The Mafia Princess Return (Talia) novel Chapter 255

**The Man Who Built an Empire from Power—and Tried to Rebuild Me from Ruins by Caden Blake**
**Chapter 255.**

**34**

**Aaron’s POV.**

Describing my level of anxiety leading up to today would hardly do justice to the turmoil inside me. It felt like a storm was brewing, and yet, as the hours unfolded, a sense of relief washed over me. Everything had gone according to our meticulously laid plans. We had successfully captured Cillian, and perhaps even more importantly, Talia could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

I still found it hard to wrap my mind around Talia’s newfound resolve to sever ties with Cillian completely. The shock of her decision lingered in my thoughts, but I couldn’t help but feel a wave of gratitude. Our beloved princess would never again have to endure his presence, and she was finally liberated from that monster’s grasp.

After we wrapped up dinner, Talia chose to stay behind with Uncle Caleb, her guards, and her loyal six companions, while the rest of us made our way to the warehouse. The air was thick with anticipation; we weren’t there to end Cillian’s life today, but we were certainly ready to begin our revenge.

We decided to proceed in order of age, starting with Theo and Nico, who paired up first to pay him a visit. As I stood outside the door, I could hear the cacophony of sounds emanating from within—every scream that escaped Cillian’s lips was like a symphony to our ears.

Theo and Nico unleashed their fury upon him with a ferocity that was almost poetic. They had beaten him mercilessly, stabbing, cutting, burning, and whipping him without a hint of remorse. Each blow was a testament to the pain he had inflicted on Talia, and with every strike, we honored her silent wish for justice.

When Cillian finally succumbed to unconsciousness, Theo and Nico stepped back, allowing the medical team to enter and tend to his wounds. We didn’t want him to die too soon; we wanted him to suffer.

Our younger brothers took the opportunity to shower off the remnants of their earlier bout, and after about ten minutes, they returned to the observation room. I could see a noticeable change in their demeanor; the tension that had once weighed heavily on their shoulders seemed to have lifted. They were calmer now, almost serene in their shared sense of vindication.

After twenty minutes had passed, David and I exchanged glances, a silent agreement passing between us. It was time for us to take our turn. We walked into the room, armed with a bucket of icy cold water, and without hesitation, we doused Cillian to rouse him from his slumber.

He gasped, his eyes wide with confusion as he struggled to comprehend his surroundings.

“Welcome back, sleepyhead,” David remarked, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

It was rare for David to engage in such brutality, especially considering his aspirations to become a doctor and save lives. Yet, in this moment, it was evident just how deep our collective hatred for Cillian ran.

“Let me see Talia,” Cillian croaked, attempting to mask the agony in his voice, but his desperate plea only elicited laughter from both of us.

“You will never lay eyes on her again. She doesn’t even want to see you. But she did ask us to deliver a little something,” I replied, my tone icy and unyielding.

The flicker of hope in Cillian’s eyes was short-lived. Just two seconds later, he screamed as David delivered a brutal blow to his chest, the sickening sound of cracking bone echoing in the room.

I followed up with a swift double punch to his stomach, and Cillian’s breath hitched in his throat.

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