THE MAFIA KING BROKEN ROSE novel Chapter 128

She called his name

My fist clenched into the sheets.

Not mine.

His.

Nico’s name spilled from her lips like it belonged there, like it wasn’t a blade across my throat. I stood slowly, blood roaring in my ears, stepping back from the bed with the kind of silence only pain can teach.

My boots echoed on the tiles as I left the room.

Down the hall, out through the glass double doors.

The cold air hit me like a slap. I leaned against the stone wall, jaw tight, the world spinning sideways. My hand fumbled for the packet in my coat. A lighter clicked. Flame lit up the cigar, smoke filled my lungs as I puffed it out.

I hadn’t lit one in years. Not since my sister’s funeral. And now here I was, breaking promises to ghosts because I didn’t know what to do with the weight she’d just dropped into my chest.

Nico.

She whispered his name like it mattered. And I hated that it did. I pulled out my phone. Dialed his number.

One ring. Two. Three.

It connected.

But I didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

Just silence, thick and coiled like a viper between us.

Then I hung up.

I couldn’t ask the question.

Because I wasn’t ready for the answer.

I stayed outside long enough for the cigarette to burn down to my fingers.

When I came back in, the nurses had dimmed the lights. The machines still blinked steady and cruel.

I sat beside her again, pulled the chair close, and took in every inch of her face.

Bruised. Pale. Too still.

She looked nothing like the firestorm that had crashed into my world in fishnets and attitude.

But she was still her.

Even now. Even broken. Even half–gone.

And it gutted me.

I leaned forward and touched her wrist gently, brushing my thumb across her pulse. Slow, but there.

She bled for me.

Shielded me.

Took a bullet meant for my

heart.

I started to tend to the edge of her bandage, unwrapping it slowly, hands precise, careful. The gauze was stained pink, but clean.

One side of her ribcage was raw and red. Surgical sutures.

She flinched in her sleep as I pressed a cool cloth to her skin.

“Shh,” I muttered, my voice foreign to myself. “I’ve got you.”

I smoothed her hair back, tucked it behind her ear.

lips curled just before she turned away, like

Successfully unlocked!

I remembered the first time I saw her–how shook for she knew the whole damn world was watching

How my heart skipped and I lied to myself that it was just lust.

Then it skipped again, when she called me a monster and didn’t flinch.

And again, when she tried to leave the first time, half–sobbing, half–furious.

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Chapter 128

And again, every goddamn time she said my name like she didn’t know it could break me

I never planned for her to matter

She was just supposed to be mine.

A possession. A debt.

But now-

Now she was the only part of my world that didn’t make me sick.

The only part that didn’t smell like blood or rot or betrayal.

I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to the edge of the bed.

“You’re mine, Aria,” I whispered, voice cracking. “Always.”

The machine beeped softly.

Her chest rose, fell.

And then-

“Dominic…?”

Aria’s POV

My throat was raw. My lips cracked. But his name still came out, fragile as a breath.

The lights above burned, blurry at the edges, but I saw him.

He was right there.

Sitting beside the bed, one hand tangled in mine like he hadn’t moved since I went under. His dark eyes widened the moment I spoke, and something in him cracked. He exhaled. Shaky. Like he’d been holding it in for hours.

“Aria,” he whispered, not as if he was calling my name but saying prayer

I tried to sit up, but my body betrayed me–pain burn through my side, and I gasped, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hey–no, no,” he said, reaching for me, hands careful but firm. “Don’t. Just… lie still. You’re okay.”

My head hit the pillow again, too heavy to hold upright. The machines around me beeped steadily. The air smelled of antiseptic, sharp and cold.

“What happened?” I rasped.

His jaw clenched. He looked down, like the words tasted bitter.

“You saved my life.”

“…did?”

Oh…

Pieces returned, slow and complicated. The gunfire. The trees. The sniper. His body in my line of sight my instincts moving before thought.

“And now you’re stuck in this bed because of me,” he added softly.

I turned my head just enough to look at him, really look.

He was unshaven. Wrinkled clothes. Eyes bloodshot. He hadn’t left. Not once.

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