My father sold me to the Mafia King-Chapter 150/Slippery Revenge

Chapter 150

Carlos’s Point of View

The weight of guilt pressed harder against my chest than the ache of the bruises Robert’s fists had left on my face. I traced my swollen jaw with my fingertips, closing my eyes to shut out the image of Julie.

She’s undoubtedly waiting for me to keep my word, waiting for me to get her out of that club. And I failed her. I went back on my promise and told Robert everything.

My brawl with him was necessary a wake-up call so we wouldn’t lose our minds and wreck our empire over a girl. But my cursed heart refused to obey that logic.

A steady rhythmic knocking interrupted my solitude. I straightened up and sighed in annoyance: "Come in."

The blond boy, Steve, stepped inside with his long, hesitant strides. He stood before me, trying to make his voice sound steady: "Hello, Mr. Carlos. I saw you when you came to the warehouse, and I came to speak with you."

I gave him a scrutinizing look.

He looked cleaner than the rest of the scum here. "Steve, right?" I asked curtly.

He nodded. "Yes, sir."

I leaned back in my chair. "Well... what do you want, Steve?"

He took a step forward, interlacing his fingers in front of him with visible tension. "I have a friend in prison... but he’s innocent."

I let out a bitter, mocking laugh, feeling the sting in my split lip. "Everyone who goes to prison says they’re innocent. That’s a given, kid."

Steve flinched as if I’d slapped him, his eyes flashing with a strange sincerity. "But he really is! They pinned a drug charge on him... they found a bag on him that didn’t belong to him and threw him in jail."

I rubbed my forehead impatiently. "Look, Steve, I don’t know why you’re telling me your friend’s life story, because quite frankly... I don’t care."

He didn’t back down.

He swallowed hard, his voice trembling: "I want your help to get him out of there... if you don’t mind, of course."

I raised an eyebrow, mocking him: "Do I look like a lawyer to you?"

"No, sir," he said, looking defeated.

I gestured toward the door. "Go on now. Get back to work."

He stopped at the door, hesitated, then turned back and asked in a low voice: "Can you lend me some money? Consider it an advance on my pay."

I looked at his broken expression.

"Fine, Steve. Talk to Bono and tell him to give you whatever amount you need."His face lit up with gratitude. "Thank you, sir... thank you so much."

There was something about this kid that piqued my curiosity something different from the other mercenaries. I gestured toward the seat opposite me: "Come. Sit."

He approached cautiously and sat on the edge of the chair, asking tentatively: "Yes, sir? Is there something you need me for?"

I locked my eyes on his. "I want to know the story about the theft that Monchez knows about."

Instantly, Steve’s body went rigid. I saw tension crawl across his features, his hands fumbling over his knees. A flush of shame even rose to his cheeks, looking pathetic.

"Don’t be afraid," I said, trying to calm him. "I just want to know how you stole, because you don’t look like a typical thief to me."

Steve sat before me, rubbing his palms together. He took a deep breath and said in a low voice: "In truth, sir... I’m not a thief. But I was forced into it."

"And what forced you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

He looked away, as if summoning painful memories. "I left my father’s house when I was very young. He used to be violent toward me, until one day I got tired of it and ran away."

I felt a hidden prick of pity in my chest, but I maintained my stony expression. "Go on."

"I was sleeping on the streets, sometimes in hospitals or parks, until I met Jake Simon," Steve continued, swallowing hard. "He’s my age. He doesn’t live here, but in a small town.

I went to live with him there... he’s the same guy I told you is in prison."

I nodded, and he went on: "Anyway... two years ago we came to New York and met Monchez. He offered us work. it was simple; deliver the goods, take the money, and give it to him."

He paused, a shadow of regret in his eyes. "I wouldn’t have accepted the job at all if it wasn’t for my little sister. I left her behind at home and she was sad." He stopped for a moment, then added bitterly: "I thought she was sad."

"I told Jake my plan," Steve continued, clenching his fingers. "I’d accept the work with Monchez, steal the money, and then my sister and I would run away. Jake joined me, even though he didn’t have to."

"And what happened?" I asked curiously.

He sighed. "I stole the money and met my sister to tell her, but she wasn’t happy about the stolen cash."

"Well, her perspective was right," I commented. "Continue."

His body began to tremble slightly as he went on: "That’s when Monchez’s men caught us. They took my sister with me too."

My jaw tightened at that, rage boiling in my veins. I don’t kidnap women. How did Monchez dare bring a girl to my warehouse?

"They started beating me, but I didn’t confess," Steve said, his voice quivering. "Even when they put a gun to my head and brought my sister out, I didn’t say a word... I just wanted to save her from that house.

But my sister started talking to Monchez in Spanish. I don’t understand the language, but I realized in the end that she offered to work for him to pay back the money I stole."

"How old was your sister?" I asked, trying to stifle my fury. "She sounds brave."

"At that time, she was sixteen," he replied with sorrow.

I bolted upright, shouting: "What?!"

"Yes..." he said sadly. "And Monchez offered her to..." He stopped abruptly.

"What did he offer her?" I pressed sharply. "Speak!"

"He offered her to be... a means of your pleasure," he said in a stifled voice.

I squeezed my knuckles until I heard them pop. That bastard Monchez! Was that how he portrayed me to people? Did he think I would accept a child?

"Yes... what happened then?" I asked, my voice harsh.

"I told him where the money was and he let us go," Steve said, wiping his face. "I was going to steal the money again to save her, but I backed down."

"And why is that?"

"Because," he said bitterly, "she simply found her happiness in that house where I had lived in misery."

"And are you sad because she’s happy?" I asked solemnly.

"No, no!" he replied quickly. "I want her to be happy always."

"And how did Monchez take you back after you stole from him?" I asked finally.

"I asked for forgiveness and he pardoned me," Steve said, standing up. "As I told you, I never intended to work with the Mafia. It was all for my sister."

"Fine, Steve. You can go," I said, looking away.

He left the office with heavy steps, leaving me drowned in my thoughts thoughts of Monchez and his disgusting actions behind my back. Even though I had already killed him, I wished he could come back to life just so I could kill him again.

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Julie’s Point of View

The day passed heavily as I remained confined within my walls. I expected Olivia to barge in as usual, but she didn’t, so I surrendered to the pages of a book to drown out the noise of my thoughts.

After I showered, I put on a short silk robe. As soon as the dinner cart arrived and I finished my meal, I felt the time had come.

I pulled out the key I had previously swiped and sneaked out of the room. I reached Sarah’s door, inserted the key, and opened it quietly.

The room was empty, but the sound of running water from behind the bathroom door told me everything I needed to know.

I entered the bathroom with the stealth of a cat. Steam filled the air, and Sarah’s silhouette appeared as a faint shadow behind the frosted glass. She didn’t sense my presence, immersed under the flow of water.

Silently, I reached out and grabbed a bottle of shampoo, pouring a generous amount onto the marble floor directly in front of the glass cabin door. I placed the bottle back.

I stood a short distance away, crossing my arms over my chest. Then, I said in a calm, cold tone: "Sarah."

Her body went rigid behind the glass. She shut off the water abruptly, swung the glass door open, and stepped her wet head out, her eyes widening in shock and malice when she saw me: "Julie! What are you doing here? And how did you get in?"

I didn’t answer; I simply gave her a cryptic smile. Sarah didn’t wait for a response; she lunged to step out. The moment her first foot touched the floor, her balance violently gave way.

Her foot skidded over the slick layer of shampoo, her body lifting into the air for a heartbeat before she crashed with all her weight onto the hard floor.