tripped and bumped into you."

He slowly loosened his grip on my waist, and I felt a sudden coldness where his hands had been.

Then he replied in a calm tone that carried no suspicion:

"It’s alright."

I didn’t wait for another word from him; I turned away with a feigned dullness,

and as soon as I vanished behind the first crowd of men, I took off like an arrow.

My feet were racing against the beats of my heart that almost punctured my chest, and my fingers that had touched his pocket were still trembling madly.

I saw nothing but the restroom sign at the end of the hallway; I rushed toward the heavy wooden door,

pushed it with all my strength, and locked it behind me.

I ripped the mask off my face with a hysterical motion, feeling the skin of my face breathe at last.

I leaned over the sink and turned the faucet to its maximum; I scooped the cold water with my hands and splashed it onto my face time after time,

trying to wash away the features of the crime I had just committed.

While the water was dripping from my hair and chin, my movement suddenly stilled when I heard the sound of a door opening behind me.

I froze in my place, water covering my eyelids, then I slowly raised my head to see the reflection in the mirror.

A man walked out from one of the stalls, wearing a pristine white suit and a black mask covering all his features.

He froze in place, looking at me in shock, while I felt the coldness of the water turn into a shameful heat running through my veins.

I shut my eyes tightly, muttering bitterly to myself:

"Oh my God... I entered the men’s restroom."

I turned with a trembling body, water still dripping from the ends of my hair onto the collar of my uniform, and said in a faltering voice:

"Sorry... I didn’t notice, I didn’t realize it was the men’s restroom."

I didn’t wait for his response; instead, I rushed toward the door, opening it with the desperation of a drowning person,

but I didn’t take a single step before I collided with a chest as solid as marble.

Robert was standing there like an impregnable dam.

He didn’t say a word; instead, his hand reached out in a swift motion and snatched the mask I was clutching with my wet hand, placing it over my face with a harshness that made me recoil.

He fixed his eyes on me with a sharp look, whispering sternly:

"Do not take it off again."

I raised my trembling hands behind my head to tighten the ribbons; my fingers were tangling with each other from sheer terror,

and the coldness of the mask over my damp skin made my body shudder.

At that moment, the door behind me opened and the man in the white suit stepped out;

he stopped beside us, a strange tone of amusement in his voice as he addressed Robert:

"Robert! The party is truly wonderful; the atmosphere is perfect tonight."

Robert shifted his gaze to me, his look from behind his mask piercing me with an unbearable coldness, and replied in a mysterious tone:

"Yes, Harold... it is wonderful."

Then he gestured firmly toward the hallway:

"Go... to the kitchen immediately."

I turned and fled from them, speeding with lost steps through the long corridor, feeling my heart pounding violently against the walls of my chest.

I walked pretending I knew the way, but the truth was I was spinning in a vortex of terror;

my feet didn’t know the path, and my mind didn’t realize where that kitchen was hiding.

I made my way through the crowd of masked bodies again,

trying to fade like a passing shadow, but suddenly strong fingers tightened around my wrist.

I froze in my place, feeling a coldness creeping from the point of contact with my skin to freeze my limbs entirely.

I turned slowly, and my throat tightened when I saw him; it was him, the one with the white mask and the black hat.

My stomach churned, and a single thought dominated my mind like a deafening scream:

"I’ve been caught."

He fixed his blue eyes behind the mask on mine and asked in a low voice:

"What is your name?"

My wrist jerked as I pulled my hand from his grip with force, and said with a coldness I tried to hide behind my mask:

"It’s none of your business."

I turned away from him with a trembling body, and heard his voice following me amidst the noise:

"I want your phone number!"

I didn’t turn back; instead, I increased my pace, stumbling over the hem of my dress until I bumped into a waiter.

I asked him in a wavering voice for the way, and he pointed me toward a side door.

I rushed into the kitchen, and thick food vapors and sharp spice aromas slapped my face, piercing my nose violently.

The place was a noisy beehive; knives knocking on boards, and pots boiling with a clamor.

I crawled toward the furthest corner of the kitchen and collapsed onto the floor with a broken body,

leaning my back against the cold wall while gasping deeply,

my hand pressing against my chest trying to calm the palpitations of my heart.