Taming The Mafia Man.

(Liana’s POV)

I never imagined my return home would feel like walking into a war zone.

One second, I was standing beside Dylan, trying to make sense of the cold silence around us—the next, chaos exploded around me.

Gunshots tore through the night like thunderclaps.

“Get down!” Dylan shouted.

I didn’t even have time to scream before he tackled me to the ground, shielding my body with his. My back slammed into the cold concrete, knocking the breath right out of me. My heart pounded so violently I thought it might tear through my chest.

“What the hell is happening?!” I cried.

But Dylan didn’t answer. His focus was razor-sharp, eyes scanning the shadows, gun already drawn as he fired back in quick, precise bursts. The sharp scent of gunpowder clung to the air, burning my nose.

I pressed my hands against my ears, trying to drown out the relentless crack of bullets, but it was useless. I couldn’t hear anything but the frantic thudding of my pulse and Dylan’s body pressed against mine like a living shield.

I screamed again, “Who are they?! Why are they shooting at us?”

“Keep your head down, Liana!” he barked. “Let me handle it.”

I bit down hard on my lip, forcing myself to stay still even though every instinct inside me screamed to run. I clung to the fabric of his shirt, trembling.

Dylan fired again, cursing under his breath as he checked the corners, moving like a trained soldier—which only terrified me more.

Why was he trained like that?

Why were we even being shot at?

When the gunfire stopped, silence fell so suddenly it felt unnatural. My ears rang. Dylan didn’t relax for even a second. He grabbed my wrist, pulled me up, and half-dragged me behind a stack of crates, never taking his eyes off the darkened alley.

“We need to move. Now.”

“Dylan—”

“No time,” he snapped. “Just trust me.”

And I did.

Because even with my legs shaking and my thoughts spinning like a carousel gone rogue, I knew one thing: Dylan wasn’t going to let me die tonight.

We slipped through the narrow path behind the warehouse, his grip tight around my hand, his body blocking mine every time we turned a corner. I stumbled over rocks and trash, nearly twisting my ankle more than once, but Dylan never stopped moving until we reached the car.

He yanked the door open and practically shoved me inside.

As he got behind the wheel and the engine roared to life, I finally found my voice again.

“Who were they? Dylan, who the hell were they?!”

His jaw clenched as he sped through the city like a man possessed. “They weren’t after you,” he muttered. “They were after me… or your brother.”

“What? Why?” I turned toward him, grabbing his arm. “Why would someone be trying to kill you? What is Veron involved in?!”

Dylan didn’t answer. His knuckles turned white around the steering wheel.

I stared at his profile, trying to read between the lines—the tight set of his jaw, the flicker in his eyes.

Something was very, very wrong.

By the time we pulled up to Veron’s compound, my body was numb. My thoughts were tangled in panic, questions clawing at me from the inside.

Veron was already waiting when we arrived.

He stood at the entrance, flanked by his guards, his expression dark and unreadable. As soon as Dylan opened the door, Veron walked toward us with long, purposeful strides.

I stepped out of the car, still shaken. My knees nearly buckled. Dylan caught me before I could fall and held me upright.

“What happened?” Veron asked, his voice low and controlled—but I saw the flicker of something in his eyes. Fury. Or was it fear?

“Ambush,” Dylan said, grim. “Warehouse district. Two masked gunmen. Trained. They weren’t amateurs.”

Veron swore under his breath. He motioned for Dylan to come inside. His gaze briefly met mine—searching, assessing.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No,” I replied shakily. “Just… shaken.”

He nodded, then turned back to Dylan. “Get her inside. I’ll handle this.”

“Handle what?” I demanded, my voice rising. “What the hell is going on, Veron? Why were men with guns chasing us?! What are you into?!”

Veron looked at me, his expression suddenly cold. “Liana, now isn’t the time.”

“Not the time?” I snapped. “Men tried to kill us, Veron! I had to lie on the ground while Dylan shot back at them like this was some goddamn movie! I deserve answers!”

“I said we’ll talk later,” he said more firmly, nodding to a guard. “Take her to her room. Make sure she’s safe.”

“Don’t you dare shut me out again,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. “I’m not a child anymore, Veron.”

But he’d already turned away.

Dylan gave me a sympathetic look, but even he said nothing. He just touched my shoulder lightly and walked off after Veron.

And so, once again, I was alone with a thousand questions and not a single answer.

---

My room was as silent as a tomb. I stood at the window, staring out into the dark courtyard below, watching as guards moved like shadows across the compound. More of them than usual. All armed. All tense.

Veron had doubled security.

Something big was happening.

Something dangerous.

And I was right in the middle of it.

I sank down onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands.

How had things gone so wrong, so fast?

I came here to reconnect with the only family I had left. To find closure. Peace.

Instead, I was dodging bullets in the dark and being told to “stay in my room” like I was ten.

The silence stretched. Minutes passed. Maybe hours.

Eventually, I heard a knock.

I didn’t answer, but the door opened anyway.

Dylan stepped inside.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

I looked up at him. “Do I look okay to you?”

He sighed, coming to sit beside me. “You’re safe now.”

I laughed bitterly. “That’s what scares me. Because I don’t feel safe. Not here. Not when everyone’s hiding things from me.”

He hesitated. “It’s not my place—”

“No,” I interrupted, standing. “It is your place. Because you were there. You were the one shielding me with your body while bullets flew over us. So don’t pretend you don’t know.”

He looked at me then, really looked—his eyes tired and a little sad. “What do you want to know?”

“What is Veron into? Why are people trying to kill him? Why are they following me and you now?”

Dylan ran a hand through his hair. “Veron… made enemies. Years ago. He’s been trying to keep you out of it, but—”

“But what?” I whispered.

“They found you. And they won’t stop now.”

I stared at him, the weight of his words settling like ice in my stomach.

“They’ll come again, won’t they?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.