Trapped by Seven Mafia Wolves novel Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**Bruised Glass**

**Aurora’s POV**

As I step away from the warmth of the kitchen, a chill wraps around me in the hallway, seeping into my bones.

I trail behind Raphael in silence, my arms tightly wrapped around myself, a meager shield against the cold. The bandages on my hands throb with a dull ache, a constant reminder of the chaos that unfolded earlier. It all happened so fast—I barely registered him grabbing the first aid kit; one moment I was lost in my thoughts, and the next, there it was, in his hands. He moves with such purpose, so quietly and with a kindness that feels like a breath of fresh air, a stark contrast to the harshness of everyone else.

We don’t venture far. He pushes open a door just off the main hallway, revealing a small, dimly lit room.

“Sit,” he instructs, gesturing toward a worn but inviting couch.

I comply, sinking into the cushions that seem to cradle me, offering a momentary reprieve from the weight of everything. Raphael kneels before me, his focus on the bandages, his brow knitted in concentration. It’s not anger that clouds his features; it’s something deeper—concern, perhaps, or a sense of protectiveness that makes my heart flutter uncomfortably.

“I’ll talk to them,” he murmurs, almost to himself, as if the thought has just struck him.

“You don’t have to,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper, small and fragile.

“I do. You don’t deserve that,” he insists, his tone firm but gentle, as if he’s trying to shield me from the harsh realities of the world.

I find my gaze drawn to the floor, where an expensive rug lies beneath my feet. Its fibers are thick and plush, and I can feel the way it doesn’t shift when I dig my toes into it, a stark reminder of the opulence surrounding us, contrasting sharply with the turmoil in my heart.

I nod, just once, feeling the weight of his words settle between us.

“Do you want to stay down here?” he asks, his voice steady. “Or would you prefer to head back up?”

“I don’t want to go near them,” I confess, the thought of facing the others sending a shiver down my spine.

He hesitates for a moment, weighing my words, then nods decisively. “Okay. Then we’ll stay here.”

He chooses a chair across from me, settling into it with a relaxed demeanor, yet the air is thick with unspoken thoughts. We sit in silence, allowing it to envelop us like a comforting blanket, a shared understanding blossoming between us.

And for the first time since I arrived, I don’t feel entirely alone.