My father sold me to the Mafia King-Chapter 123 - 124/The Ghost of Violet

Chapter 124:

Julie’s Point of View

After I finished bathing, I stood before the mirror trying to gather the fragments of myself.

I dressed quickly, then my eyes fell on Robert’s white shirt lying on the edge of the bed. I approached it slowly, and with an involuntary movement, I raised it toward my face and inhaled its scent; it was the strong scent of "Oud," a fragrance that fills the lungs and makes the heart leap.

Suddenly, I realized what I was doing, so I threw the shirt violently onto the mattress as if I had touched a coal, and said with a faint rebuke: "What is wrong with you, you crazy girl?"

Breakfast was placed on the cart, but a lump in my throat prevented me from tasting much; I settled for a few small bites, while my stomach was churning from tension.

I left the room and walked in the hallway toward the office, and every step was weighing heavily on my shoulders. I stopped before the door and closed my eyes tightly, trying to erase those embarrassing images from my memory; the scene of my body as I removed my dress before him yesterday was haunting me like a nightmare, making the blood flow profusely toward my cheeks.

I took a deep breath and encouraged myself with a strong press on the door handle, then opened it.

I froze in my place; the office was not empty.

There was a strange man sitting in a wheelchair in the middle of the room. His features were sharp as a sword, and his black hair, which gray had begun to invade, gave him a terrifying prestige.

His black eyes were piercing everyone who fell under their gaze, and his elegant black suit increased his stern dignity.

I felt a slight shiver running through my limbs under his scrutinizing gaze. I swallowed my saliva with difficulty and took one step inside the office, then said in a voice that tried to be steady despite the tremor: "Good morning... sir."

The man’s gaze was fixed on me in a suspicious silence, so I said in a tone dominated by confusion: "Sir, do you hear me?" He continued to stare at me strangely, and I felt a desire to laugh from the intensity of the tension, saying to myself: "He must be deaf."

I approached him and raised my hand, waving it slowly before his eyes: "Sir, do you hear me? I am talking to you."

He finally said while blinking slowly: "Yes, what were you saying?" I was truly surprised; perhaps his hearing was heavy, so I took a deep breath and raised my voice until I felt my vocal cords tighten: "Good morning, sir—that is what I said."

He placed his hand on his ear quickly as if I had shouted in his face, and said with grumbling features: "I think I need a doctor; you have torn my eardrum."

I put my hands on my hips and said impulsively: "Because you didn’t hear me at first, I thought there was something wrong with your ears."

He shook his head and said in a calm and provocative tone: "And I think there is something wrong with your tongue, because it is sharp, it seems."

I answered sharply: "Yes, sir. Do you need Mr. Robert?" He said coldly: "Yes, I need him, but they told me he left the club. I will wait for him here."

I said while averting my gaze from him: "Fine, shall I bring you a cup of coffee?" He said curtly: "I don’t want any."

Then he looked at me intently, and I felt his gaze piercing me, and he pointed with his hand to the chair: "Come, sit here."

I approached cautiously and sat down, so he initiated a question: "Yes, what is your name?" I said briefly: "Julie." He replied with a mysterious smile: "Your name is beautiful, Julie," then he followed: "And what is your mother’s name?"

I felt my heart beating with apprehension. What is wrong with this crazy old man? I said with annoyance: "Why?" He said: "Nothing, only your name is beautiful, and I thought your mother was the one who gave you this name."

I answered, my eyes watching his movements: "My mother’s name is Meredith, but I don’t really know who gave me the name." He shook his head, muttering: "Hmm... and what do you do here, Julie?"

I said bitterly: "Personal assistant to Mr. Robert." He said while narrowing his eyes: "But your age seems young; how did you come to work here?"

I exhaled deeply and said: "I have told this story to many people; my father sold me and here I am, a prisoner as you see."

Then I tilted my body toward him and said curiously: "And you, sir, what brought you here? Because you don’t look like..." I closed my mouth suddenly and felt heat invading my face when I realized what I was about to say, and he understood my meaning immediately and said bitterly: "Surely you are saying how a disabled man could come to a club to rent girls."

I said quickly while rubbing my hands together: "No, not at all. I meant that you don’t look like that type; you look like a respectable man." I prayed to God that he would believe me, but he pretended to do so and said: "Fine, Julie, I will take those words as a compliment."

Then he asked me again: "Where do you live? I mean, where is your home?"

Why does he keep asking? I said in a slightly sharp tone: "Sir, don’t you think you ask too much?" He said calmly: "Not at all, I am only occupying my mouth." I said: "I think you need a cup of coffee; perhaps your mouth will be occupied with it instead of questions."

He laughed a loud laugh that shook his chest and said: "You little girl, you have funny responses," then he added: "Robert must have chosen you as an assistant because of this."

I rose from the chair suddenly and felt a desire to escape: "I will go now. Perhaps if Mr. Robert finds me with you, he will be angry."

He said reassuringly: "No, no, sit. In any case, Robert is always angry." I said while pulling my hair back: "It seems you know him well." He said: "Yes, he is stubborn and listens to no one."

I returned to sit with enthusiasm; finally, I found someone who agreed with my opinion: "That Robert is just a savage and a fool."

He looked at me with a sharp look that made me swallow my saliva, but I continued: "Truly... yes, I don’t know how he was raised when he was young to become like this, but it’s clear his parents are also savages."

The man went silent and seemed as if he were listening to me with intense focus, so I felt encouraged and continued: "I swear to you, sir, if I ever found a weapon, I would empty it inside his head." He said in a suspicious whisper: "Do you want to kill him?"

I said seriously while shaking my head: "Well, I haven’t killed anyone before, but him—I will kill him and go to prison, and I will be happy. Do you know why?" He replied curiously: "Why?" I said strongly: "Because I will rid humanity of him."

Suddenly, the door was opened forcefully and Robert entered. My body stiffened in my place when he saw us, and he said in a resonant voice carrying a strange mockery: "Father, I didn’t imagine you would come to visit me yourself."

I gasped loudly without realizing it, and my eyes widened in bewilderment as I looked at the man whom I had described seconds ago as a savage, and I felt a coldness coursing through my limbs as I whispered: "Are you his father?"

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Thomas’s Point of View (Robert’s Father)

I was watching her, listening to the flood of words coming from her lips as she gnawed at my son Robert’s reputation with that unbelievable boldness.

I felt her energy filling the room, but my body was frozen in its place; shock paralyzed my limbs as I stared at the features of her face.

She resembles her... she resembles Violet exactly, to a degree that made the blood freeze in my veins. It was as if I had gone back in time 20 years, seeing Violet standing before me with the same captivating green eyes, the same hair strands, and even the same spontaneous, turbulent movements.

Everything around me was fading, and I didn’t feel myself as I stared at her as if I had seen a ghost from the past.

When Robert stormed into the office, I saw terror painted on her face as her body stiffened, realizing the identity of the "old man" she was talking to. I said in a tone I tried to keep steady despite the disturbance of my pulse: "Yes, Julie... I am the father of this savage."

She stammered and started to retreat with stumbling steps, saying: "I think I have to go... I will leave the son and his father to enjoy some privacy."

Robert did not avert his gaze from her; he sat on his chair with stillness while gesturing to her with his hand: "Go to your room... and I will come when I finish my talk with my father."

I watched his eyes; they were following every movement she made, chasing her shadow until she disappeared behind the door.

Those were not the looks of a passing lust; I was expert enough to realize that the Robert before me now is not the son I know.

They were the looks of a man who possesses a fatal weak point... the looks of a man in love.

Silence prevailed after she left, so I broke it saying in a hoarse voice: "Since when do you have a personal assistant? For I know that you hate this."

Robert’s jaw tensed, and he pressed his hand on the desk surface and said coldly: "Father... can you get into the basic topic? Why did you come here?"

I leaned my back against the wheelchair and said: "Have you forgotten that this club is mine?"

He replied quickly and strongly: "And it has become mine now."

I narrowed my eyes while feeling the armrest of the chair, and asked him in a sharp tone: "Where did you get this girl from?"

He denounced my question, and his eyes flashed with defiance: "And what is the reason for this question?"

I said to him in clear words, as cutting as a sword: "Let her leave."

His pupils dilated strangely, as if he didn’t believe what he heard: "What?"

I moved my body closer to him a little, and said in a warning tone: "If you want to remain a strong man who cannot be broken, let her leave, Robert."

This was not the only reason behind my request, but it was the only one I had the strength to declare before those eyes that remind me of everything I once lost.