She Was Left to Freeze on Christmas Night — What the Mafia Boss Did Next Shocked Everyone
He stood by the fireplace in his mahogany-paneled study, nursing a glass of fifty-year-old scotch. He was six foot four, built like a heavyweight boxer, with eyes the color of stormy seas and a jawline that could cut glass. He was thirty-two years old, and already the most feared man on the East Coast.
«Enzo, darling.»
He didn’t turn around. He knew that voice. It was Lana.
«What is it, Lana?»
«You’ve been up here for an hour,» she whined, entering the room and draping her arms around his waist from behind. «The guests are asking for you. Senator Miller wants to discuss the sanitation contracts.»
Tony sighed, stepping away from her touch. He walked to his desk and set the glass down. «I’ll be down in a minute. I just need quiet.»
He looked at her. She was flushed, breathless, and oddly excited. There was a manic energy to her tonight that unsettled him.
«You look tense,» Lana said, running a hand down the lapel of his Brioni suit. «You need to relax. I took care of a little pest problem downstairs. The night is going to be perfect.»
«Pest problem?» Tony raised an eyebrow. «What are you talking about?»
«Oh, nothing. Just staff issues. Mrs. Gable handled it.» She smiled a little too widely. «Come down. I want to dance.»
Tony stared at her. He had never truly loved Lana. Their engagement was a strategic alliance between the Morettis and the Vances, a banking family that washed money for the cartel. But lately, her cruelty was becoming hard to ignore.
«Go,» he said, his voice low. «I’ll be down in five minutes.»
Lana pouted but left, closing the door behind her.
Tony exhaled, loosening his tie. He walked to the window. His study overlooked the rear terrace and the sprawling gardens that led down to the frozen lake. The blizzard was raging harder now. The floodlights mounted on the roof cut through the driving snow, illuminating the patio in stark white relief.
He watched the snow swirl, mesmerized by the violence of nature. It was the only thing in the world he couldn’t control. His gaze drifted down to the patio directly below the ballroom. The snow was pristine, untouched, piling up in drifts against the stone balustrade.
Except for one spot.
Tony squinted. There was a lump against the far railing. It looked like a sack of potatoes, or perhaps a cushion from the outdoor furniture that the staff had forgotten to bring in. He took a sip of scotch, about to turn away.
Then, the lump moved.
It was a tiny, almost imperceptible shift. A hand falling from a knee.
Tony’s heart stopped. He dropped his glass. It shattered on the hardwood floor, amber liquid splashing everywhere, but he didn’t hear it. He pressed his face against the cold glass of the window.
That wasn’t a cushion. That was a person. He saw the black fabric. The white lace of a collar. A maid.
«What the hell,» he muttered.
He threw the window latch open, ignoring the blast of freezing air that invaded the room. He leaned out.
«Hey!» he roared into the wind. «Who is that?»
No response. The figure was still. The snow was already covering the shoulders, burying the hair.
Tony didn’t think. He didn’t call security. He didn’t buzz Mrs. Gable. The instinct that had kept him alive in the Mafia wars kicked in—the instinct to protect what was his. And everyone in this house, down to the lowest scullery maid, was his responsibility.
He spun around and sprinted for the door. He moved through the hallway like a thunderstorm, bypassing the grand staircase and taking the servants’ stairs two at a time. He burst into the kitchen, startling the chefs.
«Boss?» the head chef stammered.
«Out of my way!» Tony roared.
He kicked open the back service door that led to the patio. The wind howled, trying to push him back, but Tony was an immovable force. He stepped out into the snow, his Italian leather shoes sinking instantly.
«Hello!» he shouted.
He waded through the drift, the cold biting through his suit instantly. If he was this cold after ten seconds, he couldn’t imagine what the person on the ground was feeling. He reached the figure and fell to his knees. He grabbed the shoulder and turned the person over.
Tony’s breath hitched.
It was the new girl. Clara.
He remembered her. He remembered her because she was the only person in this house who didn’t look at him with fear or greed. She looked at him with a quiet sadness that mirrored his own. She had soft brown eyes and hands that looked like they had worked hard every day of her life.
Now, her face was pale, almost blue. Her lips were cracked and purple. Her eyelashes were frozen together with ice crystals.
«Clara,» he growled, shaking her. «Clara, wake up.»
She didn’t respond. Her skin was terrifyingly cold to the touch. Tony placed a hand on her neck, searching for a pulse. It was there—faint, thready, fluttering like a dying bird.
She was dying. Right here, twenty feet from where his guests were eating caviar.
A rage unlike anything Tony had ever felt exploded in his chest. It wasn’t the cold, calculated anger of a businessman. It was the hot, molten fury of a predator whose territory had been violated.
He scooped her up in his arms. She was impossibly light, like a hollow bone. Her head lolled back against his shoulder, her ice-cold cheek pressing against his neck.
«I’ve got… you,» he whispered fiercely into her frozen ear. «I’ve got you. Don’t you dare die on me.»
He stood up, cradling her against his chest, shielding her from the wind with his own body. He turned back toward the house, looking through the glass of the French doors.
He could see the party. He saw Lana laughing, holding court with a glass of wine in her hand. He saw Mrs. Gable smirk at a waiter. They looked comfortable. They looked happy.
Tony kicked the door. Thud.
He kicked it again, harder. Thud.
Inside, the music stopped. Heads turned. Tony didn’t wait for someone to unlock it. He stepped back, shifted Clara’s weight securely in his arms, and raised his heavy boot. With a roar of exertion, he smashed his heel into the lock mechanism.
Wood splintered. Metal screeched.
The double doors flew open, banging against the interior walls with a violence that made half the room scream. Wind and snow swirled into the ballroom, followed by Tony Moretti.
He looked like a demon rising from the ice. His hair was windswept, his suit covered in snow, his eyes burning with a lethal fire. And in his arms, he held the frozen, limp body of the maid.
The room went deathly silent. The only sound was the howling wind from the open door behind him. Lana dropped her glass.
Tony scanned the room, his gaze landing on his fiancée.
«Who?» Tony’s voice was a low rumble, quiet but terrifying enough to reach every corner of the silent hall. «Who put her out there?»
No one spoke. Tony stepped into the light, tightening his grip on Clara.
«I said, who locked the door?»
The silence in the ballroom was absolute, broken only by the whistling of the storm entering through the shattered doors. Tony stood there, a titan of rage, water dripping from his suit, the unconscious girl pressed against his chest. His eyes swept across the room, landing on faces he had known for years. Politicians, business partners, mob capos—none of them dared to meet his gaze.
«I asked a question,» Tony said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm register. «Who put her out there?»
Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper, stepped forward, trembling. She wrung her hands, her face pale.
«Mr. Moretti? Sir, it was a disciplinary measure. She… she broke a tray. She was insubordinate.»
«Insubordinate?» Tony repeated the word as if it tasted like poison. He looked down at Clara’s blue-tinged face. «So you sentenced her to freeze?»
«No, no, sir,» Mrs. Gable stammered. «She was just supposed to look for Miss Vance’s earring. We didn’t know she was still out there. We thought she had come back in through the kitchen.»
«Liar,» Tony spat. «The door was locked. I had to kick it in.»
He turned his gaze to Lana. She was standing by the buffet table, her face a mask of indignation rather than guilt. She set her wine glass down with a sharp clink.
«Oh, for heaven’s sake, Enzo,» Lana sighed, smoothing her dress. «Stop being so dramatic. She’s just a maid. She’s probably faking it to get attention. Look at her, she’s filthy. You’re ruining your suit.»
The room gasped. Even the hardened criminals present looked uncomfortable.
Tony walked slowly toward Lana. Every step was heavy, deliberate. The crowd parted like the Red Sea. He stopped inches from her. The cold radiating off him was palpable.
«Faking it,» Tony whispered.
He shifted Clara slightly so her frozen, lifeless hand dangled in front of Lana. «Touch her.»
«I will not.»
«Touch her!» Tony roared, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling.
Lana flinched, terrified. She reached out a manicured finger and brushed Clara’s hand. She recoiled instantly. «My God. She’s ice.»
«She is dying,» Tony said, his eyes boring into Lana’s soul. «Because of an earring.»
«It was a diamond!» Lana shrieked, her defense crumbling into petulance. «The one you gave me. She lost it. She had to find it.»
Tony stared at her for a long, agonizing second. Then he looked at the engagement ring on her finger.
«You value a stone over a human life. That is the difference between us, Lana. I eliminate enemies. You torture innocents.»
He turned his back on her, dismissing her existence entirely. «Marco!»
His consigliere, Marco, a man with a scar running down his cheek and a darker soul than Tony’s, materialized from the shadows. «Boss?»
«Clear the room,» Tony commanded. «Everyone out. The party is over.»
«But the Senator…» Marco started.
«I don’t care if the President is here. Get them out. Now. And call Dr. Eris. Tell him if he isn’t here in ten minutes, I’ll destroy his practice.»
«Yes, Boss.»
As Marco began barking orders for the security team to usher the confused and frightened guests toward the exit, Tony looked at Mrs. Gable.
«You,» he said.
Mrs. Gable whimpered. «Sir, I was just following orders…»
«Pack your bags,» Tony said coldly. «You have one hour to leave this estate. If I see you on my property after that, you will face consequences far worse than unemployment.»
Mrs. Gable burst into tears and fled the room.
Lana tried to grab Tony’s arm as he walked toward the stairs. «Enzo, you can’t be serious. You’re humiliating me in front of everyone over a servant. Where are you going?»
Tony didn’t stop walking. «I’m taking her to the master suite.»
«The master suite?» Lana screamed, her face turning blotchy with rage. «That’s our room. You can’t put that filthy girl in our bed!»
Tony stopped on the bottom step. He didn’t turn around.
«It’s not our room, Lana. It’s my room. And right now, you aren’t welcome in it.»
He ascended the stairs, carrying the girl who was slowly freezing to death in his arms, leaving his fiancée screaming amidst the ruins of the Christmas party.
The master suite of the Moretti estate was a fortress of luxury. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, and the bed was large enough to sleep four people. But Tony saw none of the opulence. All he saw was the terrifying shade of blue on Clara’s lips.
He kicked the door shut and laid her gently on the silk sheets. She was so stiff it felt like he was laying down a mannequin.
«Hang on,» he muttered, his hands moving fast. «Just hang on, Clara.»
He knew the protocol for hypothermia. He had spent time in the Italian Alps during his training years. You couldn’t just throw them in a hot shower; the shock would stop her heart. You had to warm them slowly from the core.
But first, the wet clothes had to go.
Tony didn’t hesitate. There was nothing sexual in his movements. It was purely clinical, fueled by desperation. He grabbed a pair of scissors from his desk drawer and cut the sodden, freezing uniform from her body. The fabric was stiff with ice.
