The Maid’s Toddler Sold Flowers for Her Sick Mom — Mafia Boss Froze When He Heard Her Name

"Julian," Damian said calmly, stepping in front of me, shielding my body with his own.

"You really thought you could come back here and play detective, Damian?" Julian sneered, raising his gun. "You wanted to make us legitimate! You wanted to play corporate gentleman while abandoning the men who built this family! And you brought the little maid back too. How touching."

"It's over, Julian," Damian said, his voice deadly steady. "The FBI already has copies of your digital transactions. This ledger is just the final nail in your coffin."

"Then none of you are leaving this room alive to deliver it," Julian snarled, pulling the trigger.

BANG!

Damian reacted instantaneously, tackling Julian to the floor as gunfire shattered the glass cabinets surrounding the study. Marco burst through the side doors, unleashing suppressing fire against Julian's guards.

The room erupted into chaos. Gunshots echoed off the high plaster ceilings. I scrambled behind the heavy mahogany desk, clutching the leather ledger tightly against my chest.

Damian fought Julian hand-to-hand on the Persian rug. Julian swung wildly with his pistol, but Damian slammed his arm against the stone fireplace, forcing the gun to clatter across the floor. With a powerful right hook, Damian knocked Julian unconscious against the hearth.

Within two minutes, Marco and his men had disarmed the remaining guards.

Damian stood up, his breathing heavy, a small cut bleeding near his temple. He turned immediately toward me.

"Clara! Are you hurt?"

I looked up from behind the desk, clutching the ledger, my heart pounding wildly against my chest—healthy, strong, and unyielding.