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

Viktor’s smile faltered slightly as he looked at Damian's unbothered posture. "What rule, boy? You're surrounded. Your enforcer is outnumbered four to one. You're sitting in a blanket!"

"The rule," Damian said, leaning forward slightly in his wheelchair, "is that I never step into a room without controlling every shadow inside it."

Damian suddenly raised his left hand and pressed a small red button concealed beneath the wooden armrest of his wheelchair.

Instantly, the heavy iron security shutters hidden above the tall windows slammed down with a deafening screech, sealing the room off from the outside world. At the same moment, the bedroom lights went completely dark, plunging the entire room into absolute pitch blackness.

Shouts of panic erupted from Viktor’s mercenaries.

"What the hell! Get the lights!" Viktor roared, turning his shotgun blindly toward the doorway.

In the dark, the sharp sound of silenced gunfire echoed—ptht, ptht, ptht.

Two of Viktor’s men crumpled to the floor before they even realized where the shots were coming from. Carlo, fully accustomed to night-vision combat tactics, moved through the shadows like a ghost, eliminating the threats with lethal efficiency.

Amidst the screaming and chaotic gunfire, a heavy hand grabbed Hannah’s arm in the pitch dark. She gasped, pulling back, but a familiar, low voice whispered near her ear.