Chapter 3
Nia didn’t waste another second looking at Eleanor. She dropped to her knees beside the overturned chair, the expensive emerald silk of her gown pooling around her on the Persian carpet. Her hands, adorned with the heavy gold signet ring of the family, moved with frantic, desperate speed.
Julian’s eyes were wide and terrified, rolling back slightly as his chest hitched in a brutal, agonizing rhythm. The blow to his ribs had knocked the wind out of him, but his asthma, triggered by the sheer panic of the assault, was closing his airway completely.
"Mommy's here, baby. I've got you, I've got you," Nia murmured, her voice cracking as she reached into the slit of her gown, pulling a hidden, razor-sharp stiletto knife from a thigh holster.
With one swift, precise motion, Nia sliced through the thick decorative fabric sash binding Julian’s wrists. She tossed the ruined linen aside and carefully, gently pulled her son’s trembling body against her chest. She cradled his head, her striking natural beauty marred by a mask of sheer terror.
Julian’s tiny hands grabbed fistfuls of the emerald silk, his knuckles turning white. He struggled for each breath, his chest expanding in jagged, broken intervals. The navy blue velvet of his blazer was rumpled and dusted with carpet lint.
"Breathe with me, Julian. Look at me, baby. Match my breathing," Nia instructed, forcing her own chest to rise and fall in a slow, exaggerated rhythm despite the panic screaming in her brain. "In... and out. You're safe now. Mommy has you."
Julian squeezed his eyes shut, a single tear cutting a path down his glowing golden-brown cheek. His breathing was wet and shallow, a terrifying wheeze filling the space between them.
"Mom..." Julian wheezed, his voice so weak it was barely a whisper.
"Don't speak, sweetie. Save your air," Nia pleaded, rocking him gently.
Julian shook his head slightly, leaning his face closer to her ear. His tiny fingers gripped her diamond drop earring for an anchor. He took a ragged, painful gasp, his body shivering in her arms.
"Mom… I told Grandma," Julian whispered weakly, each word costing him an immense amount of effort. "I told Grandma I couldn’t breathe… before you came."
Nia froze. The frantic beating of her heart seemed to stop completely in her chest.
She looked down at her son, seeing the raw innocence and the deep betrayal in his eyes. He had asked his grandmother for help. He had begged for air. And Eleanor had stood by in her tailored pearl-white dress and watched Preston kick him.
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The maternal panic in Nia’s blood crystallized instantly. It hardened into something cold, dark, and utterly merciless. The terrified mother vanished, and the head of the organization, the ruthless woman who controlled the city's underworld, rose to the surface. She carefully pressed a kiss to Julian’s forehead.
"I know, baby," Nia whispered, her voice dropping to a terrifying, dead calm. "Mommy is going to fix it."
