His Mafia Throne

Chapter 11

Aurora

I don’t know the exact moment something inside me broke. Maybe it was when I saw him on the office floor, blood gushing from his chest and his face drained of color. Maybe it was when I carried his weight on my shoulders, cold and heavy like death itself. Or maybe it was when I felt his blood running through my fingers while desperately trying to stop the bleeding.

That was when I realized. Something in me had changed. Something had died.

The girl who once dreamed of love, protection, and happy endings… she was gone.

And in her place, something else was born. Fire. A blade. A force.

---

I watched him as he stood up from the chair. Every movement betrayed his pain, but his eyes… oh God, his eyes. There was something burning in them, something I had never seen so clearly before: thirst. For revenge. For fire. For destruction. And in the center of that flame, was me. Not a victim. Not a little girl to be protected. But a part of him.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. I understood. I had a choice. I could run. I could hide.

But I wasn’t capable of running anymore. Not after I saw him fall. Not after I almost lost him.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked, looking straight into his eyes.

I didn’t ask for permission. I didn’t ask to be protected. I asked for my place—next to him. In all of it.

He stayed quiet for a few seconds. I saw how his jaw clenched, how he buried his weakness in silence. But his eyes… they were wet. And Max never cried.

“You could leave, Aurora. You still have time. You still have a future. You don’t need to dirty your hands with this mess.”

I smiled, bitterly. I could still taste blood in my mouth.

“You raised me among guns and secrets. You kept me in your glass palace and taught me how this world works. What makes you think I don’t know exactly what I’m stepping into?”

That’s when I saw it. Not Max the mafia king. Not Max the guardian. But Max the man. The man who tried to keep me away from hell… but didn’t know how to live without me.

---

We spent hours in the safehouse, not touching, not talking about what we felt. Only maps, names, files. Max pulled a red folder from the armored drawer and slammed it onto the table.

“These are them. Three had access to our location. Someone sold us out.”

I watched his face as he spoke. His voice was calm, controlled. But inside him, there was a volcano. And I knew it. I knew him by heart.

“I’ll kill them all,” he continued, with no hesitation. “But I’ll start with the weakest one. So the others know I’m coming.”

“You want to scare them?”

“No. I want to burn them.”

And I believed him.

---

I helped him change his bandage. The wound was still bleeding, but it had started to close. His chest was full of scars — old and new. It was the map of a warrior. And all I felt was that I wanted to guard his heart with my life, if I had to.

“If you die…” I started, but Max stopped me, placing a finger over my lips.

“I’m not dying. Not before I feel you again. Not before I know you’re safe. And not before I take back everything that was stolen from me.”

We stared at each other in silence. Then I kissed him. It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate. Fierce. Real. His hands, though weakened, pulled me close with the same hunger as the night in his office.

I was his. And he was mine.

---

After we finished planning the first moves, he picked up the phone and dialed a number. His voice was made of ice.

“It’s time. Gather everything. Weapons. Vehicles. Locations. In 48 hours I want everything ready. No mistakes. If anyone escapes, you’ll pay instead.”

He hung up. Then he walked toward me.

“We start with the one in the north. The one who talked. I want him alive. One hour. After we take him, there’s no going back.”

I looked at him. I nodded. I was ready.

No god, no demon could stop us now.

Because our love wasn’t made of flowers and poetry.

It was made of blood, fire, and bullets.

And we were about to write our story

on the bodies of those who betrayed us.