My father sold me to the Mafia King

Chapter 297:

Three Years Later

Julie’s POV

I was sitting relaxed on a stool by the antique wooden kitchen table, resting my chin upon my cold palm, watching Steve’s arms move with a light, fluid agility as he busied himself with preparing a hot breakfast for us. He turned toward me suddenly, a warm smile carving his lips that softened the grimness of the morning, and spoke in a teasing pitch: ”Julie, it’s been three whole years... do you truly still have no desire to learn the basics of cooking?”

I trailed my index finger slowly over the smooth wooden surface of the table, tracing imaginary circles, then answered in a light, amused tone: ”Steve, you know better than anyone how utterly hopeless and failed I am in this department. No matter how much I try or experiment, I just don’t understand the language of frying pans.”

Steve shook his head in mock despair and humorous surrender, quickly redirecting his gaze back toward the metal skillet where the oil was sizzling: ”No escape then. I suppose I’ll have to keep cooking for you for the rest of our lives, while you suffice yourself with sitting there, comfortable like a queen.”

A genuine, warm smile painted my lips after a very long time, and I said with pure spontaneity: ”Yes, isn’t that option incredibly wonderful and convenient for both parties?”

Steve placed the large wooden spoon aside over the marble counter, letting out a deep, playful sigh as he wiped his hands with a towel: ”So I cook all day at work to feed the customers, and I come back to cook at home just to feed you... this truly isn’t fair in the bylaws of siblinghood.”

I tilted my head with a childish, playful air, looking at him with a smiling challenge, and countered: ”You are the one who chose, of your own absolute free will, to work as a chef in the town’s restaurant. That is your personal problem, not mine.”

He looked deeply at me as he gripped the white porcelain plates to arrange them, his tone shifting into curiosity as he inquired: ”Are you going to sing at the hotel today as usual?”

I shook my head gently from side to side, brushing my brown locks back to reveal my features, and replied: ”No, not today... I feel my throat is a little strained.”

He nodded in understanding, placing no pressure on me: ”Fine, rest today and don’t exert yourself.”

Steve placed the hot dishes, which exhaled the delicious scent of eggs and baked goods, onto the table and sat in the stool directly facing me. He scrutinized my facial features intently for a few seconds, then said with a look of admiration and appreciation: ”You cut bangs, didn’t you? It suits the contours of your face beautifully, making you look even lovelier.”

I touched the tips of my fingers to the new locks of hair resting straight across my forehead, saying with satisfaction: ”Yes, yesterday I dropped by Stella’s little salon and had them cut based on her advice.”

Steve pushed his stool back, causing a slight creak against the floor, and rose quickly. He checked the hands of his leather wristwatch with care, adding: ”Alright, time flies and I must head to work immediately so I’m not late for the kitchen.”

I adjusted my posture on the stool, taking a sip from my glass, and said: ”And I will put on my coat and head straight to the flower shop as well.”

He knitted his brows, a faint smile appearing on his visage as he asked: ”Are you going to help Madam Sophia arrange the orders today too?”

I nodded, my eyes gleaming with a soft, genuine luster: ”Yes, you know how much I adore flowers of all kinds. I deeply love the quietude and the fragrances when I go there; it brings me peace.”

He gave a light wave of his hand as he headed toward the front door, pulling it open: ”Alright, sister, I’ll see you tonight... goodbye.”

I rose heavily from my spot after his departure and the closing of the door, gathering the empty plates from the table with a swift, familiar motion, then washed the dishes and dried my hands with a cotton towel. Gripping my small brown leather purse, I walked with quiet steps toward the exterior door of the house.

The moment I stepped outside and crossed the threshold of the home, a crisp, damp, and freezing breeze brushed against my pale face, causing my body to shudder slightly. I took a deep breath, letting the cold expand inside my lungs. This small town, ”Bay Shore,” was incredibly beautiful placid and perfectly still in this early morning. My first act, as was my unbroken daily ritual, was to walk with measured, slow, and relaxed steps toward the large lake that rested very close to the perimeter of our home. It was an enchanting lake, surrounded by towering trees, its stagnant, crystalline waters reflecting the beautiful blue of the sky.

I sat on the grassy bank, which was slightly damp with dew, gathering my knees to my chest and encircling them with my arms. I lost myself in the tranquil vista and the silence of nature surrounding me. But soon enough, I felt that familiar, agonizing lump squeeze my heart with raw violence, and despite myself, I began to drown within the labyrinth of those cursed past memories. I remember Robert and his monstrous torment... and I remember the face of my departed son, Ethan.

Despite the passage of three whole years since that pitch-black catastrophe, I had never been able to forget him or erase his delicate features from my mind. His phantom image never vacated my subconscious. Yet, over time, I had learned to coexist with this chronic agony, adapting to it with a sharp intelligence. I would clench my jaw with force, never allowing a single glimpse of breakdown or distraction to show before anyone especially before my brother Steve, who had faithfully accompanied me through the worst, most shadowed days of my life and never abandoned me.

I remember that agonizing day we fled, leaving behind the chaotic din and noise of New York City for the quietude and serenity of this distant, secluded town. I remember how I gripped his hand in terror and panic inside the passenger bus, pleading with him never to utter the story of our past to any living soul not even to his closest and only friend, Jake. I truly did not want a single human being here to know of my monstrous, stained past, nor did I want any mortal to remind me of that bitter history.

Forgetfulness here was my only sanctuary. Here, in this quiet place, I had actually managed to outstep my psychological ordeal a little. The people here were kind, simple, and utterly wonderful in their interactions, and I lived here in a state of internal peace, without a single fear or threat stalking me from behind.

I quickly shook these bleak thoughts from my skull, like someone dispelling a nightmare, and rose from the ground, brushing the remnants of dust and dry grass from my clothes before walking at a swifter pace toward the flower shop. I walked through the narrow, quiet streets, flocks of birds chirping sweetly, keeping stride with me, watching me with a childish curiosity from atop the thick green branches of the tall trees.

I finally arrived at my desired destination, stepping inside the small flower shop.

I was instantly greeted by those fragrant, refreshing, and magnificent scents that expand a constricted chest and bring comfort to the soul. Madam Sophia, a gentle woman in her fifties with short, styled blonde hair and warm blue eyes brimming with tenderness, was sitting in her usual wooden chair behind the counter, arranging colorful blossoms with expert fingers.

I advanced toward her with quiet steps, a calm smile painting my face as I spoke in a soft voice: ”Good morning, my dear Madam Sophia.”

She lifted her head slowly toward me the moment she caught my voice, her kind, warm features relaxing into a deep welcome as she answered me: ”Good morning, beautiful Julie. The shop brightens with your presence.”