Chapter 4
The morning sun failed to pierce the heavy, grey winter clouds looming over the Mercer estate. Inside, the mansion was a fortress on high alert. The festive holiday decorations now stood in stark contrast to the armed guards in tactical gear patrolling the marble corridors.
In Julian’s private study, the air was thick with tension. Julian stood behind his massive walnut desk, reviewing a map of the city’s territories. His tailored suit jacket was discarded, revealing a dark waistcoat that emphasized his broad shoulders.
Marcus, his underboss, paced in front of the roaring fireplace. "Victor Shaw didn't waste any time, Julian. He's called an emergency meeting with the northern syndicates. He's claiming you lost your mind, that you broke a sacred blood oath over a delusional servant."
"Let him talk," Julian growled, pouring a glass of scotch. "Words won't stop bullets. Have they moved on our supply lines?"
"Not yet," Marcus replied, stopping his pacing. "But Vivienne has been making calls to your capos. She’s trying to sow discord, saying you’re unfit to lead if you prioritize a maid over a strategic alliance."
Julian’s eyes narrowed, a lethal darkness settling over his features. "Any capo who entertains a conversation with that woman will answer to me personally. Double the guards at the docks. We hit them before they hit us."
Before Marcus could respond, the heavy mahogany doors opened. Dr. Evans, the syndicate’s private physician, stepped into the room, looking grave.
"How is she?" Julian demanded instantly, abandoning his drink and closing the distance to the doctor.
"She is severely dehydrated and suffering from extreme sleep deprivation," Dr. Evans reported. "Her heart rate was dangerously erratic when I examined her. Forcing someone to stay awake for three days is a psychological and physical torture method, Mr. Mercer. Her body is in shock. I have administered an IV with fluids and mild sedatives to ensure she sleeps deeply."
Julian’s tattooed hands clenched into tight fists. The negative space ink over his knuckles turned white from the pressure. "Will there be permanent damage?"
"Physically, she will recover with rest and proper nutrition," the doctor assured him. "But psychologically... she will need a safe environment. She woke up briefly an hour ago in a panic, asking for the ribbon she dropped."
The muscle in Julian’s jaw feathered. He nodded dismissively to the doctor, who quickly exited the room, sensing the volatile energy radiating from the mafia boss.
"Boss," Marcus said quietly. "I know she means a lot to Rosie. But going to war with the Shaws... it’s going to cost us heavy."
"It's not just about Rosie," Julian stated, his voice a low, vibrating rumble. He looked out the reinforced window at the falling snow. "Vivienne thought she could act as an apex predator in my home. She thought she could break someone under my protection. If I let that stand, I am no longer the king of this city."
"What are your orders?" Marcus asked, straightening his posture.
"Send a team to the Shaw family's casino on the west side," Julian commanded, turning back to his underboss with cold, dead eyes. "Burn it to the ground. Make sure it's completely empty of civilians first, but leave their enforcers inside to burn with it. Send Victor a message he can't ignore."
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Marcus nodded grimly. "Consider it done."
As Marcus left to execute the order, Julian walked out of the study and headed straight for the master guest suite. The war had officially begun, but his only concern was the fragile woman sleeping behind the heavy oak doors.
