Trapped by Seven Mafia Wolves novel Chapter 85

**TITLE: Stars Refuse To Blink by Asa River Knox**
**Blood for Blood**

The room is frigid, not merely due to the unforgiving concrete walls or the flickering overhead light that buzzes like a dying insect; it’s the palpable tension that hangs thick in the air, wrapping around the brothers like a suffocating fog. The silence is not just quiet; it’s a living entity, heavy and lethal, a predator stalking its prey.

A man is strapped into a chair that is firmly bolted to the floor, his hands shackled behind him. His head is tilted at a defiant angle, a smirk plastered across his face despite the dried blood that crusts the side of his cheek, a grotesque reminder of his predicament. His expensive suit, once a symbol of power and prestige, is now tattered and soiled, clinging to him like a cruel joke.

Nico leans against the wall, cracking his knuckles with a deliberate casualness. “You know,” he begins, his tone light but laced with menace, “for someone who pretended to be a bodyguard for six months, you really don’t excel at keeping your cool under pressure.”

The spy, his accent thick and rolling like distant thunder, replies with a drawl, “Or perhaps, you’re just not skilled at asking the right questions.”

Jace is the first to break the stillness, moving with a predatory grace as he slowly circles the captive. “Who’s your handler?” he demands, his voice low and steady.

The spy chuckles, allowing his head to loll back in mock amusement. “Mmm. What happened to basic manners? Not even a ‘please’?”

Matteo’s knuckles crack in response, a sound that echoes ominously in the silence. Leon is already pacing the room like a caged beast, his agitation palpable.

Nico leans in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, a serpent ready to strike. “Talk.”

The spy blinks slowly, feigning contemplation. “Alright, alright. Let me think.” He taps his temple mockingly, a smirk still plastered on his face. “Who does Winth face work for? Hmmm… I believe it was—Santa Claus.”

Luka’s jaw tightens, a muscle twitching with barely contained rage. Leon halts his pacing, his body stiffening as if he’s just received a jolt of electricity.

“Great, we’ve got a smartass in aisle four,” Jace mutters, irritation seeping into his tone.

The spy spits out a mouthful of blood, his eyes darting around the room, as if searching for a way out. “What did you think I’d say? Putin himself?”

Matteo raises an eyebrow, disbelief mixing with anger. “You think this is a joke?”

The man’s smile widens, a grotesque expression that sends a chill down their spines. “It’s all a joke. Especially the part where you let that little girl strut around like she’s one of you.”

The atmosphere freezes, the air thick with tension, as if the very walls are holding their breath.

“What did you just say?” Raphael’s voice cuts through the silence, deadly calm yet laced with an undercurrent of fury.

The spy tilts his head lazily, his grin widening. “Aurora. That’s the girl’s name, isn’t it? Pathetic little thing. Hiding behind your shadows. All that fear in her eyes, always looking like she’s about to cry.”

Jace steps forward, his voice a low growl. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

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