Taming The Mafia Man.

Gunfire shattered the silence, yanking me back to reality.

The first shot slammed into the back of the car like thunder. I screamed as glass exploded, slicing into my skin. Dylan swerved hard, tires shrieking against asphalt as bullets rained like hail.

“Get down!” he roared, one hand on the wheel, the other shoving me to the floor.

I hit the ground hard, scraping my elbow on metal. My heart pounded so hard I thought I might pass out. More shots—too many to count—hammered the car. The rear window vanished. The side mirror snapped clean off. Someone wanted us dead. Someone tangled in Veron’s world. Was it a mistake calling him? Should I have just stayed with Josie and endured it?

Dylan veered into a side road, speeding through tight alleys I hadn’t even seen until we were in them. The engine howled as the city blurred around us. Adrenaline surged, making me lightheaded. This was too much.

“Who the hell are they?” I gasped.

“No idea,” Dylan snapped. “But they’re trained.”

That word chilled me more than the gunfire. These weren’t random thugs. They moved with precision. Like this had always been the plan.

I twisted in my seat just long enough to glimpse a black SUV—no headlights, no fear—chasing us like a predator in the dark.

“They’re gaining!”

“Hold on,” he growled.

Dylan jerked the wheel. We flew through an abandoned industrial yard. A stack of pallets shattered across the hood, sparks flying. The car slid to a stop behind a rusted warehouse. Dylan threw open the door.

“Out. Now.”

We ran. I stumbled, knees aching, lungs burning. My boots slipped on gravel, but Dylan grabbed my hand and pulled me forward like a lifeline.

“Why are they shooting at us? What did I walk into?”

“They’re after you,” he said without looking back. “And I think I just figured out why.”

Before I could ask, another shot whizzed past my head, sparking against metal. We dove behind a container. My breath came in ragged gasps. Dylan drew a gun—sleek, black, and deadly—and peeked around the edge.

“You’re armed?” I asked, stunned I hadn’t noticed it before.

“I always am,” he muttered. “Stay behind me.”

The next seconds blurred into thunder and shadows. Dylan returned fire—controlled, methodical—but there were too many. Three, maybe four men, moving like ghosts through the yard.

I crouched low, hands over my mouth. This wasn’t a nightmare. This was real. This was now.

I thought Josie’s betrayal was the worst of it. But this—this was war.

What the hell was Veron involved in? Why hadn’t Dylan warned me? Why hadn’t Veron?

A bullet slammed into the metal corner beside me. I screamed and crawled back, my heart in my throat.

“Liana!” Dylan shouted.

Gunfire erupted from a different angle. I flinched and almost reached for my phone—to call Josie, to beg for help—but I stopped myself. That wasn’t an option anymore.

The sound of fists hitting flesh snapped my attention forward. I peeked around the container and saw Dylan—swift, brutal—taking them down. One went screaming to the ground. Another crashed into a wall. The third turned to run, but Dylan caught him.

He tackled him, slamming him into the dirt. The man struggled, but Dylan’s punch left him dazed and bloodied. He cuffed him with something from his belt and dragged him toward me, shirt torn, breathing hard, blood streaking his jaw.

“We’re done here,” he said.

“You—you caught him?”

“He’s going to talk.” His voice was low, sharp. “Veron will make sure of it.”

We got back into the car. Dylan started the engine without a word. I didn’t ask where we were going. I just sat, silent, watching the city dissolve into forest. My hands still shook. The man in the backseat groaned—gagged, bound, wild-eyed.

What had I stepped into?

I ran from betrayal only to fall into something darker. These weren’t secrets.

This was blood. Power. Bullets.

And Veron.

My heart faltered as we approached a massive estate hidden deep in the woods—steel gates, high walls, guards posted at every turn. It wasn’t a house. It was a fortress.

Veron’s fortress.

Dylan gave my hand a brief squeeze as we stepped out. “Ready?”

I wasn’t. But I nodded.

Inside, the air was thick with tension. Cold marble floors. Dim lighting. Shadowed halls. Dylan led us to a pair of double doors and pushed them open.

And there he was.

Veron.

My brother.

Older now. Harder. Dressed in black, seated at the head of a long table like a king presiding over ghosts. His eyes found mine—stormy gray, unreadable.

I froze. Six years collapsed into the silence between us.

“Liana,” he said, voice low.

I swallowed the knot in my throat. “Hey, big brother.”

Neither of us moved. The silence felt like it could crack the walls. Then Veron stood. He stepped forward, slow, guarded. His face showed nothing—until he was right in front of me.

Then, without warning—he hugged me.

I broke.

I collapsed into him, my fists gripping his shirt. The tears came hot and fast. He held me like he’d never let go.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You’re here,” he said. “That’s enough.”

Behind us, the captured man groaned. Dylan shoved him into a chair, watching him like a hawk. Veron released me and turned.

“Who sent you?” he asked coldly.

The man sneered through bloody lips. His eyes glittered with defiance.

“Answer him,” Dylan said, pressing the muzzle of his gun to the man’s shoulder.

The man chuckled—low and cruel.

“You think she’s safe now?” His eyes landed on me, and I flinched. “Your name still carries a price. Pretty girls don’t last long in this war.”

Then it happened.

He lunged.

Straight at me.

I barely had time to react. He leapt from the chair, a knife in hand, eyes locked on my throat.

A shot rang out.

The man dropped—dead before he hit the floor.

Veron lowered his gun, smoke curling from the barrel. His face didn’t change.

“No one touches my sister.”

Silence.

My breath came in gasps. I looked down at the body. Then up at Veron. At Dylan.

And I knew—I wasn’t safe.

Not from enemies.

Not from truths.

Not even from blood.