710 "The Mafia Boss Installed Cameras for His Disabled Twin, but the Plus-Size Housekeeper Did What He Had Feared for Seven Years

The heavy iron gates at the south perimeter had been breached by a snowplow heavily armored with steel plates. Gunfire erupted across the frozen front lawn, the sharp pops of submachine guns cutting through the howling winter wind.

Dominic moved through the main hall like a ghost, his security team falling into formation behind him. Calvin Ross, the house manager, was already directing the house staff toward the underground panic room.

"Get the servants downstairs!" Dominic yelled over the sound of breaking glass in the conservatory. "Where is Grace?"

"She refused to go to the shelter, sir!" Calvin shouted back, holding a tactical shotgun. "She went back to the east wing!"

Dominic swore under his breath and doubled back. Victor’s men weren't here to rob the place; they were here to finish what they started seven years ago. If Victor wiped out Julian, Dominic’s authority over the family syndicate would shatter, leaving him vulnerable to a complete takeover.

In the east wing, three masked men in white winter camouflage kicked through the French doors of the courtyard, snow blowing into the library. Julian was helpless in his wheelchair near the desk, his hands gripping the armrests tightly.

"The crippled twin," one of the men sneered, raising an automatic rifle. "Victor sends his regards."

Before the gunman could pull the trigger, a heavy bronze statue of Hercules slammed into the side of his head. He crumpled to the floor instantly. Grace stood behind him, breathing heavily, holding the blood-stained sculpture with both hands. Her uniform was torn at the shoulder, her hair coming undone from its tight bun.

"Get away from him!" she screamed, swinging the heavy bronze at the second gunman.

The second intruder dodged, grabbing Grace by her throat and slamming her against the oak bookshelf. Books rained down around them. Grace choked, flailing, her fingers clawing at the gunman’s tactical vest.

BANG.

A single shot echoed through the room. The man holding Grace stiffened, a red flower blooming in the center of his chest. He collapsed to the carpet.

Grace sank to her knees, gasping for air, looking up in shock. Standing beside the desk, holding a heavy revolver he had kept hidden inside the hollowed-out base of his typewriter, was Julian. His hand trembled violently, but his eyes were blazing with a cold, terrifying ferocity. He had saved her.

Dominic burst through the doors a second later, taking down the third gunman with two swift shots to the chest. He surveyed the chaotic scene—the shattered glass, the fallen bodies, Grace on the floor catching her breath, and his twin brother holding a smoking gun.