Trapped by Seven Mafia Wolves novel Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**White Lights**

**Aurora’s PIOV**

I awaken to the sound of muffled voices, their words swirling around me like a distant echo.

“…no, she’s still out. Yeah. I’ll tell you if anything—”

A brief pause follows, stretching out like a thin thread.

Then, a sharper voice cuts through the haze.

“Wait. She’s moving.”

The urgency in his tone sharpens, rising in volume as if he’s trying to pierce through my foggy consciousness.

“Hold on, she’s waking up.”

With great effort, I blink my eyes open, each flutter feeling like a monumental task, as if they’ve been glued shut and frozen in place. The light floods in, stabbing at my senses, and a wave of discomfort washes over me. My entire body is a symphony of aches, as if it had been wrung out like a wet cloth and left to chill in the cold. Which, in a way, I suppose it had been.

I blink again, taking in my surroundings. The room is warm yet strangely unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the icy grip of the outside world.

Beneath the blanket, my fingers twitch, yet I can’t feel them at all. They’re swathed in gauze, tightly bandaged, a reminder of whatever ordeal I’ve just endured.

My gaze shifts, drawn to a figure standing in the corner.

Matteo.

He’s there, phone pressed to his ear, his back turned slightly towards me. The moment he senses my eyes on him, he stiffens, his posture tightening like a coiled spring.

“She’s awake,” he states bluntly, his voice devoid of warmth.

“I’m hanging up.”

A moment of silence hangs heavily in the air, thick with unspoken words.

Then, with a click, he ends the call and slips the phone into his pocket. He doesn’t rush to my side, doesn’t offer a reassuring smile, nor does he utter those comforting words that I desperately crave—like “you’re safe now.”

Instead, he strides over to my bedside, looming above me like a riddle he can’t quite decipher.

“You’re awake,” he states flatly, as if it’s an observation devoid of any emotion.

I attempt to respond, but my throat is raw, a painful reminder of my struggle. It feels as if it’s been scraped clean, leaving me with nothing but a whisper of sound. I settle for a weak nod, hoping it conveys my understanding.

“How long were you outside?” he inquires, his words laced with an edge that feels accusatory.

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