My father sold me to the Mafia King

Chapter 361:

Julie’s POV

Throughout the past long and monotonous hours, the thought of that little boy, Adam, had been clawing relentlessly at the corners of my exhausted mind. I truly couldn’t shake the realization that he could easily survive and cheat death if I simply donated a small piece of my liver to him. But the moment Thomas’s harsh features flared in my mind, my jaw clamped shut with pure cruelty and resentment. Of course I wouldn’t do any favors, concessions, or sacrifices for that wretched monster and the filthy family that crushed me.

The train of my fractured thoughts was suddenly cut off by the sound of a metal key turning in the lock. The front door swung open slowly, and Jake walked in with wide strides, trying hard to keep them steady and balanced despite the obvious stiffness and shaking in his movements caused by the bruises I had left on his back this morning. Looking at him with blatant defiance in my green eyes, I said in a mocking, sarcastic tone, "Welcome back, you whining idiot... I see you’re still having trouble walking."

He shot me a glare as hot as fire and shut the wooden door heavily behind him, creating a loud thud. "Hello to you too, you sadistic, psychotic lunatic," he said dryly, his voice overflowing with irritation. "Do you ever stop barking?"

I tilted my head slightly and smoothly, observing his faltering gait with clear malice and amusement. "Tell me," I asked with feigned innocence, "are you still hurting from my blows? Was I too harsh?"

He ground his teeth violently, making a distinct grinding sound in the silence of the living room. Taking two heavy steps toward me, he locked his hawk-like gaze directly onto my eyes and spat in a low, ominous hiss, "You know damn well that I’m going to make you pay dearly, terribly, and brutally for every single lash and every insult you inflicted on my body, Julie. Our days are long."

I didn’t even blink, nor did a single nerve twitch at his empty threat. Instead, the provoking smirk on my lips widened, and I leaned closer to his face in blatant defiance. "I am absolutely thrilled and eager to see what exactly you can do to me in your pathetic punishment. Show me, don’t just talk. I’m waiting."

He twisted his mouth into a cold promise and a dead smile. "You’ll find out for yourself very soon, on a night you’ll least expect. Don’t rush hell, Julie, because it’s coming."

I smoothly stepped back to get out of his space and shift the direction of a conversation that was about to ignite. "Steve called me on the phone a little while ago," I said in a casual, dry tone. "He said he’ll be late tonight because of work; yesterday’s customer is coming back to dine at the restaurant again."

He let out a tired, hot exhale from his chest, rubbing his massive hand over the nape of his neck in obvious exhaustion. He looked at me with sharp eyes and said commandingly, "Fine. Go prepare dinner for us in the kitchen then. I’m absolutely starving."

I knitted my brows in absolute disgust and rejection, planting my hands firmly on my hips in a hostile stance. "And who the hell are you to order me around with that disgusting attitude? Am I your mother, or your private maid that you bought with your money without my goddamn knowledge?"

He examined my features with biting mockery, curling his lips into a sneer. "It’s glaringly obvious from that defensive, hysterical tone of yours... that you simply don’t know how to cook. You probably don’t even know how to hold a kitchen utensil like other women. You’re just an empty, useless pretty face."

I lifted my head with exaggerated pride and childish stubbornness. "Yes, I don’t know how to cook and I don’t care to learn. Do you have a fucking problem with that?"

He took a wide step toward the narrow hallway leading to the kitchen and asked with blatant sarcasm that echoed through the space, "Do you at least know how to slice vegetables with a knife, or will those thin, delicate fingers of yours go paralyzed and snap if you hold a blade for a few seconds?"

I ground my teeth in sheer frustration at his mockery of my abilities. "Yes, of course I know how to do that perfectly. I’m not as stupid or helpless as that tiny brain of yours imagines."

He sharply gestured toward the kitchen, his voice commanding, "To the kitchen then, enough with the endless chatter and useless arguing. I’ll wash the filth of the outside world off my hands in the bathroom and come right in to witness these supposed skills."

I moved quickly into the kitchen and stood by the cold marble countertop, waiting for him to enter.

A few moments later, Jake walked in with heavy strides, his massive, broad frame dominating the small space. He went straight to the large white refrigerator, yanked the door open with a bit of violence, and used his long fingers to pull out ripe red tomatoes, some orange carrots, and a thick, large cut of fresh red meat, throwing them carelessly and forcefully onto the marble surface right in front of me.

He turned to me, locking his commanding gaze onto my eyes, and said dryly and coldly, "Grab a large potato and an onion from the basket. Peel them and dice them into equal, small cubes immediately."

For the first time, I didn’t argue, purely wanting this day to end. I slid the sharp metal chef’s knife out of its holder, took the vegetables, and began peeling away the outer skin slowly and carefully. The steady, rhythmic thud of the sharp blade hitting the wide wooden cutting board echoed through the kitchen as I chopped them under his watchful, scrutinizing eyes.

Meanwhile, Jake moved with an unexpected agility for his massive build. With a swift strike, he lit a match, and the stove burner flared to life with a clean blue flame. He placed a heavy iron pot over the fire and tossed the pieces of meat inside; a loud, aggressive sizzling sound erupted, and the space immediately began to fill with a familiar, savory aroma.

I silently watched his massive hand stir the raw meat at the bottom of the pot with a wooden spoon, the pungent scent of spices wafting through the narrow kitchen and teasing my nose.

My hand froze mid-chop for a fraction of a second. I looked intently at his broad back and said with a hidden coldness, my tone carrying an underlying weight, "I want to ask you about something specific that happened yesterday, Jake."

He kept stirring with the wooden spoon, answering briefly and casually without turning around to face me, "What is it now? Speak."

I locked my sharp gaze onto the back of his blonde hair, asking in a calm, cold, yet cutting voice designed to shatter his stoic composure, "Why did you fuck me yesterday?"