Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Wanted His Throne
Vivien arrived early for the family meeting.
That alone told Damian she knew more than she admitted.
The gathering had been scheduled for noon.
By eleven twenty, she was already inside his private suite wearing an ivory suit and diamonds.
“You look better.”
“I feel worse.”
She touched his shoulder.
“You've always hated weakness.”
Damian studied her.
“Do you?”
She smiled.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one.”
Vivien walked to the windows.
“I hate seeing you like this.”
Not an answer.
Damian allowed the silence to stretch.
At eleven forty-five, Bruno arrived.
Then two captains.
Then another.
Carlo remained near Damian.
Hannah brought coffee.
Vivien watched her with open dislike.
Damian noticed Hannah’s posture change the moment Bruno entered.
She remembered him from the garage.
Bruno ignored her.
The meeting began.
Bruno spoke first.
“Businesses need decisions.”
“I make them.”
“With respect, people are nervous.”
“People are always nervous.”
“Collections are slipping.”
“Because you stopped collecting.”
Bruno’s face darkened.
One captain shifted uncomfortably.
Vivien stepped in.
“This doesn't need to become hostile.”
Damian looked at her.
“No?”
“You're recovering.”
“I’m paralyzed.”
Silence.
Vivien corrected herself.
“You're adapting.”
Bruno said:
“We need temporary leadership.”
Carlo laughed.
Bruno glared.
“What?”
“Nothing. Continue your suicide note.”
Damian raised a hand.
Carlo became silent.
“Who do you propose?” Damian asked.
Bruno leaned forward.
“I can coordinate street operations.”
There it was.
Damian nodded.
“And finances?”
Vivien answered.
“My father could provide oversight.”
Damian looked at her.
Bruno looked at her.
Too quickly.
They had rehearsed.
Damian almost admired it.
“So Bruno controls operations and Lombardi controls finances.”
“Temporarily,” Vivien said.
“And me?”
“You recover.”
Damian smiled.
“Comfortable.”
Vivien’s expression softened artificially.
“You've carried this family long enough.”
Hannah stood behind them, pouring coffee.
Damian saw her eyes.
She understood.
Bruno continued.
“It's practical.”
Damian nodded.
“Then let's vote.”
Everyone froze.
Carlo looked at him sharply.
Vivien smiled.
Bruno sat straighter.
Damian named six captains.
Four voted for Bruno’s temporary authority.
Two refused.
Damian stored every name.
Then he signed the document Carlo placed in front of him.
Bruno's face brightened.
“Effective immediately?”
“Effective for seventy-two hours.”
Bruno frowned.
“Why seventy-two?”
“Because if you can run my operation for three days, perhaps you deserve it.”
Vivien touched Bruno’s arm.
Tiny gesture.
Almost invisible.
Damian saw.
So did Hannah.
The meeting ended.
When everyone left, Carlo locked the doors.
“You just handed Bruno control of half the city.”
“No.”
“You signed.”
“I handed him enough rope.”
Carlo exhaled.
Hannah collected cups.
Then said:
“They're sleeping together.”
Both men turned.
“What?” Carlo asked.
Hannah continued stacking saucers.
“Vivien and Bruno.”
Damian stared.
“How do you know?”
“She touched him.”
Carlo snorted.
“People touch.”
“Not like that.”
Hannah mimicked Vivien’s gesture.
“Her thumb rubbed his wrist.”
Damian looked at Carlo.
“You missed it.”
“So did you.”
Damian frowned.
“I was watching Bruno.”
Hannah added:
“And Bruno knew which perfume she wore.”
“How?”
“When she left, he said the room smelled like jasmine again.”
Carlo's eyebrows rose.
Damian leaned back.
Interesting.
Later that evening, surveillance confirmed it.
Vivien entered Bruno’s downtown apartment through the private garage.
They stayed together for ninety minutes.
Damian watched from a secure live feed.
He expected anger.
Again, he felt mostly clarity.
Vivien had never been his great love.
But betrayal carried its own insult.
Hannah appeared in the doorway.
“You should eat.”
“Not hungry.”
“That isn't the same as not needing food.”
She carried soup.
Damian looked at the screen.
Vivien and Bruno appeared together.
Hannah saw.
Her expression softened.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“Because knowing somebody doesn't love you still hurts even if you don't love them.”
Damian looked at her.
“That sounds contradictory.”
“It isn't.”
“How?”
“You can mourn what you thought something was.”
Damian glanced back at the screen.
“You have experience?”
Hannah’s face closed.
“Everyone does.”
Not everyone, he thought.
But he did not push.
She handed him soup.
He took the bowl himself.
No reason to pretend in front of her now.
Hannah sat near the window.
For several minutes, they ate in silence.
Then Damian asked:
“What happened to your father?”
She looked at him.
“You read my file.”
“I read facts.”
“He gambled.”
“So?”
“So eventually gambling mattered more than us.”
“Where is he?”
“Atlantic City last I heard.”
“You hate him?”
Hannah considered.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Hate is expensive.”
Damian almost smiled.
“You sound older than twenty-eight.”
“I've been tired since nineteen.”
He laughed quietly.
Then she asked:
“Why are you really doing this?”
“The fake paralysis?”
“Yes.”
“To identify traitors.”
“That’s only part of it.”
Damian studied her.
“You enjoy dangerous questions.”
“You invited me into the dangerous room.”
Fair.
He looked toward the city.
“My father died because somebody close to him gave his route to an assassin.”
Hannah said nothing.
“I was twenty-six.”
“Did you find out who?”
“No.”
“Maybe this is about him too.”
Damian looked at her.
“It is.”
“Then be careful.”
“With what?”
“Wanting betrayal so badly that you see it everywhere.”
He stiffened.
“You think I’m paranoid?”
“I think you built a test where everyone fails unless they behave exactly the way you hope.”
“And you?”
“I’m not being tested.”
“Aren't you?”
Hannah looked at him.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you can walk.”
Damian smiled.
“That doesn't make you exempt.”
“It does in my mind.”
She stood.
“Good night.”
“Hannah.”
“Yes?”
“Would you have stayed if I were really paralyzed?”
The question surprised both of them.
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it wouldn't change the job.”
Damian’s gaze held hers.
“Only the job?”
Hannah's breathing shifted.
Then she looked away.
“Good night, Mr. Russo.”
She left.
Damian remained awake long after.
At one in the morning, Carlo arrived.
“Bruno made his first move.”
Damian became alert.
“What?”
“He transferred six million dollars from the docks into a Lombardi-controlled company.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Document it.”
Carlo handed over another report.
“Moretti soldiers are moving near Warehouse Nine.”
“Let them.”
“Boss.”
“Trust me.”
Carlo laughed bitterly.
“You're pretending to be paralyzed, your fiancée is sleeping with one of your captains, four capos voted to replace you, and you’re flirting with the maid.”
Damian stared.
“I am not flirting.”
Carlo walked away.
“You asked if she'd stay if you were paralyzed.”
“So?”
“That's practically a proposal from you.”
The paperweight flew again.
Carlo ducked.
Then his expression changed.
“Wait.”
His phone buzzed.
He read the message.
“What?”
Carlo looked up.
“Warehouse Nine is on fire.”
Damian stood.
“Casualties?”
“Unknown.”
Another message arrived.
Carlo's face drained.
“What?”
“Hannah's inside.”
Damian stopped breathing.
“She wasn't supposed to be there.”
“She went to collect inventory records for Mrs. Gable.”
Damian grabbed his coat.
Carlo blocked him.
“If you show yourself walking—”
“Move.”
“Your entire operation—”
“Move.”
“You expose the plan.”
Damian looked at him.
“Hannah is inside.”
May you like
That was enough.
Thirty seconds later, the supposedly paralyzed mafia boss was running toward the elevator.
