Chapter 6 - Blood in the Wine Cellar
Deep beneath the Russo estate, the wine cellar was a cavernous space built from cold stone and heavy iron arches. Thousands of vintage bottles lined the walls, lit only by the warm glow of hanging Edison bulbs.
Don Eduardo Lombardi stood by a grand oak tasting table, swirling a glass of deep red Cabernet. Vivien stood beside him, checking her diamond-encrusted watch with frantic energy.
"What is taking Lorenzo so long?" Vivien hissed, pacing across the stone floor. "It doesn't take ten minutes to put a pillow over a crippled man's face!"
"Patience, daughter," Eduardo said smoothly, taking a slow sip of his wine. "Lorenzo is making sure there are no loose ends. By morning, Damian Russo will have died of sudden heart failure. The capos will be too confused to fight back, and the Russo territory will be ours by sunset."
"And the maid?" Vivien asked, her voice laced with venom. "The quiet one with the hazel eyes? I don't like her. She looks at me like she knows something."
"The maid will be dealt with," Eduardo replied coldly. "Servants are disposable."
CLANG.
The heavy iron door at the top of the cellar stairs slammed shut with a thunderous echo. The lock clicked into place from the outside.
Eduardo froze, setting his wine glass down with a sudden snap. "What was that?"
Footsteps began to echo down the stone staircase. Heavy, deliberate, powerful footsteps. Each step sounded like a death knell in the quiet room.
Two figure emerged from the shadows of the staircase.
Vivien’s breath hitched in her throat. Her glass slipped from her hand, shattering on the stone floor, spraying dark red wine across her white silk shoes.
Damian Russo walked down the stairs. He wasn't in a wheelchair. He wasn't leaning on a cane. He moved with the terrifying, predatory grace of an apex alpha, dressed in a sleek black suit, a heavy iron pipe swinging casually in his right hand.
Beside him walked Hannah, her slate-gray maid uniform slightly dusted with soot, a suppressed firearm held in a low-ready stance at her side.
"D-Damian?" Vivien whispered, her voice cracking as her face drained of all color. "You... you're walking?"
"I never stopped walking, Vivien," Damian said, his voice echoing off the stone walls like thunder. "But you were so eager to play the grieving bride, I hated to ruin your performance."
Eduardo pulled a heavy revolver from his coat, but before he could raise the barrel, a sharp PFFT rang out.
Hannah’s shot was terrifyingly precise. The bullet shattered Eduardo’s wrist, sending his revolver clattering across the floor. Eduardo shrieked in pain, clutching his bloody arm and staggering back against the wine racks.
Vivien screamed, dropping to her knees, backing away until her spine hit the stone wall. "Damian! Please! It wasn't my idea! My father made me do it! He wanted the docks! He made me poison your water!"
"Liar!" Eduardo spat, blood dripping from his fingers onto the stone floor. "You came up with the neurotoxin yourself, you snake!"
Damian walked up to Vivien, stopping right in front of her. He looked down at her with pure, unadulterated disgust.
"I gave you my name, Vivien," Damian said softly, leaning down to grab her by her chin, forcing her to look into his dark, unforgiving eyes. "I gave you peace between our families. And you tried to turn my own home into my tomb."
"Damian, please!" she sobbed, clutching at his sleeve. "I love you! We can still make this work! We can get rid of my father and take the Lombardi empire together!"
Damian released her chin as if she were made of filth. He turned his back on her, walking toward Eduardo.
"Carlo," Damian called out to the dark doorway behind them.
Carlo stepped out from the shadows of the staircase, carrying two pairs of heavy steel handcuffs. Behind him stood four loyal Russo soldiers, their weapons drawn and focused on the surviving Lombardi guards.
"Take Eduardo and Vivien to the holding cells in the south compound," Damian ordered coldly. "Call the Lombardi capos. Tell them their Don has been retired... and if they want to avoid a total war, they will send their representatives to my office tomorrow morning at dawn."
"With pleasure, boss," Carlo grunted, grabbing Eduardo by his collar and dragging him up the stairs while the soldiers secured Vivien, whose hysterical sobs echoed throughout the cold cellar.
When the room cleared, only Damian and Hannah remained.
The adrenaline slowly drained from the room, leaving a heavy, intoxicating tension between them. Damian turned to face the quiet maid. Her hair had fallen partially out of her strict bun, soft dark strands framing her flushed face. Her hazel eyes were bright, fierce, and alive.
Damian walked over to her, stepping into her personal space. He reached out, his thick, calloused fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"You handled that gun like a pro, Hannah," Damian murmured, his voice low and raspy. "Who trained you?"
Hannah didn't pull away from his touch. She looked up at him, her lips parting slightly. "A dead man in Langley, Mr. Russo. A long time ago."
"You saved my life tonight."
"I protected my investment," she countered softly, a dangerous spark in her eyes. "A live Don pays a much better wage than a dead one."
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Damian let out a low rumble of laughter—a genuine, deep sound that had not escaped his chest in years. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.
"Your days as a maid are over, Hannah," Damian whispered, his grip tightening gently around her waist. "Starting tonight, you work directly for me."
