My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 51

Chapter 51: 52/The father’s Dark Legacy

Chapter 51:

Robert’s Point of View

The door closed behind Carlos, and I remained alone with the glass of whiskey he had left on the table. I pulled the glass toward me and began moving it slowly between my fingers, watching the ripples of the golden liquid instead of drinking it.

I leaned my head back against the leather chair and closed my eyes. Julie’s image appeared in my mind instantly; she was still standing there, clutching Carlos’s cane and pointing it toward my eyes.

I couldn’t forget the trembling of her hands, nor the way she bit her lower lip to suppress her anger, while her eyes challenged me clearly.

She looked weak and strong at the same time, and this contradiction was what made me feel an unfamiliar stir in my blood.

I asked myself with annoyance: How could an eighteen year old girl shake the stability of a man like me? A man who spent his life amidst conflicts and blood.

I lifted the whiskey bottle and refilled the glass mechanically, realizing that I wouldn’t even feel the bitterness of the drink. Suddenly, the ringing of the phone broke the heavy silence in the office.

My movement stilled completely as I picked up the phone. I pressed the answer button, and my voice came out calm as a sharp blade:

"Yes, Daniel."

A heavy silence prevailed from the other end, broken only by Daniel’s troubled breaths reaching me through the receiver, before he spoke words that seemed to come from a throat gripped by fear:

"Jake Simon... he rejected the offer, sir."

At that moment, my knuckles turned white as I tightened my grip on the glass, until I thought the glass would shatter in my hands. Jake Simon... that fool who imagined for a moment that having a "choice" was available in my world.

The corner of my mouth twisted into a cold smile, devoid of any shred of mirth, and I said in a decisive tone that sealed everyone’s fate:

"Then... he has chosen Harold."

Then I followed it with a low voice carrying a suppressed threat:

"I will know very well how to hold him accountable for his insolence in rejecting my offer."

Daniel sighed with distress and added in a voice filled with confusion:

"Mr. Robert... your father has not stopped calling me for days because you are not answering him. He calls almost every hour... and insists on seeing you immediately."

I replied with suppressed anger and a voice coming from between my teeth:

"Tell him I am not available, Daniel!"

But Daniel, who was trembling behind the phone, replied with extreme confusion:

"He told me verbatim.. either he comes here, or you go to him yourself."

This threat was enough to make me lose control; I slammed my fist onto the wooden desk surface with all my might and said in a voice that shook the corners of the room:

"I will go to him!"

I left the club with storms raging in my chest. I got into my car, and the time had passed 8:00 PM.

I drove at a frantic speed toward my father’s house; that man who does not want to understand that I am no longer a child under his command, and that my world does not stop just because he feels bored or a desire for control.

I arrived at the house that my feet had not stepped into for an entire month. I knocked on the door sharply, and the maid opened for me with features filled with dread:

"Welcome, Mr. Robert.. welcome to your coming."

I completely ignored her greeting and entered with fast, confident steps, knowing my path well.

I headed directly to my father’s bedroom and opened the door without bothering to knock.

He was sitting on the sofa in his pajamas, and contrary to the claims of illness that Daniel was conveying, he looked in very good health, his eyes gleaming with an old cunning.

He looked at me coldly and said:

"Aren’t you going to come and greet me?"

Then he followed it with a commanding tone before I could move:

"Or do you want me to stand up myself?"

And he let out a mocking laugh full of confidence.

I stepped toward him with deliberate steps, extended my hand to shake his, and said to him in a dry tone:

"You know you cannot stand up."

He pulled his hand from mine after a cold handshake and began stroking his beard while staring at me with his black eyes, from which I inherited my cruelty, and said:

"Oh Robert.. I still love your heavy jokes."

I sat on the sofa opposite him, crossed one leg over the other, and leaned my back against the rest in a posture suggesting rivalry, not submission, and said to him in a decisive tone:

"I am here now.. what do you want?"

He picked up a glass of wine that was placed on a small wooden table beside him, moved the red liquid inside the glass slowly and provocatively, then took a sip and began contemplating me with hawk-like eyes as if I were a puzzle he was trying to solve.

He said in a calm tone that pierced the silence:

"You don’t go to the company much, and your house has been deserted for months.. does the club take all your time, Robert?"

I smiled mockingly, and there wasn’t a shred of friendliness in my features, and I said to him as I looked away:

"Did you bring me here for this nonsense?"

He tilted his head slightly back, raising his left eyebrow a movement I knew for certain meant the beginning of his usual psychological attack and replied in a resonant voice:

"I have always wondered about the secret of this deep-seated hatred you harbor toward me, Robert.."

I relaxed my stiffened facial features, and my voice came out calm but poisoned with bitterness:

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify