My father sold me to the Mafia King

Chapter 285:

After seven months

Julie’s POV

Seven whole months had passed. Seven long, heavy, and grueling months, where the days crawled with a deadly slowness, as if they were years. Throughout that entire period, I tried desperately, with all the strength and determination I could muster, to cling to the only thing that gave me a reason to keep going in this life and cast a glimmer of light upon my darkness: my son, who was growing and moving inside my womb.

I found myself, instinctively, placing my warm palm over that prominent curve of my belly all the time, feeling his light kicks and rapid pulse, as if shielding myself with him from the cruelty of the past. This fetus had become my fortified fortress, my solid wall with which I faced the outside world and all my fears.

My days all blurred together, passing dull and colorless within the walls of this cramped apartment, which had turned into my voluntary prison and safe haven. I completely refused to leave it, never crossing its threshold unless out of absolute, unavoidable necessity.

And when that promised day of each month arrived the appointment to go to the hospital for the routine checkup and to ensure the little one’s safety my body would stiffen automatically, and a shiver of uncontrollable fear would sweep through me. I would rush with tense steps toward the closet, pulling out with trembling hands that long, loose black robe our neighbor Salma had given me.

I would wrap myself in the concealing fabric with extreme care, then slowly pull the black veil over my face with shaking fingers, until my face vanished completely and nothing of my features showed except my worried, glassy eyes.

I would clutch the edges of the fabric tightly around me as I crossed the threshold of the apartment toward the alley, turning left and right with eyes wide from panic, while my heart hammered against my ribs like crazy and war drums beat in my head. I wouldn’t breathe a sigh of relief or regain my trapped breath until I had walked a distance and made absolutely sure that no one on the street was watching me, looking my way, or could recognize my true identity. I was ready to do anything to keep Robert’s shadow away from me and my child, and to ensure his brutality would never reach me again.

During all these months, Steve went out every day to work at Mr. Carlos’s warehouse to secure our living and provide for my medical expenses. Looking back at the sequence of events, I realized that the smartest, most decisive, and critical thing I did amidst all the chaos and destruction that ruined my life was that I held my breath completely. I never opened my mouth to say a single word to any living soul regarding Steve’s identity or his current whereabouts.

Even Max, who represented my sole, lonely link to the outside world and everything happening beyond these walls, didn’t visit me even once; he only spoke with me over the phone from time to time. I would grip the receiver of the landline with tensed fingers that almost broke the plastic from the sheer force of the squeeze, while his low, agitated voice came from the other end, bringing news that made my limbs tremble. He would tell me that Robert had completely lost his mind, searching for me like a madman everywhere, sending his men in every direction, and utilizing all his influence to track my scent day after day without weariness or boredom.

Max tried hard in every call to convince me to return, using an imploring tone full of pleas, claiming that Robert had completely collapsed and had become a lifeless corpse since the night I ran away and vanished from his sight.

But the moment I heard those words, I would shake my head in a sharp, violent refusal, my body completely goosebumps with disgust and terror. Stepping back, tears frozen in my eyes, I whispered bitterly to myself: ”No... impossible... that is far from the truth.”

I had heard his filthy plan with my own two ears, and I had seen his true, hideous face behind that fake mask. If there was one person on this earth who mastered the art of acting, hideous deception, and manipulating the emotions of others with absolute cunning... it was Robert, without a doubt.

For that reason, I was forced to press my chapped lips together with bitterness and indignation, and I told Max in a firm, dry voice that didn’t lack pleading: ”Please, Max... don’t let him deceive you too with his perfected acting... he is a ravenous beast who knows no mercy.”

Max hadn’t dared, throughout the past seven months, to come to me or attempt to visit me anywhere I stayed since that cursed, dark night I escaped from the club. We shared the same fear and panic, calculating a thousand possibilities for every dangerous step we took.

We never ruled out, even for a single moment, that Robert, with his sharp intelligence lurking in the dark, might have set eyes and spies among his men in the shadows to watch Max’s every move, step by step. We knew very well that he might exploit any slip or lapse from Max to reach me and breach my fortified fortress through him, dragging me back to his hell, which I had survived by a miracle.

The final remaining weeks of the pregnancy passed fast and fleeting, much faster than I had hoped or imagined. Forcing myself up, I rose from the sofa with slow, heavy steps and walked toward the large mirror hanging in the corner of the room. I braced my palm firmly against my lower back, which had begun attacking me with sharp, harsh pains due to the weight, and my eyes froze, watching that stunning transformation in my body. I stared long and deeply at my large, protruding belly, which had become round as a ball before me.

Inside this warm curve lay my baby that tiny, whispering entity whose booming exit into the battle of life was drawing near. I ran my fingers with extreme tenderness, feeling the texture of my skin stretched to its limit over it. In that precise moment, a sweeping wave and a strange mixture of overwhelming awe and maternal tenderness washed over every corner of my sorrowful soul.

This quiet solitude was interrupted by the sound of the apartment door closing and Steve entering the living room. As soon as his eyes fell on me admiring myself, a warm smile graced his tired face, dispelling the paleness of his features. He advanced toward me with light steps, letting out a playful laugh that shook the corners of the modest place: ”Hello, future mother... how is my little nephew doing inside?”

I turned toward him slowly, trying to adjust my stiff posture with great difficulty, a faint but genuine smile forming on my lips: ”He’s complaining about your lack of asking, and he seems to really miss his strange uncle.”

He approached with cautious, measured steps, as if fearing he might hurt me with his movement. Then he bent down slightly to the level of my belly and placed his wide, rough palm very gently over the fabric of my dress: ”Hello, champion. How are you today in your secret hiding place?” In those few seconds, my body suddenly jolted from a strong, violent movement I hadn’t expected. It was a clear, distinct little kick from the baby, landing right beneath the palm of Steve’s hand, as if he had been waiting for his cue.

My brother’s eyes widened in shocking amazement, and a loud laugh full of pure joy erupted from his throat: ”Julie, look! He understands my words perfectly and is replying to me now... he kicked my hand, I swear I felt his entire movement!”

My smile widened until I felt my cheeks aching, and my eyes welled with light, warm tears of pure happiness that I had been deprived of for months. I whispered in a cracked tone: ”See? He feels your presence around us always, and he knows you are his protector.”

Steve straightened up, dusting off his clothes, then looked into my eyes with a lovely seriousness mixed with care: ”Alright, my girl, time is running out, and we really need to start looking for a name that suits this sudden little guy.”

I shook my head left and right with slight despair and fatigue, casting my gaze down toward the floor: ”My mind is completely blank. Not a single name in this world comes to mind right now, Steve. All thoughts have evaporated.”

He began racking his brain, thinking deeply, raising his gaze to stare at the ceiling like someone searching for words hanging there. Scratching his chin, he said: ”Hmm... let me think... what do you think of ’Mikey’? It’s a light, dynamic name.”

I frowned in helplessness and annoyance, making a sound of disapproval: ”No... please, I didn’t like its rhythm at all. Look for something else.”

He didn’t give up; instead, he tried again, the words rushing from his lips with enthusiasm: ”Alright, what about ’Drake’? It carries a strong, fierce tone.”

I answered him immediately in a final tone that brooked no discussion: ”No, impossible... I don’t want a name that reminds me of fierceness.”

He let out a dramatic, playful sigh, shoving his hands into his pants pockets while averting his face in a mock pout: ”Good grief, every name I suggest you reject without thinking! You have difficult taste, Julie!”

I laughed softly, returning to touch my large belly tenderly as I contemplated his calm movement. I said in a steady, confident tone: ”Alright... I’ve settled on a name... I will name him Ethan.”

Steve’s face lit up completely, his smile widening to show his absolute approval, and he nodded in admiration: ”Ethan... it’s a wonderful, strong, and attractive name, Julie. Excellent choice.” He bent down gently again, placing his hand on my belly once more as he whispered playfully in a low voice: ”Did you hear that, little guy? Your mother has finally chosen a name for you... your name will be Ethan from this day on.”

In that warm, intimate moment, the quiet and serenity of the place were suddenly shattered by consecutive, violent knocks pounding on the wooden exterior door. I said to Steve, trying to reassure him: ”Surely that’s Mrs. Salma. She’s used to bringing me some hot food around this time as her daily habit. I’ll go open it myself so you can rest.”

I moved toward the door with very slow, heavy steps, as my pregnancy in its final weeks was pressing hard on my pelvis, my hand instinctively supporting my lower back to ease the aching pain. Clenching my teeth, I reached the metal handle and pulled it back to open the door and welcome the kind neighbor.

But, in the few fractions of a second that followed the opening of the door, it felt as if the air had been completely sucked from my lungs. My breath caught in my throat, and the blood froze entirely in my veins, as if I had turned into a statue of ice. It wasn’t Mrs. Salma in her calm black niqab standing in the outer corridor; rather, there was a shocking, familiar face screaming of the cursed past a person I prayed night and day that my eyes would never behold again for the rest of my life.

I took a stumbling step back, like someone who had received a slap to the face. My body began to tremble and shake violently, the letters tangling in my throat to finally come out in a faint, weak, and trembling voice overflowing with pure horror: ”Olivia!”

[I want to thank all of you, my girls, for your wonderful support, without exception. Thank you for your gifts, your golden tickets, your Power Stones, your comments. Everything, no matter how small, is very important to me. Thank you.]