My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 309

Chapter 309: 309/The Burden of Memory

Chapter 309:

Robert’s POV

I remained sitting in my place on the sofa like a statue, motionless. My movement and ability to express myself were completely paralyzed, and my mind, weighed down by doubts, could not comprehend the cursed and toxic words that my father threw into my ears with absolute gloating. My body stiffened entirely, and my gaze fixated in complete astonishment and a shock that shook my entity toward the features of my old father, and I said in a faint, broken, and shocked tone: "What the hell are you saying?! Repeat what you just said right now!"

My father tilted his head with a harshness and an unbreakable pride, fixed his thin palms on the armrests of his wheelchair, and said with emphasis, assertion, and a tone dripping with poison: "I say and repeat so that your mind can comprehend... she told Wilson with her own tongue and in front of his men that she is Carlos’s lover and his secret lover to seek protection through him!"

I felt a burning, hellish heat coursing through my veins insanely, and blood pumped profusely into my head in a terrifying manner that almost exploded my arteries. The lines of my face tightened with malice, hatred, and sweeping rage, and my jaw convulsed violently. I advanced with my upper torso and half of my body toward him in a convulsion, gripped my knees with excessive force, and said in a roaring and scary voice: "Are you sure of this cursed talk?! Or is it just another filthy game of your games?!"

My father darted a look at me filled with gloating, mockery, and disparagement of my worth, and waved his thin hand in the air, saying with a biting sarcasm that stabbed my pride and chivalry to the core: "That cheap girl for whom you waste your life, your men, and your money just to search for her... in your absence, she was fucking your close friend Carlos and taking him as a refuge!"

As soon as his mouth uttered those filthy words and that heinous accusation, the hot blood froze in my veins like ice, and a sweeping wave of blind madness and drama invaded me, causing me to lose control over my nerves and balance entirely. I violently stood up from my place like a raging volcano about to burn everything in its path, and my eyes ignited with fatal sparks, and I shouted at the top of my lungs making the house shake, while pointing at him with my index finger with a sweeping trembling and rage: "Father... close your cursed and filthy mouth immediately and do not utter another letter!"

My father raised his eyebrows with continuous provocation, and his features did not care about my fury and my madness pouring in the room, so he said with a deadly coldness that poured oil on my fires: "What is wrong with you? Do you think I am lying? Certainly she was fucking him behind your back and enjoying the matter."

I could no longer see anything before me from the excess of anger and madness; I cut through the vacuum separating us with crazy, roaring, and fast steps, advanced toward him with a blind and brutal rush, and gripped with both of my hands with intense malice and excessive force onto the frame of the wheelchair from below, and lifted it with strength and determination upward without mercy for his disability, then flipped it with its entire weight onto the floor violently!

My father’s dormant and helpless body tumbled and separated by force from the chair, and collided against the hard wooden floor of the room with violence and harshness, letting out a loud, choked, and pained scream that drenched and filled the corners of the place with pain. I stood tall, stiffened over his cast-down body, my entire body twisting and swaying from the excess of anger and successive, suppressed breaths, and I looked at him with my eyes congested with blood and said from between my teeth in a loud voice that shook the entire corners of the room: "I told you clearly to close your cursed mouth and not to speak!"

My father settled on the floor in severe pain and shock at my audacity, and his thin limbs trembled in complete helplessness as he turned his head with difficulty toward me with a real terror that appeared in his eyes, and said in a choked voice and a faltering tone: "Robert... what is this hellish madness you have done?! How dare you flip your helpless father and assault him in this manner?!"

With helplessness and extreme difficulty, he began dragging his paralyzed lower body, crawling on the floor using his elbows with hardship while panting with broken breaths and distress, saying with a bitterness that filled his voice: "You cursed and disobedient son... do humans and respectable men do such harsh actions with their helpless parents?!"

I look at his body crawling on the floor with a glance filled with harshness, detachment, and severe disgust at his appearance and his history, and ground out with a deadly and harsh coldness that cut the cords of my emotion: "To me, and because of your despicable actions... you are not my father, and you never were one day."

My father completed his crawling with hardship, fatigue, and pain on the carpet for several centimeters until he arrived with the soul’s exhaustion and misery to the edge of the nearby sofa, and tried to raise his upper torso with both of his hands with extreme difficulty to lean upon it to rise, but his physical powers collapsed completely and he could not bear his weight, so he fell again on his face in helplessness. He raised his head and fixated his weak, congested, and crying glances toward me, and shouted in lack of resourcefulness and oppression: "You are officially insane! Come forward and help me to rise and return to the chair!"

I stood in my place with absolute steadfastness like a rock, and crossed my arms firmly over my chest without moving a single inch or showing an atom of desire to rescue him, and said with decisiveness and detachment: "I will not do it... you will remain cast down there to taste your own harshness."

In that moment charged with oppression and drama, the door opened with violence, strength, and a great rush, and Harold entered the room quickly with a startled, pale face and eyes widened in panic and shock due to hearing the screaming outside. He looked at the floor in astonishment and was shocked by the sight of my father thrown like a rag, so he bent toward him with supernatural speed while shouting in real fear and eagerness: "Father! What is wrong with you?! What happened for you to be on the floor?!"

My father gripped with his trembling and weak fingers onto Harold’s arm with eagerness and complete helplessness, seeking refuge in him, and said: "Come, my dear son... come, carry me between your arms and seat me on the sofa quickly."

Harold directed his entire body and energy toward him, and surrounded his back with his strong arms to help him rise, but he turned his head right and left in astonishment and confusion, asking in denunciation and anger: "What happened here, for heaven’s sake? Why is your wheelchair flipped on the floor in this manner?!"

My father raised his finger with a sweeping trembling and pointed at me with deep-seated hatred: "Your brutal brother Robert is the one who flipped the chair with me and intentionally harmed me and threw me to the ground without mercy!"

Harold stiffened in his place for seconds in silence, then turned his head and fixated his fierce, sad, and sharp glances toward me in reproach, and the features of his face tightened with emotion and rage and he said in a loud voice ripe for a fight: "What is this barbaric and crazy behavior, Robert?! How can you do this to your father while he is disabled and cannot move?!"

My deadly coldness did not budge nor did my eyelid blink because of his reprimand; rather, I narrowed my sharp eyes and looked at him with a dry, stern threat and said in a decisive tone: "Do not interfere in what happens between us, Harold. Keep to your silence and neutrality."

Harold bent again with all his strength and muscles, and lifted my father’s body with extreme caution and gentleness between his arms and placed him softly on the sofa to rest, then turned to me while wiping his trembling palms with tension and sighed with sweeping distress, saying: "I came and the chaos shocked me. I just arrived now and heard the hysterical screaming outside, so I came rushing toward the room to see the disaster."

My father breathed a sigh of relief after he settled in his place, rested his tired back against the soft pillows, and looked at Harold with a warm maternal affection and love, and said with gratitude: "It is a good thing and a mercy that you are always present here to protect me, my dear righteous son."

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