My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 64

Chapter 64: 65/Fortress cracks

Chapter 65:

Robert’s Point of View

She seemed in my arms like a tiny, broken creature;

her head tilted helplessly against my shoulder, and her rebellious strands of hair scattered to cover part of my face,

seeping into my pores with the scent of grapes and jasmine.

I thought her consciousness had entirely departed under the weight of the wine,

but suddenly, she raised her heavy eyelids and looked at me with lost eyes, whispering in a deep voice:

"Who are you?"

I did not answer; I tightened my grip on her slender body and continued descending the stairs,

ignoring her question that pierced my silence.

Suddenly, I felt her small, swaying fingers fumbling with my beard;

her touch was light as a treacherous breeze, yet it sent a violent shiver racing down my spine.

I felt those icy fortresses I had built around my heart for years beginning to melt under the heat of her fingertips.

We entered the elevator, and the metal door closed to isolate us in a cramped, suffocating space.

There, her fingers extended to draw random lines over my lips; her touch was cold, yet it ignited a fire in my chest I had never known.

I felt my heart thumping against my ribs with such force and noise that it almost exposed me.

Her breath, saturated with the scent of aged grapes, hit my neck in hot bursts, increasing the confusion of my senses.

Suddenly, her movement stilled.

Her eyes widened with a terrifying clarity as if the fog of intoxication had cleared for a moment,

and she said in a sharp tone in which she regained her hatred:

"I recognize you."

Before I could grasp the significance of her words, her hand freed itself from my chest, and a powerful slap echoed across my face.

That slap possessed a resonance and strength that did not suit her swaying hand;

I felt the heat of my cheek intensifying, and I wondered bitterly how a body that could barely stand could find all that energy to pour its hatred over my face.

Instead of collapsing in tears, she erupted into hysterical laughter,

then began whispering unintelligible words, attempting to sing with a cracked melody;

she was mixing words and moving between notes with total lostness, while her body shook in my hands with every gasp of laughter.

The elevator door opened, and I walked out with wide strides,

the veins in my neck bulging from the effect of suppressed rage.

I headed toward the large door where the guard stood like an idol,

his eyes widening in bewilderment as he caught sight of me carrying the "merchandise" that had just rebelled.

I gestured firmly with my head for him to open the door, and while his fingers moved over the keypad, Julie suddenly stopped singing.

She raised her head with effort, looked at the guard with withered eyes, and shouted in a commanding, drunken tone:

"Open the door for your stupid master... go on!"

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