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

Outside the tall stained windows, headlights cut through the heavy downpour. Three black armored SUVs rolled silently up the winding driveway of the isolated Russo estate, their engines humming low like approaching predators.

Inside the bedroom, Damian’s eyes narrowed as the faint reflection of light flickered across the wet windowpane. "Carlo. How many guards are on the main gate?"

Carlo didn't turn his head, but his jaw tightened. "Four men, Boss. Plus the perimeter patrol."

"They're dead," Bruno mocked, a sinister grin spreading across his bloodied jaw. "I disabled the gate codes twenty minutes ago. Don Viktor Moretti himself is coming up those stairs to sign the deed to this city in your blood, Damian."

Hannah gasped, clutching the edge of Damian’s wheelchair blanket. She looked down at Damian, expecting panic, but his expression remained chillingly composed.

"You always were a terrible judge of loyalty, Bruno," Damian said smoothly, his quiet voice holding a terrifying stillness. He turned his gaze to Hannah. "Hannah. Go into the adjoining dressing room and lock the door."

"No," Hannah replied immediately, her firm voice surprising both men. "I'm not leaving you."

Damian looked up at her, his dark eyes softening for a fraction of a second. "They are coming to kill everyone in this wing, Hannah. This isn't your war."