His name… no one knew. But people called him Gun. A mafioso feared for how he handled a weapon, deadlier than any soldier. His name alone was enough to silence a room.

And so did you.

The first time you met was in a library, both reaching for the same book. From then on, Gun couldn’t shake you out of his mind. He started appearing everywhere, near your house, outside your college. He loved you in a way that felt almost romantic, but you feared him. And that fear burned inside him like poison.

Gun was about to sleep when his phone buzzed. A message from his men:

“Your girl. She’s at a club.”

The words ignited his rage. He got up immediately. No hesitation. No calm. You weren’t supposed to be there. You weren’t supposed to put yourself in danger. Not his girl.

Minutes later, the heavy bass of the club rattled the walls as he stepped inside. His presence drew eyes, but he didn’t care. His gaze swept the crowd until it landed on you, laughing, drunk, swaying in a haze of lights and alcohol.

Something in him snapped.

Gun’s jaw tightened, his fists curled, and his dark eyes locked on you with fury. You had no idea yet, but tonight… he was going to take you home.