My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 150

Chapter 150: 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."

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