The Capo Tried to Murder the Wheelchair-Bound Mafia Boss — Until the Quiet Housemaid Smashed His Face With a Brass Lamp

Carlo stood near the ruined doorway, his pistol aimed directly at Viktor’s head. The remaining two mercenaries lay dead on the floor.

Damian stepped out from behind the mahogany desk, walking with slow, deliberate, powerful strides toward the rival Don. Every step he took on the hardwood floor sounded like a death knell in the silent, red-lit room.

Hannah stood by the desk, watching him in breathtaking awe. The man she had spent six months pushing in a wheelchair, the man she had gently blanketed every evening, was now standing like an invincible titan before his greatest enemy.

"You thought you were buying an empire, Viktor," Damian said, stopping three feet from Moretti. "But you were just buying a ticket to your own execution."

Viktor’s hands shook as he slowly raised his shotgun, trying to aim at Damian's chest. "I'll blow you to pieces, Russo!"

Before Viktor could pull the trigger, Damian reached out, grabbing the barrel of the shotgun and ripping it out of Viktor’s hands with effortless force. He smashed the stock of the gun into Viktor's ribs, knocking the older Don to his knees.

Viktor gasped for air, clutching his side as he looked up at Damian. "Please... Damian... we can make a deal! Half the city! I'll give you half the city!"

"You don't own this city, Viktor," Damian replied coldly, raising his silver revolver. "I do."