A Stepping Stone's Ruthless Reign

But then, that rainy night came.

I was sneaking out of the house, passing through an abandoned warehouse district. That's when I saw Marco being beaten by a group of guys from a rival family.

After they finally left, I found him lying in the mud, wearing only a tattered leather jacket. A pool of blood was forming beneath him. His eyes were half-open, a fierce, rebellious light still burning in them. He was just seconds away from pulling the gun hidden in his jacket.

I was so stupid back then, so naive. I should have run, but my feet were rooted to the spot.

Like an idiot, I called our family's underground doctor and even used my own scarf to bind his wound.

"Hey, are you okay?"

The boy forced his eyes open, his gaze wild and dangerous. "Little princess, aren't you afraid of me?"

My voice trembled when I answered. "That wasn't a fair fight. You should be more careful."

He let out a harsh laugh, then closed his eyes and went limp, ignoring me completely.

Like a fool, I squatted there, holding an umbrella over him until the doctor arrived. I even slipped the doctor some money to cover the medical bills.

I thought that was the end of it.

But a few days later, Marco appeared at the edge of a local underground fighting ring, acting like he owned the place.

He tossed a thick roll of cash onto the table in front of me—the prize money the ring had just paid him. A relaxed smile played on his dangerously handsome face. "For the doctor the other day. Thanks, little princess."

The moment he left, I became the talk of the family's younger set.

My friend grabbed my arm, practically screaming. "Alessia, are you crazy? That guy is a street punk! I heard he works for the black market. He's got blood on his hands, you have to stay away from him!"

A nosy girl sidled up to me, her eyes sparkling. "Wait, you actually know Marco? Can you get me his number? God, he's so hot when he fights!"

I stood there in complete shock.

After school, a roaring motorcycle blocked my path with a screech of brakes. Marco sat on it, shirtless, shamelessly showing off his muscled, tattooed chest as he whistled at me. "Hop on. I'll take you for a ride."

A group of punks behind him started hooting and catcalling.

"Boss, she looks too clean. What's the fun in that?"

"Yeah, that dancer at the club is way more fun. That body, that smell!"

My face went pale. Like a startled rabbit, I lowered my head and fled.

Their wild laughter followed me all the way home.

Back then, I truly hated him. He was a beast, and we lived in completely different worlds.

But Marco had the thickest skin I'd ever seen. He showed up every day, simply refusing to take no for an answer.

Everything changed the day I was harassed by some low-level thugs from a rival family. Some drunken thug from a rival crew cornered me in a bar and started getting handsy.