Trapped by Seven Mafia Wolves novel Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**Undone**

**Leon’s POV**

The shattering of the mug lingers in my mind, reverberating long after I’ve turned my back and walked away.

It shouldn’t gnaw at me, not like this.

She’s just a kid, after all.

A delicate, quiet, and utterly broken child who feels like a misplaced puzzle piece in a world that doesn’t fit her.

Yet, the sound of her screams continues to ricochet within the confines of my brain.

I find myself perched on the edge of my bed, my elbows digging into my knees, fingers intertwined so tightly that my knuckles throb with a dull ache.

I attempt to shake it off, to cast it aside like an unwanted weight.

I tell myself that it’s insignificant.

But deep down, I know it’s anything but.

I’ve witnessed suffering before—blood spilling, fear etched across faces, the stifling silence that follows.

But I’ve never witnessed someone unravel in such a raw, visceral way.

Not in front of me.

Not because of my actions.

The way her voice shattered, wild and unrestrained, was as if something deep within her had finally torn apart.

The intensity of her gaze directed at me—not filled with fear.

Not subdued.

But blazing with fury.

And that damned mug—hurtling past my head, shattering against the wall in a cacophony of shards.

She could have struck me.

She intended to strike me.

Thoughts swirl in my mind, and I contemplate the idea of checking on her. But what could I possibly say?

“Sorry I treated you like you were invisible?”

“Sorry I made you weep?”

“Sorry I raised my voice at you?”

“Sorry you remind me of all the demons I’ve tried so hard to avoid?”

She probably loathes me now, and I can’t bring myself to blame her for it.

I lean back against the wall, my gaze fixed on the ceiling above me, lost in thought.

And for the very first time since she arrived, I ponder what it might look like if I truly made an effort to see her.

Not as a problem to be solved. Not as a threat to be neutralized.

But as a girl who never asked for any of this chaos.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”