Saved a Stranger, Now The Bride of the Mafia Devil

Ava POV

I've always hated small towns. I know that sounded terrible as someone who had lived in Willow Creek her entire life, but most people loved it here. They loved the quiet roads, the familiar faces, and the certainty that tomorrow would look exactly like today.

At twenty-three, I already felt trapped in this predictable life. Same farmhouse every morning, same fields every afternoon, same sunset from the same porch every evening. Sometimes I wonder if I’d blink and wake up at forty and nothing has changed. That thought really terrifies me.

The only thing that ever interrupted Willow Creek's routine was the weather. Storms rolled through without warning, leaving broken fences, frightened animals, and, more often than not, our stubborn old barn door swinging wide open.

"Ava." Dad's voice drifted from the kitchen, carrying the familiar patience that had

always made it impossible to ignore him.

"The barn door's open again."

I looked up from the novel resting in my lap with a sigh.

Of course it was. After the night's storm, I should have expected it.

I grabbed the heavy flashlight by the back door and stepped into the rain. The cold air hit me immediately when I stepped outside. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but mud clung to my boots as I crossed the yard. The barn sat near the edge of the property, dark and silent beneath the storm clouds. But something felt strange. Maybe it was the storm or the silence.

I slowed my pace, scolding myself for letting my imagination run wild. It was only a barn and i’d walked this path thousands of times. Still, an uneasy feeling settled deep inside my stomach.

The large wooden door stood slightly open, swaying with every passing breeze.

I frowned because I could've sworn I closed it earlier.

Pushing the thought aside, I wrapped my fingers around the handle and pulled the door open. The flashlight beam swept across stacks of hay, old farming tools, empty stalls, and hanging ropes. Everything looked exactly as it always did, until the light landed on something dark near the entrance.

I frowned and stepped closer and for one second, I told myself it was rainwater but as I crouched down, I noticed the liquid glistening beneath the flashlight. Hesitantly, I reached out and touched it with the tips of my fingers. It was warm, sticky and red. My breath caught immediately.

Blood.

Common sense screamed at me to run back to the house and tell Dad, but instead, I found myself following the blood trail deeper into the barn. My grip tightened around the flashlight as my heartbeat echoed loudly in my ears.

"Hello?" I called cautiously but no one answered.

The trail disappeared behind a tall stack of hay bales near the back wall. I took another cautious step, then another.

Suddenly, a powerful arm wrapped around my waist while a rough hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my scream. The flashlight clattered to the floor, plunging us into darkness. Something cold pressed against my side while a warm body pressed close against my back.

A gun.

“Make a sound,” a deep voice whispered against my ear, “and you’ll regret it.”

My entire body went completely rigid. I didn’t even dare to breathe.

The hand covering my mouth was rough and warm, smelling faintly of leather, smoke... and fresh blood. I squeezed my eyes shut, convinced my life had just ended in the middle of our old barn.

Slowly, I nodded to show that I understood which made his grip loosened just enough for me to drag in a shaky breath, but not enough to escape.

"If you scream," he murmured, his voice strained with obvious pain, "I'll have to stop you.”

I nodded again. Then slowly, he loosened his grip on my waist. I stumbled forward, spun around, and scrambled for the flashlight. When I found it, I immediately switched it on and then finally saw him. For a moment, I simply stared.

He was tall…far taller than anyone I'd ever seen in Willow Creek. Rain-soaked black clothes clung to a broad, muscular frame, while dark hair fell across a pale, striking face. Despite the obvious pain twisting his features, his dark eyes remained sharp, never leaving mine.

He looked dangerous,not because of the pistol pointed directly at me but because even while bleeding, he carried himself like someone who had survived things ordinary people couldn't even imagine.

“You…” I whispered.

“I said no talking.”

His voice was quieter this time, almost rough with exhaustion.

"Spare me that. You’re hurt,” I said with a steadier voice. “I should call my Dad right?”

“No.”

“You could die.”

His finger shifted on the trigger. “So could you.”

Charged silence stretched between us. Every instinct screamed at me to run but years of helping Dad patch up injured horses and cattle made one thing clear: if I walked away, this man wouldn’t survive the night.

“You’ll bleed out,” I said quietly.

His eyes narrowed. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” I folded my arms, trying to hide how badly my hands were shaking.

“I just don’t want a dead body in our barn.”

For the first time...

Something almost resembling amusement flickered across his face but disappeared so quickly that I wondered if I'd imagined it.

Before either of us could say another word, the pistol suddenly slipped from his fingers. His breathing turned uneven,then, without warning, his entire body collapsed.

“Hey..” I stepped closer but no response “Hey!”

I knelt beside him and touched his face and I felt his skin burning under my fingers. His pulse was strong but racing weakly at the same time.

I stared at the unconscious stranger, then at the trail of blood stretching across the barn floor before glancing toward the farmhouse. If Dad walked in now, there would be questions I couldn't answer, and I wasn't even sure I understood them myself. Every sensible part of me screamed to call the sheriff and let someone else deal with this, but another voice refused to leave him here to die.

"I've officially lost my mind," I muttered under my breath.

Making up my mind, I hurried back to the farmhouse as quietly as I could. I slipped through the back door, careful not to let the old hinges creak, and headed straight for the storage cabinet. My hands shook as I searched through the supplies, grabbing bandages, rubbing alcohol, clean cloth, a needle, thread, and anything else that looked remotely useful. Halfway back to the door, I stopped abruptly.

If the bullet was still inside him… I'd need tweezers.

My stomach twisted as I searched another drawer until I finally found them.

"I seriously hope this isn't a bullet.”

When I returned to the barn, nothing had changed. Rain dripped steadily through small cracks in the roof, tapping softly against the wooden floor while the stranger remained exactly where I'd left him.

Getting him off the cold floor proved far more difficult than I expected. I dug my heels into the dirt and pulled with everything I had, stopping every few feet just to catch my breath. By the time I managed to drag him onto a clean pile of hay, my arms were burning and my clothes were streaked with mud and blood.

My fingers hovered over the buttons of his shirt and slowly, I peeled the fabric away. There were old bullet wounds, faded knife marks, and a burn scar that disappeared beneath his shoulder. No ordinary man carried a body like this.

“Oh, poor thing,” I whispered. “What kind of life have you lived?”

I poured alcohol over my hands, picked up the tweezers, and took a deep breath.

The moment I pressed the tweezers in, his body jerked violently and a deep groan tore from him. It felt like hours, but I finally pulled the bullet free and dropped it with a soft clink. I cleaned the wound thoroughly, packed it, and wrapped fresh bandages tightly around his waist. Then, covered with some blanket I brought.

Even pale and unconscious, he looked intimidating. His face was impossibly handsome beneath the dried blood.

“You’re definitely trouble,” I whispered, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead without thinking.

“If you survive… you’re leaving first thing tomorrow.”

I stood to leave but then stopped.

What if he stopped breathing in the night?

What if he dies?

With a defeated sigh, I dragged an old wooden chair over and sank into it.

“I’ll stay five minutes. Just five.”

Five minutes became fifteen,fifteen minutes became an hour and finally, exhaustion won. I rested my head against the hay bale and within moments, I fell asleep.

Morning light spilled golden through the cracks in the roof. Birds sang cheerfully outside.

“Ava!”

Dad’s voice jolted me awake which made my heart slam to a stop. I bolted upright and threw an old tarp over the stranger just as the barn door creaked open.

“There you are,” Dad said warmly, bucket of feed in hand. “I’ve been calling you.”

I faked a yawn. “Guess I fell asleep out here. The rain got bad again.”

Dad chuckled as he turned and started walking deeper into the barn,straight toward the hay where the man was hidden. I held my breath as every muscle in my body locked in terror.

Relief washed over me when Duke suddenly neighed from the far end of the barn, drawing Dad's attention away from the hay where the stranger lay hidden. I released the breath I'd been holding, convinced we'd been spared.

Then a low groan drifted from beneath the tarp.

Dad stopped mid-step. His expression changed immediately as he slowly turned back toward the sound.

"Ava..." he said quietly. "What was that?”