My father sold me to the Mafia King Chapter 13/Devil In A Suit

Chapter thirteenth :

Julie’s Point of View

I climbed the stairs with steady steps despite my exhaustion, and when I reached the middle, he materialized before like an elegant nightmare; Robert was standing at the top, towering in his gray suit and black tie.

One hand was in his pocket, while the other held a cigarette, its smoke rising to draw mysterious circles in the air.

A deep suspicion took hold of ; a man of Robert’s status would not stand there performing the task of a "receptionist" unless there was sothing of grave importance.

I felt the danger doubling in my chest, but my tongue—which was always braver than my fears—spoke before I could think.

I said to him as I approached his level, defiance dripping from my words:

— "I hope the reason you woke up is worth it... for I do not give up my hours of sleep easily."

I reached where he stood, but he did not utter a word; he rely watched with a heavy silence.

At that mont, my confidence faltered slightly as I noticed my wretched condition; my hair was disheveled like a tangled forest, my shirt was stained with traces of strawberry cake, and I felt a sense of sha regarding my scent, which certainly was not fit for standing before a man of his grooming.

Fortunately, however, his powerful perfu asserted its dominance over the place; the scent of luxurious oud mixed with the sharp sll of tobacco was enough to cover my humble scent and envelop in its aura.

I stood before him, and despite my ssy appearance, I raised my head with a dignity that did not match my dirty clothes, waiting for him to explain the secret of this nocturnal summons.

He spoke to in his raspy voice that sends shivers through the soul:

— "You told yesterday that you wanted to explore this floor... or have you changed your mind?"

I froze in place from utter amazent. Had he really woken from my deepest hours of sleep, at two in the morning, just to fulfill a fleeting wish I had expressed yesterday?

It was hard for to believe that a person of his status and power would store my words in his head and decide to act upon them with such precision.

In the world of "Managent" that I studied, this is called "attention to field details," but here it seed to like a form of absolute dominance; he was telling indirectly that he hears every breath I take and forgets nothing.

I said to him in a quiet voice carrying a tone of wonder:

— "Umm.. you have surprised , Mr. Robert. I did not expect you to offer this generous proposal and give a tour of the floor yourself."

I was looking at him, still unable to believe it; it is difficult to comprehend that a man like him would take fleeting words I said to him yesterday into his head, take them seriously, and apply them in this manner.

He woke from my deep sleep at two in the morning just because I showed curiosity yesterday, and this sudden interest in fulfilling my desire made feel that behind this calmness lay sothing unpredictable.

He moved in front of and I began to follow him from behind.

His massive body in the gray suit looked before like a towering and terrifying mountain—a man with whom you feel that a re simple mistake against him might threaten your life and end with you in the abyss.

Despite the awe his presence imposed, my desire for rebellion had not died out, so I said to him in a tone I tried to keep balanced:

— "Mr. Robert... don’t you know the saying: Ladies first?"

He stopped suddenly and turned toward with a slowness that stirred anxiety in my soul.

Then, a cold half-smile ford on his lips, and he looked at with sharp eyes, saying:

— "Did you not like that I did not consider you a woman?"

His question was sudden and provocative, as if he were throwing the ball into my court to test my reaction.

His silence and that smile made feel that behind this sentence were many anings he left for the trouble of guessing, while he stood waiting for my answer, calmly exhaling his cigarette smoke.

I took steady steps forward, passing him, as if I were pulling the rug of control from him in that hallway. I said to him as I continued walking without looking back:

— "I do not care for your consideration, Mr. Robert, but seeing your massive back from behind does not suit ."

I left my words behind to collide with him, while I felt his gaze piercing my back.

I did not want to be a re follower walking in his shadow, even if I were his prisoner; my pride refused to accept the role of "background" in this scene.

I found a door on the right side, so I reached out my hand, opened it without hesitation, and entered.

The room contained a massive table made of ancient brown wood, surrounded by black leather chairs with high backrests.

It looked like a formal eting room, but my imagination did not go toward paper deals and corporations; instead, a terrifying thought raided : that this table is the place where deals for selling won to custors are made.

A shiver froze the blood in my veins, and I felt as if the air in the room had beco heavy.

I could not bear staying there for another second, so I pulled the handle and closed the door with great speed, trying to expel those hideous images from my head.

Robert was still standing at the door, watching in total silence with a gaze that revealed nothing, as if he were studying my reactions toward what I was discovering.

I ignored his looks and continued walking toward the next door on the left side.

I opened it, and a completely different space appeared to ; rows of chairs covered in luxurious "velvet" fabric, and in the center erged a small stage platform with a single microphone in the middle under a dim light.

The place was like a private and secret theater. I turned to him, trying to regain my tone of sarcasm to hide my tension, and said:

— "Do you explore musical talents here as well?"

He replied in a mysterious tone:

"I love hearing beautiful songs with sweet voices."

I did not miss this opportunity; I entered with confident steps and ascended the stage, as if I were reclaiming my stolen essence atop that platform.

I grabbed the microphone, pressed the power button causing a slight buzz to fill the silent hall, then looked directly at him as he stood before in his terrifying dignity, and said defiantly:

— "I will dedicate a song to you, Mr. Robert... it is specifically for you."

I fixed my gaze into his eyes and began to sing with a voice carrying all the bitterness and sarcasm in my heart:

"You think the devil has horns? Well, so did I

But I was wrong, his hair is combed, and he wears a suit and tie

He’s nice, polite, he’ll catch you by surprise

A smile so bright, you’d never bat an eye"

The words were coming out of my throat like bullets aid at his chest, while I stood there, in the middle of that suspicious theater, defining him by his true reality which he hides behind his luxurious attire.