My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 24

Chapter 24: 24/Don’t Take It Personally

Chapter Twenty-Four:

Julie’s Point of View

I cursed him a thousand times in my head; the bastard calls me a madwoman while I was receiving him with such elegance! But I did not lose my cool; instead, I maintained my calm gaze while examining him scrutinizedly.

My eyes moved slowly toward the golden cane he had rested beside him—the one he thumps on the ground to impose his authority—and I said in a cold, provocative tone:

— "Have you grown so old that you bought a cane to lean on?"

I knew I was hitting a sensitive nerve in his masculinity and pride.

I wanted to make the weapon he flaunts look like a sign of disability and senility, so he would know well, before calling me mad again, that my tongue might be sharper than his golden cane.

His features changed in an instant; the sarcastic smile evaporated, replaced by a sharp gloom.

He knit his brows tightly, and his bronze face contracted until his brown eyes looked like two embers smoldering with silent rage.

His hand gripped the handle of the cane until his knuckles turned white, and he said in a low, deep voice carrying a threat no one would dare ignore:

— "It’s clear that you wish to part with your tongue.."

A suffocating silence prevailed in the office, a silence in which I could hear the rapid thumping of my heart that didn’t dare show on my face.

He was staring at me as if studying the best way to crush my audacity. I didn’t blink, and I didn’t retreat in my seat upon Robert’s chair; instead, I leaned my body slightly forward, rested my chin on my intertwined hands, and said in a faint but steady voice:

— "You see, sir.. calling me a madwoman was not appropriate at all; insulting people you don’t know is entirely wrong."

Before he could open his mouth to respond, there was a knock on the door and the guard entered carrying the coffee tray. Confusion filled his face as he saw the charged atmosphere between us.

He placed the cups with extreme caution, his eyes darting between me and that man in bewilderment, as if wondering how I was still alive. I signaled to him coldly:

— "Put it here.. and leave."

After the guard left, I took my cup slowly and sipped a small, warm mouthful that granted me more calm.

Then I looked at him, tilting my eyes slightly with a feigned look of reproach mixed with pride, and said to him:

— "You hurt my feelings with that word.. I only gave you a response to make you feel the bitterness of what you said to me, so don’t take it personally."

His grip on the cane handle loosened slightly, and it seemed as if my words had scrambled his calculations for a few moments.

He expected screaming or fear, but he didn’t expect a "lesson in ethics" from the one he labeled a madwoman.

A short silence ensued, then I saw him slowly raise his hand to stroke his thick mustache, a mysterious smile etched on his lips, mixed with deadly coldness, as he said:

— "You speak words larger than yourself.. words that could cost you your life, but..."

He paused for a second, fixing his gaze on my eyes, then completed in a sarcastic tone dripping with venom:

— "...but, don’t take it personally."

The bastard! He turned the tables on me, directing my own words back at me as if slapping me with them.

He was telling me clearly that although he had retreated from his visible anger, the danger of death he represented still existed, and that my audacity was walking me on a tightrope.

I smiled, trying to break the ice:

"Look at us.. talking with a flood of words and I don’t even know your name."

His response came in a strange tone, one carrying an inexplicable weight, as he uttered:

"Carlos Mendoza."

My God! The sound of the name alone was enough to ring alarm bells in my mind.

At that moment, a terrifying feeling squeezed me—that this revenge of mine might not be against "Robert" at all, but against myself for plunging into this hell.

He didn’t give me a chance to process, but continued coldly:

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