My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 63

Chapter 63: 64/First alcoholic drink

Chapter 64:

Robert’s Point of View

My hand reached out to grip the neck of the dark bottle; her fingers, which touched my hand,

were as cold as death, and her gaze behind the mask was hollow, extinguished,

as if her soul had departed her body leaving only wreckage behind.

At that moment, I realized that the "Julie" who entered this place tonight was over,

and what stood before me now was a new monster created by my own hands.

I removed the cork with a faint pop, and the scent of aged grapes filled the void between us.

I said in a tone that carried a cold appreciation:

"Excellent choice... this is a fine red wine."

She snatched the bottle from my hand with a crude motion;

she didn’t wait for an elegant glass, but instead took a large mug designated for "beer" that was perched on the bar,

filling it until the dark liquid almost overflowed its edges.

I watched her hand trembling as she raised the mug, and said calmly:

"It seems you have never drunk before."

She didn’t answer with a word;

she merely shook her head left and right in silent refusal,

then brought the mug to her lips and took a large gulp.

The moment the liquid touched her tongue, her facial features contracted violently;

her forehead puckered and she shut her eyelids so tightly that wrinkles emerged around her eyes.

I saw the muscles of her throat moving with difficulty as she swallowed the drink as if she were swallowing embers.

Then she placed the mug on the marble with force,

opened her eyes which had welled up with tears resulting from the sharpness of the taste, and said with clear disgust:

"What is this filth?"

She wasn’t actually cursing the drink, I knew that;

she was cursing the bitterness that had settled in her throat from the moment she tucked the bag into that young man’s pocket the bitterness of survival that tastes nothing like wine.

I pulled the stool next to her and slumped my body onto it,

watching the slump of her shoulders and the wilting of her features caused by implicating that inventor called "Jake Simon."

Hatred was boiling in my chest toward him, so I said in a low voice saturated with contempt:

"He doesn’t deserve for you to bleed a single drop of regret for him, he is just a wretch named J...."

I had barely uttered the first letter of his name when I felt her small,

cold fingers invade my face; her hand lunged with the speed of light to rest over my lips,

silencing my voice with a force I didn’t expect.

I froze in my place, feeling the pulse of her fingers hitting my skin, while her eyes pleaded with me with a broken shimmer.

She whispered in a wavering tone:

"Don’t tell me who he is... I don’t want to know his name, or his life, or anything about him."

At that moment, I felt a strange spark running through my veins a fire whose origin I didn’t understand ignited in my chest just from the contact of her skin with my lips;

the heat of her tensed body was transferring to me, unsettling my usual coldness.

She withdrew her hand very slowly, as if fearing to leave that false safety, then recoiled her body backward,

leaning her head heavy with disappointments while muttering bitterly:

"The bliss of ignorance is much better... than the hell of awareness."

I clenched my jaw tightly as I watched her return to sipping that filth from her mug,

and I felt that the hand which had silenced me had closed a Chapter in her soul forever.

She whispered again, her eyes fixed on the crimson liquid at the bottom of the mug, while her fingers cramped around its glass:

"I don’t want my soul to be tortured while remembering his name or knowing his identity... I will keep him as an anonymous face, just a ghost that crossed my life and left."

Before I could respond, she raised the mug to her mouth and swallowed its contents in one go;

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