Falling for My Mafia Stepbrother

21 Gunshots at the Wedding

I couldn’t really refuse this wedding—after all, I was already caught up in this kind of life and had accepted the benefits it brought me.

Finally, the wedding day arrived. Before dawn, I was woken up from sleep and brought to a spacious dressing room. I hadn’t seen my groom yet—he’d be waiting for me at the altar.

I was wearing a blush silk robe. After freshening up, I put on a face mask to make sure my skin was in perfect condition. A photographer was there the entire time, recording everything I did on my wedding day. Mom said it would be a beautiful memory to look back on.

Then, it was time for the long makeup session. The makeup artist started with my eyes, using champagne and gold shades to accentuate them, outlining my eye shape with black eyeliner, making them pop. She lengthened and curled my lashes, finishing with a touch of silver glitter under my eyes for some extra sparkle.

A peachy-pink blush added a shy glow to my cheeks. My hair was styled up with glittering accessories pinned in.

After she was done, I looked up at the mirror, seeing my elegant reflection. I had shed the last bit of my youthfulness and looked more seductive and captivating than ever.

Who doesn’t like looking beautiful? I certainly did. But as I thought about getting married, I didn’t feel that happiness one would expect.

It was odd. I didn’t feel anything at all about this marriage. Instead, I thought about Marco.

Had he arrived yet? I wasn’t sure.

With the help of several dressers, I put on my wedding dress. It fit perfectly. The strapless gown was adorned with crystals and pearls across the bodice, cinching in to reveal a graceful, alluring silhouette. From the hips down, layers of tulle cascaded like fresh snow, sparkling as I moved.

After a small meal to keep my strength up, the makeup artist applied my lipstick—a vivid, bright red. The veil came on, and everyone around me gasped in awe.

Compared to before, my mom was much more emotional. She kept dabbing at her tears while Dad held her and comforted her.

Still, Marco hadn’t shown up. I glanced around, feeling a pang of disappointment. I thought after everything, maybe our relationship had improved a little.

Maybe he’d gone directly to the venue? That’s what I told myself.

A few people helped carry my train, and I was led downstairs. Someone opened the car door for me.

I’d been up so early, and I was already feeling drained. But with the heavy hairstyle, there was no way I could rest in the car.

The makeup artist noticed my discomfort and held my neck supportively, letting me catch a quick nap.

The ceremony was at a grand church. We were going to receive God’s blessing there and officially become husband and wife.

When we arrived, I looked up at the magnificent building.

It was exquisitely beautiful, not just in its style or luxurious decorations, but in a way that showed how much care and devotion had been put into building it.

As I walked in, I felt a sense of awe.

I was closer to God now, but the closer I got, the more uneasy I felt. I knew I was about to lie before God. I didn’t love Angelo, yet I was about to promise my life to him.

When no one was looking, I quietly crossed my fingers behind my back. "Dear God, please forgive me for this sin and spare me from punishment. I will commit myself to this marriage, and I ask for your forgiveness."

My parents had taken on so many burdens just to give me a happy life. I owed them that much. I prayed sincerely, hoping if punishment was coming, it would fall on me alone.

Mom and Dad followed me to the waiting room while we waited for the ceremony to start. Once the guests were seated and everything was ready, I’d walk down the aisle on my father's arm to meet my husband.

In less than half an hour, someone came to let us know it was time.

Dad nodded slightly. I took his arm, and we started walking slowly. My dress was too long, so Dad matched his pace to mine, deliberately slowing down.

The church doors opened, and the wedding march began to play. The choir sang softly, and the piano and cello intertwined, making for a holy and beautiful moment.

Sunlight streamed into the solemn church, and I could see the dust floating in the air and the man standing at the end of the aisle.

Angelo had styled his hair back today—he looked even more mature and handsome. He stood straight, waiting for me in front of the priest. Everything felt dreamlike, like I was in a fantasy.

Most of the guests were familiar faces, but after scanning the crowd, I didn’t see those dark eyes I’d been hoping to see.

Marco still hadn’t come.

My heart started racing. Why wasn’t he here? Did he not want to come to my wedding? Or was he hurt again?

Dad noticed immediately that I was distracted.

“Harper, don’t be nervous.”

I forced myself to smile at him. “Don’t worry about me, Dad.”

I wished this walk could go on a little longer. But no matter how long the aisle was, it had an end. Angelo looked excited, and he took my hand.

“Angelo, I’m entrusting my daughter to you,” my father said.

“Mr. Moretti, I promise you, I’ll take care of Harper. From today on, she’ll be the love of my life,” Angelo replied.

Even though I hadn’t expected much from this wedding, standing here, any girl would’ve felt touched by those words.

We turned to face everyone. The priest stepped forward between us, dressed in his robe, looking so kind and gentle.

“Mr. Angelo Conti, do you take Miss Harper Moretti to be your wife? Will you love her, be loyal to her, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer? Do you?”

Angelo stood tall, smiling at me. “I, Angelo Conti, take Harper Moretti as my wife. I vow to love, respect, and stay faithful to you, through all circumstances, as God commands. I will cherish, comfort, and protect you, until death parts us.”

His words were earnest, and the already quiet church fell into an even deeper silence. The scent of lilies and roses hung faintly in the air. Looking at the man in front of me, no matter what doubts I had, at that moment, I felt touched by his vows.

“Miss Harper Moretti, do you take Mr. Angelo Conti to be your husband? Will you love him, be loyal to him, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer? Do you?”

I pressed my lips together, looking at the ring already prepared in front of me, about to say my vows.

Bang! Bang!

Suddenly, gunshots echoed from outside, and the bad feeling in my heart grew stronger. I was about to ask Angelo what was happening when he grabbed me—his left hand clutching my neck, while his right pulled out a gun, pressing it to my temple.

The church doors burst open as members of the Conti family stormed in. They fired mercilessly into the crowd, killing many of the Moretti family members who were caught off guard.

It all made sense to me instantly. Angelo had used our wedding as a ploy—he was planning to take over my family!

My husband was trying to kill my family! And he used me as a hostage!

Scenes of bloodshed appeared before my eyes again. My legs, in high heels, felt weak, and even the weight of the crown on my head made me dizzy.