My father sold me to the Mafia King

Chapter 298:

Julie’s POV

I stepped forward into the depths of the shop with calm, measured, and graceful strides, carefully setting my small brown leather purse onto a side wooden shelf. With a newfound confidence, I advanced toward the large workbench, my nimble fingers well-accustomed to this craft over the passing days beginning to arrange the colorful flower stems, glistening with morning dew, inside the large glass vases. Madam Sophia locked her sapphire blue eyes onto me, a sly, meaningful smile drenched in pure amusement carving her glossy lips as she inquired in a quiet pitch: ”Do you know, Julie, exactly who is going to walk through that door right now to purchase flowers, as per his absolute daily ritual?”

The hand holding a stem of tulips froze for a fraction of a second. I turned my entire body toward her, my brows knitted in pure bewilderment, and asked inquisitively: ”Who?”

Sophia adjusted her seating position upon her chair, stacking one palm over the other as she spoke in a tone heavy with obvious undertones: ”Who else takes the absolute trouble to walk all the way here every single early morning just to buy a bouquet of fresh flowers, Julie? Use that little brain of yours for a second.”

At that exact moment, before I could utter a single word, the brass door handle turned with force, shaking the tiny entrance bell, and Mike walked in. He stood straight with an imposing, towering frame that nearly blocked the horizon, his stark, rugged masculine features fully defined by his thick, meticulously styled black hair and his piercing, deep black eyes eyes that locked directly and instantly onto mine the second he crossed the threshold. He relaxed his broad shoulders, casting away his tension, and spoke in a warm, resonant pitch: ”Good morning, ladies.”

I gave a gentle, cautious nod of my head, brushing past my locks, and replied quietly: ”Good morning, Mike.”

He took a wide, bold stride toward the workbench where I stood, scrutinizing the details of my face with such absolute intensity as if reading my very features. He spoke in a low voice weighted with a masculine rasp: ”How are you doing today, Julie? I hope you are well.”

I adjusted the arrangement of a marigold bouquet sitting right before me to evade his concentrated gaze, offering a cold, polite smile: ”I’m well, Mike... and you? How are you and how is work?”

He countered swiftly, slipping his right hand into his trousers pocket with absolute comfort and confidence, his eyes never straying from me: ”I’m doing well too, and miles better now.”

Here, Madam Sophia did not miss the opportunity. She leaned her back entirely against the cushion of her chair, casting a shrewd, sharp, and intelligent look at him as she teased aloud: ”Well now, Mike... we’ve been seeing you every single day coming to buy flowers with an endless passion! Did you open a botanical garden in your house without my knowledge?”

The features of Mike’s pale face flushed with a faint trace of embarrassment, his towering authority dissolving for a few seconds. He scratched the back of his head with his fingers like a child caught red-handed, muttering with a light stammer: ”I... I just love flowers and taking care of them, Madam Sophia. There is nothing else to it.”

Sophia released a light, ringing laugh that echoed through the nooks of the shop, countering with a gentle mockery: ”Yes, perfectly obvious. A flower lover of unparalleled proportions.”

Desperate to shatter that charged, curious atmosphere which was flooded with undertones that only spiked my tension, I snatched the metal pruning shears from atop the table, speaking with excessive formality: ”Shall I put together some classic red roses for you today, Mike?”

Mike locked his pitch-black pupils straight into the absolute depths of my eyes, the remnants of embarrassment vanishing from his face, replaced by a quiet, grounded, and intensely meaningful expression: ”Whatever you wish and whatever your taste prefers, Julie. Anything from your hands will be exceptional.”

I whispered in a voice that was barely audible, swiftly dropping my gaze back to the blossoms: ”Fine, I will select a special bouquet for you.”

I began choosing the flowers with supreme care, picking the freshest and most blooming ones, then arranged them neatly on the wooden surface of the workbench to expertly wrap them into a harmonious bouquet using sheets of clear, shimmering cellophane. While I was busy wrapping the cellophane ribbon and knotting the edges, Mike cleared his throat slightly to draw my attention, speaking in a low, intimate voice: ”The short bangs suit you incredibly well, Julie... they make you look like spring blossoms.”

My hands ceased all motion for a single second. I felt a sudden, consuming warmth, a rush of heat bleeding into my cheeks, staining them a deep pink. I offered a soft, delicate smile of sheer shyness that I couldn’t possibly conceal, saying: ”Thank you, Mike... that is very kind of you.”

I completed the tight knotting of the red satin ribbon, shaping it into a beautiful bow, then lifted the dense bouquet with both hands, presenting it to him across the counter: ”Here you go, your bouquet is ready.”

He extended his large hand to grasp the bouquet, and over the fabric and the ribbon, our fingers brushed in a fleeting, electric second, before he swiftly pulled his hand back. He presented the price to me in cash, offering a gaze filled with a lingering plea: ”Thank you... by the way, are you going to sing tonight in the grand hotel hall as you usually do?”

I shook my head in refusal, offering an apologetic smile as I pulled open the drawer of the metal cash register to slide the money into its place: ”No, I won’t be singing today. I feel a bit exhausted, so I’ll just rest at home.”

He recoiled a step back toward the exterior door, a faint, bare trace of disappointment carving his features. Yet, he swiftly managed it with a sharp intelligence, forging a calm smile as he said: ”Alright then... I wish you a beautiful day and a peaceful rest.”

Mike vacated the shop, the brass bell shaking with force, signaling his absolute exit onto the pavement. Without wasting a single second, Madam Sophia turned to me instantly, crossing her arms over her chest in utter triumph, her brows arched high: ”Do you recognize and comprehend now exactly who I was talking about and where my undertones were pointing?”

I gathered the scattered remnants of stems and withered leaves from atop the wooden table, countering: ”Yes, Mike is a good patron and he loves flowers, which is why he always comes to buy them to decorate his house and his office.”

Madam Sophia slammed her palm against her forehead in absolute despair and a hilarious surrender at my utter dense stupidity. She cried out with a comical agitation, her voice rising: ”What a blind, foolish girl you are! He doesn’t come for the goddamn blossoms or the leaves, Julie... he takes the absolute trouble every single morning, buying bouquets he doesn’t even fucking need just so he can see you and speak with you for a few seconds!”

I halted my work completely, my body turning to stone. My eyes widened in genuine bewilderment and a shock I never anticipated, my index finger automatically pointing toward my own chest as I spoke in a pitch utterly devoid of belief: ”To see me specifically?!”

Sophia advanced with rapid strides until she stood right in front of me, nodding her head in an absolute, decisive confirmation that brooked no doubt: ”Yes, my dear... have you truly not understood, noticed, or processed after all these years and hints that he is deeply infatuated with you, and that he is actively courting you?”