Mated To The Mafia Werewolves

That witch!

How ungrateful could she be? Despite all the warnings about their lives being connected, she still wanted to end hers-not just hers, but the lives of their children within her.

Of course, Sandro understood her pain, feeling a similar, if not greater, agony.

He and Blaze had shared a deep bond; Blaze was more than a friend and Beta; he was a brother and a relied-upon family.

Blaze was everything to him, and his death was still surreal. He didn’t want to believe he had died, but he had seen him lifeless, cold, and not smiling.

If Arabella were to die, how could he seek the revenge he so much desired? As their life was intertwined, he was going to fuking die as well.

Sandro’s fists pounded the punching bag even harder, growls escaping him as he noticed blood on his hands. Yet, he didn’t relent. Since leaving the room, he relentlessly struck the bag, channeling his frustration away from Arabella.

He didn’t want to get mad at her, but with the way she was acting, he doubted he could be patient.

After a few minutes, he finally stopped, pushing his bloodied hand into his hair before wiping the sweat from his face.

Moving towards the room’s far-end bathroom, he cleaned his hands and the blood, splashing water on his face. Staring at the mirror, hands tightly gripping the sink, he muttered, “Am I being irrational, Blaze?”

Earlier, he had discussed his plan to confront Paolo with Brianna, though he lacked a clear strategy. His request to Brianna was simple: assist him as his witch without involving the pack members. He aimed to keep the battle personal, shielding his pack from harm, having already lost one member a tragedy he didn’t want to repeat.

“Stupid,” Brianna retorted, her anger evident. She not only called him stupid but insisted he wasn’t thinking straight. Was she right? Perhaps.

Acknowledging that he couldn’t sneak up on Paolo like a ghost as he wasn’t a witch or some seer that could cast spells, Sandro knew he’d face injuries.

It was a risk, but then, was he willing to take it just to get revenge for Blaze? Yes.

Sandro’s hands tightened on the sink as he contemplated, staring at himself, his mind drifting to various thoughts.

When tired of studying himself in the mirror, he left the bathroom and returned to the room where he found Arabella lying on the bed; the duvet pulled up to her chin.

His gaze shifted to the untouched food on the table Annalise must have left it there as per his request to bring food for Arabella.

Yet, she never touched it.

Approaching the bed, Sandro placed a hand on her forehead, noticing the warmth. “Are you alright?” he inquired, sitting beside her.

With no response, he let the duvet fall to her midriff, his palm gently caressing her neck. She still felt warm, and he wondered if she was sick, appearing pale and thin.

Sickly thin after only three days since Blaze’s departure, Sandro attributed it to her reluctance to eat. He sighed, feeling helpless.

Arabella muttered, “Blaze,” turning as her hand met his chest, gripping his shirt and fiddling with the buttons.

Her mouth moved, repeatedly mentioning ‘Blaze,’ the name escaping her lips three times. Under normal circumstances, Sandro might have reacted with fury, demanding an explanation. However, all he could do was watch her.

Sitting there, he mulled over her situation, unsure how to help her overcome grief. After a moment of indecision, he stood and began walking toward the door. Arabella’s sudden shriek stopped him in his tracks.

“No, Blaze!”

Turning back, Sandro narrowed his eyes at Arabella, who panted, clutching her chest.

“He’s gone, Sandro,” she mumbled, stumbling out of bed into his arms.

“I searched everywhere for him, but I couldn’t find him. Blaze is gone,” Arabella admitted, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Sandro puffed out a breath, “I’m sorry, Bella. I wish I could have helped, but I was too slow and weak.”

Arabella clung to him, her arms tightening. “He was trying to save me,” she sobbed. “I wouldn’t have wanted him to. He got himself killed because of me,” she shuddered.

“Cry, Bella, cry,” Sandro murmured, refraining from further speech. He gently caressed her back as her silent sobs escalated into a full-blown wail.

“Oh, my goodness, Blaze is gone. How am I going to survive in this world without him?” she cried.

‘I am not that bad,’ was the retort on the tip of his tongue, but he held back, realizing he was the one who had portrayed himself in that manner. If he hadn’t been so consumed by revenge, she wouldn’t have suffered so much at his hands.

“I can’t bear to live here. Blaze helped me with everything in the past, and now that he’s gone, I do not even know my fate any longer.”

“I am a monster,” he confessed. Arabella looked up at him with blurry eyes, shaking her head.

“You should blame me. I caused everything, not you,” Sandro replied.

“He was trying to save me, Sandro. I should be the one in his shoes right now. I should be the one six feet under.”

“Over my dead body would I have watched that happen,” Sandro rasped, his arms wound tightly around her, whispering into her hair.

“Blaze saved us all. He saved Thalia, you, and me. If he hadn’t jumped in front of the bullet, one or all of us might have been dead, as we weren’t even in a position to take them on,” he explained.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“And I wouldn’t say he did the best thing; he helped us stay alive.”

Arabella acknowledged Sandro was right, but she couldn’t simply accept that he had been the target. The reality that he had died instead was hard to bear. It should have been anyone else but him. Yet, she pondered who else would have been willing to sacrifice themselves for the others if it hadn’t been for Blaze.