My father sold me to the Mafia King-Chapter 75 - 76/The Funeral Song

Chapter 76:

Julie’s Point of View

I put on white trousers made of a heavy fabric that draped with dignity, and a classic white shirt with buttons lined up strictly, then stepped into a pair of red high heels that stood out amidst the whiteness of my clothes like a bloodstain.

I stood before the mirror, pulling the comb through the strands of my hair with quick, steady strokes, trying to calm the noise in my head.

I looked at my reflection, fixing my gaze on my green eyes, saying in a faint hiss:

"Calm down, Julie... nothing happened, you are too smart to be manipulated by a woman like Olivia."

I recalled in my mind that day she saw me leaving his room; I remembered her looks that were burning with hatred, and I realized that from that moment,

she began to weave in her diseased imagination the threads of a story that never occurred.

I thought of his words, that bastard Robert, when he told me with disgusting coldness that he doesn’t like virgins;

I thought about it rationally he owns an entire club buzzing with girls racing to get a glance from him.

Yes, perhaps he is a scoundrel and mired in filth, but I don’t think he would stoop to this level.

I took a deep breath that made my chest expand, and tried to expel the trembling from my limbs.

The door opened again, and Olivia entered with her usual coldness, saying:

"The electronic lock has been removed from your room; you can now open the door yourself without needing a key."

I left the room, walking behind her with steps I tried to keep steady, but I felt the weight of the air as if the walls were shrinking around me to squeeze me.

The specter of the man Robert killed yesterday was still haunting my imagination; the thought that I would work as an "assistant" for this killer made my stomach knot in a painful ache,

not to mention Olivia’s gazes that stung my back like claws trying to tear what remained of my composure.

I climbed the stairs, my heart on the verge of stopping. I stood at that heavy wooden door, and Olivia gave it formal, dry knocks, and his cursed voice came from inside:

"Come in."

Olivia opened the door and entered coldly, but I froze in my place for moments; I saw him sitting behind his desk,

wearing a dark blue suit that gave him an aura of absolute authority, and the cigarette that never left his fingers sent wisps of smoke curling around his stern face.

My eyes strayed toward that spot on the floor; I swear I saw the guard’s corpse still lying there, and I saw the blood seeping between the cracks of the marble.

I felt a sudden coldness stabbing my limbs, and I placed my hand over my chest, which began to rise and fall in muffled gasps, before his deep voice shattered my distraction:

"Are you waiting for an invitation to enter, Julie?"

I swallowed hard and stepped inside the office with a stiff body until I stood directly in front of him.

With a fleeting nod of his eye, he signaled for Olivia to leave; I heard the sound of the door closing behind her with a muffled echo,

as if she had blocked the only emergency exit, leaving me alone in the middle of his hell, burning in his terrifying silence.

He pointed with the hand holding the cigarette toward the space separating us, and said in a deep tone that accepted no argument:

"Come closer."

I looked at him for a second, feeling a stiffness in my legs, but I moved with slow steps until I reached the edge of his massive desk.

He placed a notebook bound in luxury black leather and an elegant pen before me, and said coldly:

"This is a notebook and a pen; record everything I say to you in it."

I felt a suppressed boiling inside me; this scoundrel was taking the "personal assistant" charade with provocative seriousness.

I lifted my chin high and said in a sharp tone that cut through the silence of the room:

"Anything else, Mr. Robert?"

He stopped exhaling and leaned his body forward until his features became sharper under the desk light.

He looked directly into my eyes and said in a low voice carrying a tone of warning:

"Improve your tone and your words; I am your boss now, and you must respect me."

I couldn’t help myself; I placed my palm over the notebook on the desk and pressed it with all my might until my knuckles turned white, and said while gritting my teeth:

"You have to earn that respect first!"

He didn’t flinch; instead, he continued to watch my agitation with a terrifying calmness, then uttered words that made a cold shiver run down my spine:

"I take it by force, Julie."

My fingers trembled over the notebook slightly, and I felt his breath approaching me, while he fixed his gaze on me as if he were cornering me with his words before his actions.

I took a deep breath, relaxing my tense shoulders slightly in a desperate attempt to hide my tension, and said in a tone I tried to make steady:

"And what is the nature of my work? What will I do... and where will I sit?"

He didn’t lift his gaze from a paper he was examining with cold focus on his desk, and replied in a hollow voice:

"Your work is not defined; you will do anything I need."

He puffed a thick cloud of smoke from his cigarette, which danced before my face before he continued:

"You will sit here when no one is around, and when someone comes... you will leave."

I felt my blood boil suddenly, and the words rushed from between my lips with a rage I couldn’t restrain:

"Am I your dog to wait behind the closed door?!"

At that moment, he slowly let go of the paper and raised his gaze toward me, a malicious smile forming on his lips that made my heart tighten, as he said with provocative calmness:

"In a way."

Before I could pour the brunt of my rage upon him, the silence of the office was pierced by the sound of loud knocking, and the door opened without waiting for permission to enter.

Carlos entered with his imposing presence, wearing his strict black suit and holding his golden cane in his hand. He said in a booming voice:

"Good morning, my dear Robert."

Then, when his eyes fell on me, signs of ambiguity appeared on his face and he said:

"Ha... Julie! You are here."

Carlos leaned back in the chair with utter ease befitting a man who knows the extent of his power,

holding the handle of his golden cane with clear pride, then tilted his head to examine me with a scrutinizing look, saying in a mocking tone:

"What is this elegance, Julie? Are you going to sing tonight?"

Then he turned toward Robert and winked at him impudently, spreading a malicious smile between us.

At that moment, I felt as if a bolt of rage ran through my veins; my fingers cramped around the edge of the desk,

and the bitter memories of that night I stood on the stage under the greedy eyes of men like a piece of meat displayed for sale rushed back.

I was about to explode, but I took a deep breath, forced my cramped jaw to relax, and decided to pay back this provocative Mexican and Robert who was watching the scene in silence twofold.

I painted a cold calmness on my face, looked directly into Carlos’s eyes, and said in a voice smooth as silk:

"If you want that, I can sing one for you, Mr. Carlos."

Carlos raised his eyebrows in wonder and sat up straight with clear physical strength apparent in the tensing of his broad shoulders, saying as he smiled with pride:

"Really? You are very generous."

I took a small step toward him, a faint smile that didn’t reach my eyes forming on my lips, and I completed with a coldness that froze his features:

"Yes... it is the least I can do at your funeral."