Trapped by Seven Mafia Wolves novel Chapter 125

The Boy in Chains

Aurora’s POV

The cell is a tomb.

I lay on the floor, chains dragging at my wrists and ankles like anchors. Every breath burns; every nerve screams.Pain throbs in every place a my body can hold pain–my ribs ache with each shallow breath, her skin stung with cuts and bruises, my wrists are nothing but raw, bloody fire where the metal dug in deeper each time I flinched or pulled. Every nerve feels scorched, my throat torn ragged from screaming so much I didn’t even recognize the sound anymore. It wasn’t mine.

It was an animal’s–hoarse, broken, feral.

I want to die.

The thought slithers in and I don’t even fight it. I want it over. I want it to stop. I need it to stop.

The pain.

The betrayals.

The loneliness.

The worst part?More than anything, I want them.

Andrei’s sharp steadiness.Jace’s dumb jokes. Raphael’s calming voice.Luka’s sarcastic smile.Leon’s dopey grin.Matteo’s unshakable calm

Even Nico’s angry stare.

I want them all–because wanting them hurts less than this endless drowning silence.

But they aren’t here.Maybe… Kira was right… maybe they were never who I thought.Maybe they have always been monsters in beautiful masks.My vision blurs with hot tears, sliding into the dirt beneath my cheek. I force my head up, just barely every muscle screaming in protest. The cell swims around me: damp stone walls, iron bars thick as my wrist, the stink of rot and mold clinging

to the air.

I curl against the wall, chains rattling as my body gives in, pressing my head against the cold wall, closing my eyes as if willing the darkness to swallow me whole.Please. Please just end it. Please

But then… movement.

A shift in the shadows across the cell. The sound

so soft at first I think I imagined it. A scrape. A chain dragging faintly.My lashes flutter, and for a second I think my vision’s gone wrong again my mind conjuring ghosts in the dark. But

Chapter 125

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no.Someone’s there. Not the man. Not Kira.

A boy.My head jerks up, heart lurching violently. I ink through my tears, eyes straining in the darkness around me.My breath hitches as my gaze harpens, focusing at the figure slumped across

from me.

For a second, I think I’m imagining him. He’s slumped against the wall, his wrists bound like mine, his face shadowed and beaten, but then his chin lift–slow, heavy, like it hurts. And I see his face.

I don’t know why my stomach twists, why my chest clenches, but it does.

Because even under the blood and dirt, even hidden beneath the bruises and cuts, I can tell–he’s

beautiful.

Not in a soft way. Not in the kind of way people whisper about with shy smiles. His beauty is harsher, like something carved out of stone and left to weather storms, like something the world

tried to ruin and failed.

Then his eyes find mine.

Green.

But it echoes in this silent prison.

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