My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 59

Chapter 59: 60/No One Leaves

Chapter 60:

Robert’s Point of View

She stood before me in the black waitress outfit, but something in her stance had shifted.

Her eyes were flashing with a new spark a cold spark fueled by the desire to survive, no matter the price she would pay or the souls she would crush along her path.

I scrutinized her features, then raised the two masks I was holding.

Her gaze settled on the intricately worked black lace, and seconds of heavy silence passed before she raised her eyes to meet mine directly.

She said in a dry tone, devoid of any tremor:

"Is this a mask to cover the crime?"

A slight smile formed on my lips a smile that didn’t reach my eyes as I contemplated her bitter intelligence.

She had finally begun to understand that this place is not run by open faces, but by the shadows we leave behind.

I moved toward her with measured steps, their steady thud filling the vacuum of the room.

I placed the mask intended for me on the table with a mechanical motion,

then reached out with the other mask, attempting to touch her face to fix it for her in a ritual of surrender,

but she preempted me.

Before my fingers could touch her skin, she snatched the mask from my hand with a firm motion,

as if refusing to let anyone grant her her new identity.

She put it on herself, pulling the ties behind her head tightly.

Then she shifted her gaze to my mask lying on the table and said in a tone dominated by sarcasm:

"I see you’ve prepared a masquerade."

A smile formed on my lips, carrying an unstated appreciation for her rebellion, and I said in a low voice:

"Yes, Julie... and this mask will be the perfect cover for everything you will do tonight."

Her eyes did not blink from behind the black lace; instead, she fixed her gaze on mine and said with words as sharp as a blade:

"The mask may hide my face from others, but it will never hide the truth from me... Mr. Robert."

I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a small transparent bag,

its powdered contents shimmering under the dim light, and presented it to her on my open palm:

"This is the weapon of your crime."

She leaned her head to examine the bag, her tone trembling as she asked:

"What is this?"

"Cocaine."

I uttered the word with complete coldness.

Her eyes bulged, and she recoiled a step as if I were holding a snake, muttering in shock:

"And what am I supposed to do with it?"

"You will put it in that person’s jacket pocket."

Her eyebrow rose, and her features tensed as she tried to fathom my motives:

"What did he do to you that makes you want to throw him in prison?"

I answered her while looking away with disdain:

"He annoyed me."

"He annoyed you?"

She repeated the word as if she couldn’t comprehend the triviality of the reason, then continued with confusion mixed with fear:

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