My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 14

Chapter 14: 14/The Devil’s Lair

Chapter Fourteen

Julie’s Point of View

I leaned forward slightly with a theatrical, mocking gesture, then stepped off the stage and walked toward him with defiant strides until I stood directly in front of him.

I asked him, my eyes gleaming with rebellion:

— "Did you like it?"

I was burning with longing to see the features of anger explode on his face; I was waiting for him to lose his usual control after I had described him as a devil in his own stronghold.

But he was very skillful—terrifyingly skillful at maintaining his composure. He looked at me with an unnerving coldness, then said in a calm tone:

— "You were right, Julie.. your father’s information cannot be trusted, for he did not tell me that you have an angelic voice."

My mouth dropped open in astonishment, and all the reactions I had prepared in my head vanished.

How could he ignore all those harsh words and the arrows I aimed at him, only to respond with cold praise for my voice?!

He had turned my attack into a mere enjoyable "artistic performance," as if my insult to him were nothing more than the chirping of a bird in his ears.

I ignored his praise, which I felt was just another way to assert his control, and walked away from him toward another door at the end of the hallway.

I pushed it hard and opened it, but I froze in my place and took a step back from sheer surprise.

It was a large room, but completely devoid of any furniture suggesting life, except for a massive bed sitting in the middle of the void like a platform for spectators.

What truly took my breath away was that giant mirror hanging from the ceiling, fixed with extreme precision directly above the bed to break the privacy of anyone lying there.

I felt a tightness in my chest as I looked at the reflection of the bed in the ceiling; the room suggested everything except comfort, and it seemed as if its silent walls hid bitter stories behind them that I did not wish to imagine.

I closed the door with a lightning-fast snap, as if I were closing a window overlooking hell.

I deliberately did not look at Robert; I was afraid my astonished eyes would meet his, and he would see in my face that weakness or questioning I did not want to grant him.

I walked with accelerated steps in the hallway, driven by a desire to get away from that disgusting room, until I reached the last door.

It was different from the rest, a pitch-black color like coal, suggesting privacy and awe. I opened it and entered, to find myself in a vast royal suite.

The first thing that met me was a seating area featuring an elegant gray sofa facing a huge television mounted on the wall, the corners decorated with paintings of mysterious and different geometric shapes.

I walked a little further inside, and the bed stopped me; it was massive, made of sturdy wood resting on large solid stones, as if built to last forever.

Above the bed hung a majestic painting that covered a large part of the wall, depicting a long path in a dense forest, where high trees intertwined to choke the light, leaving nothing but a black darkness swallowing everything.

The scent of oud and tobacco was much stronger here, as if the room itself were a factory for concentrating that fragrance that had begun to haunt my breath.

In that moment, I realized with absolute certainty that I was inside "Robert’s Den." He was standing behind me, silent as usual, watching me as I examined the finest details of his private kingdom.

I turned to him and said in a tone I tried to make sound natural despite the awe imposed by the place:

— "You surprised me, Mr. Robert.. I didn’t imagine your room would look like this."

He took a puff of his cigarette and then blew the smoke into the air, the fragrant mist thickening around us, and said in his deep voice:

— "And how did you imagine it before?"

I scanned the vast room with my eyes, then fixed my gaze on him and said with biting sarcasm:

— "I imagined some ropes dangling from the ceiling, with skeletons hanging from them, while other ropes held bodies that hadn’t decomposed yet.. but I see your floor is very clean and not stained with blood as I expected, and you have a bed too! I thought you didn’t sleep."

He approached me slightly, and with cold eyes, he said:

— "It turns out your imagination is very far from the level of this place."

I didn’t answer him with words immediately; instead, I walked with deliberate coldness over the gray rug made of some animal fur, feeling its softness under my feet.

I sat on the edge of his massive bed and looked at him defiantly, saying:

— "I truly wonder what made you grant me the honor of entering your room?"

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