My Severe Brother

ch 34: Snacks

Peter's pov

Having completed my homework, I descended the stairs in search of some snacks. I opened the fridge with the optimistic expectation of finding something sweet, only to be met with disappointment. Instead, it housed an array of health-conscious but unappetizing options.

I pondered the paradox of his penchant for healthy eating while still indulging in drinking. Shaking my head, I glared at the fridge and closed it in frustration.

"What are you looking for?" his voice suddenly interrupted my thoughts.

I jumped, thoroughly startled. "Stop doing this... You scared me," I complained.

He chuckled. I glared at him and answered his question, "I was looking for some snacks."

"You won't find any," he informed me.

"I realized," I replied with a frown.

"Come, let's go to the mall," he suggested.

"Now?" I questioned.

"I won't let you stay longing for snacks. Grab your jacket," he insisted.

" Thank you!" I sang as I rushed to my room, put on my jacket and my sneakers. 

He handed me the keys, and as I opened the door, he stopped me. Turning me to face him, he zipped up my jacket and pinched my cheek lightly. I blushed and exited the house quietly.

In the car, he parked, and we made our way into the mall. I selected various snacks, surprised that he didn't refuse anything I added to the cart. It was a rare moment of agreement between us.

"Can I grab a soda?" I inquired.

"Of course," he replied, stifling a yawn.

He reached for a strawberry juice and asked, "Do you want strawberry juice?"

"No, I have an allergy to strawberries," I informed him.

"You too?" he asked with surprise.

"What do you mean?" I questioned.

"I have the same allergy, and so does Dad," he explained with a smile.

"Oh, like father, like sons?" I joked.

"Yeah, totally. Are you done?" he asked.

"Yes, let's not tire you, or you might fall asleep while driving," I teased.

He ruffled my hair, completed the payment, and we exited the mall. As he drove us home, his phone rang.

Answering the call by the car, he said, "Hey Sofie."

"Marco—" Her voice sounded low and cracking.

"What's wrong?" he inquired.

"I'm hearing noises downstairs. I locked myself in my room. I have my gun but no bullets," she explained.

"Calm down, I'm coming," he assured her before hanging up.

I didn't dare say anything and followed him to the car after we checked out. He parked in front of Sofia's house, retrieved a gun from his car's drawer, and then turned to look at me. "You know how to use it?"

I nervously shook my head no.

"Fine, stay here. I'm coming," he declared, but as he moved to get out of the car, I caught his arm. "Why don't you call the police? You can get hurt," I questioned.

He glared at me, his response aggressive. "We're a damn mafia. We solve our shits alone."

I withdrew my hand, letting him go. As he left the car, I leaned back in my seat, hearing the unsettling sound of gunfire.