Chapter 3
The exodus from the mansion was swift and chaotic. The city’s criminal elite understood the lethal finality in Julian Mercer’s tone. Within minutes, the sprawling reception hall was emptied of its glittering guests, leaving behind half-empty champagne flutes on carved furniture and a heavy, suffocating silence.
Julian ignored the frantic scrambling of the Shaw family. His entire focus remained anchored on the velvet armchair. Tessa’s eyes were fluttering shut, her body finally surrendering to the crushing weight of seventy-two hours of forced wakefulness.
"Papa," Rosie whimpered, her tiny hand patting Tessa’s arm. "Mommy is broken."
"She isn't broken, piccola," Julian murmured, his voice softening entirely as he knelt beside the chair. He reached out, his tattooed fingers gently brushing a disheveled strand of hair from Tessa’s pale face. "She is just very, very tired."
Tessa forced her eyes open, struggling against the heavy tide of unconsciousness. "Mr. Mercer... I have to finish the garlands. She'll ring the bell again."
The raw, conditioned terror in her voice twisted a knife deep in Julian’s chest. "No one is ever going to ring a bell at you again, Tessa," he vowed, his dark eyes burning with fierce, protective heat. "You are done working."
"But my job..." she mumbled, her head lolling against the velvet cushion.
"Your only job right now is to sleep," Julian commanded gently.
He didn't call for another servant. He didn't ask his guards for help. Julian slipped one strong arm beneath Tessa’s knees and the other around her back, lifting her effortlessly against his broad chest. Her head fell naturally against his shoulder, her breathing shallow and ragged.
"Marcus," Julian called out to his towering, scarred underboss who was securing the perimeter of the room. "Take Rosie up to her nursery. Have two men stationed outside her door."
"Yes, Boss," Marcus replied, gently scooping the toddler into his arms. "And the Shaws? They are threatening retaliation on their way out the gates."
"Let them threaten," Julian said, his angular jaw setting into stone. "Lock down the estate. No one enters or leaves without my direct authorization. If Victor Shaw brings his men near our borders, slaughter them."
Julian carried Tessa through the silent, amber-lit corridors of the mansion, ascending the grand sweeping staircase toward the private, secure wing of the house. He bypassed the staff quarters entirely. Instead, he kicked open the heavy oak doors to his own master guest suite—a massive, secure room directly connected to his own.
He laid her gently on the sprawling king-sized bed, pulling the thick down comforter over her trembling, exhausted frame. He carefully removed her crooked white headband and her shoes, ensuring she was comfortable.
Tessa was already deeply asleep, her chest rising and falling in a steady, heavy rhythm.
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Julian stood by the edge of the bed, watching her in the dim light. He had hired her a year ago, noting her gentle nature and the immediate, profound bond she had formed with his motherless daughter. He had kept his distance, respecting the boundaries of his brutal world. But watching Vivienne break her had shattered his restraint.
"I will tear their empire to the ground for what they did to you," Julian whispered to the sleeping woman. He turned off the bedside lamp, stepping out to prepare for the violent storm he had just summoned.
