Trapped by Seven Mafia Wolves novel Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Someone Cares**

**Aurora’s POV**

“Aurora?”

His voice slices through the surrounding turmoil like a knife, a beacon of clarity amidst the chaos.

Instantly, the cacophony fades into silence, but I remain rooted in place, unable to lift my gaze. It feels as if the weight of the world is pressing down on me, pinning me to the cold, unforgiving tile beneath my knees.

My hands throb with pain, crimson droplets seeping from the jagged edges of glass that now litter the floor. The chill of the tiles sends a sharp sting up my legs, and my chest feels as if a heavy stone has settled there, squeezing tight around my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. I sense him before I see him—the soft, hurried footsteps approaching, the air shifting as he crouches down beside me, his presence a comforting warmth in this moment of despair.

“Aurora,” Raphael repeats, his voice dropping to a lower, more urgent tone. “What happened?”

“I-I dropped it,” I manage to whisper, my voice barely audible, laced with shame.

“It was my fault. I’m so sorry—please don’t be mad. I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he reassures me, his tone gentle, yet firm.

“I know you didn’t mean it, piccola. Let me see.”

(Little one.)

As I shift aside, revealing the remnants of the shattered glass, my lip quivers uncontrollably. The sight of the shards makes my heart race, and I feel a rush of vulnerability wash over me. Raphael calls for a couple of servants to come and clean up the mess, his demeanor calm and collected, showing no sign of distress at the sight of the blood.

He retrieves a cloth from the drawer, dampening it under the faucet, his movements assured and steady.

“You don’t need to apologize for an accident,” he says softly, his eyes never leaving mine.

Behind us, Luka’s voice breaks the moment, dripping with disdain. “She cries over everything. You’d think she was dying.”

“She’s not crying,” Raphael snaps back, his voice rising, filled with a protective anger.

“She hasn’t shed a single tear. And even if she did, what’s your excuse for acting like babies?”

Nico clicks his tongue in annoyance, clearly unimpressed.

“She made herself the problem,” Nico shoots back. “She came in here acting like a kicked puppy, then broke shit and cried.”

“She’s been here two days,” Raphael’s voice drops, dark and dangerous. “Two days. And this is how you treat her?”

“She’s not a kid, Raph,” Leon interjects coldly, his words sharp as daggers. “If she wants to live in this house, then she can’t be fucking glass.”

“She’s thirteen. She is a kid.”

“She’s dead weight,” Luka mutters dismissively. “Don’t fucking pretend she’s not.”

Raphael takes a deep breath, his fingers gently tightening around mine, a silent promise of support. I can sense his frustration, a storm brewing beneath the surface, and I think if he could hurl them all through the nearest wall, he might just do it. A part of me wouldn’t mind that at all. But he’s too kind for such violence, isn’t he?

Instead, he turns back to me, his expression softening.

“Come on,” he says gently, his voice a soothing balm. “Let’s clean this up.”

Without waiting for my response, he lifts me off the floor with ease, cradling me as if I were made of fragile glass, careful and deliberate in his movements. I can feel the warmth emanating from him, a stark contrast to the coldness of the tiles beneath us.

But he won’t break me. Because you can’t shatter what has already been broken.