Falling for My Mafia Stepbrother

17 He's Been Shot!

Since the engagement, Marco and Angelo have disappeared again. But I don’t really care anymore. Mom's busy planning the wedding, and I spend my days reading at home.

Reading has become my new hobby—it helps me calm down. I even sent a new skateboard to the guy who saved me that one night, through our housekeeper. We haven't contacted each other since.

Days passed by, just like that.

Tonight, the maid made my favorite barbecue. Even though I was trying to diet, the smell was just too tempting, and I ended up eating more than I planned.

My stomach felt a little bloated, so I changed into some loose clothes and decided to take a walk around the garden. I wanted to check out the fresh green plants, and honestly, it made me feel really good.

I’d never really taken a close look at the flowers planted in the garden. Now that I had some free time, I started examining their textures and colors carefully. By the time the bloated feeling had finally gone away, the moon was already high in the sky, and I slowly made my way back inside.

The house was quiet, and there was a note from Mom on the table.

"Sweetie, your dad and I had to go out for something. Get some rest."

After that, I watched a movie for a bit until I started getting sleepy and went to wash up. On my way back, I paused by my bedroom balcony window, but I didn’t close it. I like the way it feels when the wind fills up my room.

The water temperature was perfect today, and I stepped out of the bath with a towel wrapped around me, drying my hair with another towel. But just as I walked out of the bathroom, I heard a noise downstairs. It wasn’t my parents—I knew that right away, and suddenly, every nerve in my body was on edge.

After what happened with those thugs last time, Elena taught me some self-defense. I quickly took off my slippers—they were wet and slippery, plus they made noise with every step.

I glanced around and spotted a baseball bat hanging behind the door—something Matthew had given me ages ago. I almost forgot it was there, but right now, it felt like my lifeline.

Slowly, on my tiptoes, I went to grab it. The door was closed, and there was no more noise from downstairs. It was so quiet I could hear my own breathing echoing through the room.

A light breeze blew in from the open window.

If I listened closely, I could hear voices outside—strangers talking, with some strange accent mixed in. My heart pounded, like a piano playing out of tune. My eardrums felt hot, and I was acting purely on instinct. Who were these people? Robbers? Thieves?

I didn’t dare think too much about the consequences. I could only clutch the bat, inching my way out.

I took a few steps and paused. Should I even be going out there? Maybe if I stayed put, they wouldn’t hurt me. But what if they came in and killed me?

My hands gripped the bat tighter, palms sweating. I made up my mind and started down the stairs, holding my breath.

Suddenly, I heard a "thud" from below. I immediately turned around, fully alert. There was a smell in the air—a metallic scent.

Blood.

It sounded like someone had fallen. Slowly, I made my way to the first-floor landing, my fear so intense that even my own breathing sounded deafening.

Someone was slumped over the sofa. He wasn't moving, just a faint rise and fall of his chest showed he was alive.

It looked like he was hurt. I hesitated at the landing, thinking of going back upstairs. But it was too dark on the first floor, and the stairs were long—I had to be extremely careful, stepping up one step at a time.

I thought maybe if he hadn’t noticed me yet, I could make it back without him harming me.

But what I didn’t realize was that the figure had already moved. And when I was halfway up the stairs, I felt someone right behind me!

"Ah—mmph!" I gasped, but before I could scream, someone clamped a hand over my mouth.

I instinctively jabbed the bat backward, and I heard the person grunt in pain. Just as I tried to figure out how to swing it at their head, I caught a glimpse of his face in the dark.

"Harper, get me upstairs."

It was Marco. He was seriously hurt. Right after saying that, he slumped forward against me.

I reached out to hold him up. He was barely conscious—it was tough for me to support his whole weight, so I had him sit on the stairs while I grabbed both of his arms, half-dragging, half-carrying him to my room.

Finally, we reached my room. The bedside lamp was on, and when I laid him down on my bed, I got a good look at his condition.

His jacket was gone, and his white shirt was in tatters, covered with signs of struggle. The sleeves had clean cuts as if slashed by a knife, and the hem was soaked in blood.

I gasped. His face was deathly pale, and there was a fragility about him that made my heart clench.

“Marco, I need to call a doctor.” I tried to reach for my phone, but I realized it was under him.

As I leaned over to grab it, his hand shot out, pulling me down beside him.

“Don’t call a doctor. Don’t tell anyone where I am,” he said.

My hand accidentally rested on his abdomen—blood was still seeping out. In just a few minutes, there was already quite a bit of blood soaking through my bed. There were smears on the floor from the doorway to the bed too. A wave of dizziness hit me, and I shook my head, trying not to throw up.

“Don’t make a sound,” he added. “If anyone asks, tell them I’m not here, or we might both end up dead tonight.”

He was so weak, his lips an unhealthy shade of purple. Looking around at the bloody mess, fear made me tremble uncontrollably.

"Harper, get a grip. You have to stay calm," I whispered to myself.

He was still bleeding. I had to do something. I couldn't let him die.

Right—he couldn't die, not here, not now. That thought alone was enough to steady my nerves. I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t let me call a doctor, but I couldn’t just watch him die.

I ran a shaky hand across my face, realizing it was covered in cold sweat and tears.