She Was Left to Freeze on Christmas Night — What the Mafia Boss Did Next Shocked Everyone
As the dress fell away, Tony’s jaw tightened. Underneath the uniform, Clara was terrifyingly thin. Her ribs were visible against her pale skin. But what made Tony’s blood boil were the bruises. Old yellow ones on her arms, fresh purple ones on her shins. And on her shoulder, a distinct red mark—a handprint.
Lana, he thought. Or Mrs. Gable.
He covered her with the thick down duvet. It wasn’t enough. She was shivering now—violent spasms that shook the entire bed.
«Cold,» she moaned, her eyes still squeezed shut. «So cold. Papa… I’m sorry.»
«Shh,» Tony soothed, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He grabbed the remote and cranked the room’s thermostat to eighty-five degrees. He ran to the fireplace and threw three large logs onto the dying embers, stoking them until a roar of heat filled the room.
The door burst open. Dr. Eris rushed in, carrying a black medical bag. He was breathless, his coat dusted with snow.
«I’m here, Tony. Marco said it was urgent.»
«Hypothermia,» Tony barked, moving aside but hovering close like a guard dog. «She was out in the blizzard for twenty minutes, maybe thirty. Wet clothes. She’s barely responsive.»
Dr. Eris’s face went grave. He immediately began checking her vitals. He shone a light in her eyes, listened to her heart, and took her temperature.
«Her core temp is ninety-two,» Eris said, working quickly to set up an IV drip. «She’s in moderate hypothermia. The shivering is actually a good sign—it means her body is still fighting. If she stops shivering before she warms up, we’re in trouble.»
«What do we do?» Tony asked, his fists clenched at his sides. He felt helpless, a feeling he despised.
«Warm fluids,» Eris said, hanging a bag of saline. «We need to get her core temperature up. And body heat. External heat sources.» The doctor looked at Tony. «The electric blankets are good, but the most effective way to transfer heat in a situation like this is body-to-body contact. She needs a human radiator.»
Tony didn’t blink. «Done.»
«Tony…» Eris warned, lowering his voice. «She’s a maid. You’re the Don. If you get in that bed…»
«I don’t give a damn about titles, Eris. If she dies, I’m going to hold everyone in this house accountable. Including myself.»
Tony stripped off his suit jacket, his tie, and his wet shirt. He kicked off his shoes and trousers, leaving himself in his boxers and undershirt. His body was a furnace of muscle and heat.
He climbed into the bed, sliding under the covers behind Clara. The shock of her cold skin against his was jarring. It was like hugging a block of ice. But he didn’t pull away. He pulled her flush against him, wrapping his large arms around her small frame, pressing her back against his chest. He tangled his legs with hers, trying to transfer as much warmth as possible.
«It’s okay,» he whispered into her hair, which smelled of snow and cheap vanilla shampoo. «I’m here. You’re safe.»
Clara groaned, her teeth chattering so hard he could feel the vibrations in his own bones. «B-but… please… don’t lock the door.»
«The door is open,» Tony murmured, rubbing her arms vigorously to stimulate blood flow. «No one is ever locking you out again.»
Dr. Eris watched them for a moment, surprised by the tenderness in the Mafia boss’s eyes. He had patched Tony up after knife fights and shootouts. He had seen him punish enemies without blinking. He had never seen him look at anyone with this level of protectiveness.
«I’ll monitor her heart rate,» Eris said quietly, pulling a chair up to the bed. «Keep talking to her. Keep her conscious if you can.»
For the next hour, the room was silent except for the crackling fire and Clara’s ragged breathing. Tony lay there, holding her, becoming her anchor. Slowly, agonizingly, the violent shivering began to subside. Her skin began to lose that deathly, waxy texture.
Clara stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open. Her vision was blurry. All she could feel was heat—intense, overwhelming heat—and a scent: sandalwood, scotch, and something masculine and safe.
She turned her head slightly and saw a wall of muscle. She looked up and saw a jawline rough with stubble.
«Mr. Moretti?» she rasped, her voice barely a squeak.
Tony looked down, his grey eyes softening. «Easy. Don’t try to move.»
«Am I… Am I dead?»
«No,» Tony said firmly. «You’re in my room. You’re safe.»
Clara’s eyes widened in panic. She tried to scramble away, but her limbs were heavy and weak. «Your room? Miss Vance… She’ll kill me. She said she’d make me disappear.»
«Lana isn’t here,» Tony said, his voice hardening at the mention of his fiancée. He tightened his hold on her just enough to keep her from hurting herself. «And she is never going to touch you again. Do you understand me?»
Clara looked at him, confused. «Why… why did you… come for me?»
«Because,» Tony said, brushing a damp strand of hair off her forehead, «I saw you. And I realized I had been blind for too long.»
Suddenly, the door to the bedroom rattled.
«Enzo!» Lana’s voice screeched from the hallway. «Open this door! I know you have that woman in there! My father is on the phone!»
Clara flinched, burying her face in the pillow. «She’s going to hurt me.»
Tony’s expression shifted from protector to killer in a split second. He looked at Dr. Eris. «Stay with her. Keep her warm.»
«Tony, don’t do anything rash,» Eris warned.
«Rash?» Tony slid out of bed, grabbing a silk robe and tying it tight. He walked to the door, his movements fluid and deadly. «I’m way past rash, Doc.»
He ripped the door open. Lana was standing there, phone in hand, looking furious. But her fury evaporated the moment she saw Tony’s face.
«Enzo, my father wants to…»
Tony snatched the phone from her hand and crushed it. He threw the shattered pieces against the wall.
«You,» Tony growled, pointing a finger in her face. «You are going to go downstairs. You are going to pack your things, and you are going to get out of my house.»
«You can’t kick me out!» Lana stammered, backing away. «The contract. The merger…»
«The merger is dead,» Tony declared. «And if you say one more word, your future will be too.»
The fever broke just before dawn on Christmas morning.
Clara woke up, but for a moment she thought she had died and gone to heaven. The bed she was lying in was softer than clouds. The air smelled of woodsmoke and expensive cologne. She stretched her legs, expecting the cramping cold of the servants’ quarters, but instead, she felt warm flannel sheets against her skin.
She opened her eyes. The room was bathed in the soft grey light of a snowy morning. It was massive, easily four times the size of the apartment she grew up in.
«You’re awake.»
Clara jumped, pulling the duvet up to her chin.
Tony Moretti was sitting in a leather armchair by the fire, reading a file. He looked different than the terrifying boss she had glimpsed from the shadows for the past three months. He was wearing a dark grey cable-knit sweater and sweatpants. He looked… human. But the firearm resting on the side table next to his coffee cup was a stark reminder of who he was.
«Mr. Moretti,» Clara whispered. «I… I should get up. I have to prep the breakfast service. Mrs. Gable will kill me.»
Tony closed the file and stood up. «Mrs. Gable is gone, Clara. And you are not prepping breakfast. You are eating it.»
He walked over to a rolling cart and pushed it toward the bed. It was laden with silver platters: pancakes, fruit, eggs, and freshly squeezed juice.
«I don’t understand,» Clara said, her voice trembling. «Why are you doing this? I’m just a maid.»
«No,» Tony said, sitting on the edge of the bed. His weight dipped the mattress, bringing him closer to her. «You are the woman I found freezing on my patio because my fiancée is a psychopath. You are my guest.»
He picked up a fork, stabbed a piece of melon, and held it out to her. «Eat.»
Clara hesitated, then took the bite. The sweetness exploded in her mouth. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. She ate quickly, forgetting her manners, driven by a primal need for fuel.
Tony watched her, a strange tightness in his chest. He poured her coffee. «Slow down. You’ll make yourself sick.»
When she had eaten enough, she pushed the plate away. «Thank you. I… I’ve never had a meal like that.»
«Clara,» Tony said, his tone shifting to business. «I need to know something. Last night, when you were shivering, you apologized to your father. You said you were sorry about the money.»
Clara froze. She looked down at her hands.
«I ran a background check on you while you were sleeping,» Tony continued, his voice calm but intense. «You’re overqualified for this job. You have a degree in literature. You were a teacher. Why are you scrubbing floors for me?»
Clara felt the tears welling up again. The shame was almost worse than the cold.
«My father. He has a gambling problem. He got in deep with some bad people in Chicago. A loan shark named Vinnie.»
«Vinnie ‘The Knuckles’ Gambino?» Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.
Clara nodded. «He owes him $50,000. Vinnie said if I didn’t pay it off, he’d… he’d break my father’s legs. I took this job because the pay was high, and I send every cent back to Chicago.»
Tony stared at her. «You walked into a blizzard to find a diamond earring because you were afraid of losing a job that pays a debt to a low-level thug?»
«It’s not low-level to me!» Clara snapped, finding a sudden spark of courage. «It’s my father’s life. I don’t have power like you, Mr. Moretti. I don’t have guns and soldiers. I just have me.»
Tony looked at her—really looked at her—with a newfound respect. She wasn’t weak. She was a warrior in a maid’s uniform, fighting a war she couldn’t win for a man who probably didn’t deserve it.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand. He dialed a number and put it on speaker.
Ring. Ring.
«Yeah?» a gravelly voice answered. «This is Vinnie.»
«Vinnie,» Tony said smoothly. «This is Tony Moretti.»
There was a silence on the line—a terrified, choking silence. «Mr. Moretti? To what do I owe the honor? I… I pay my kickbacks to your cousins in Jersey.»
«This isn’t about kickbacks,» Tony said, his eyes locked on Clara’s. «You hold a marker for a man named Arthur Thorne. Fifty grand.»
«Yeah, yeah, the deadbeat. His daughter is paying it off, though. She’s a good kid.»
«The debt is cleared,» Tony said.
«Excuse me?»
«I said the debt is cleared, as of this second. And you are going to refund every penny the girl has sent you so far. You’re going to wire it back to her account by noon.»
«But Mr. Moretti, that’s my money…»
«Vinnie,» Tony’s voice dropped an octave. «Arthur Thorne is now under my protection. His daughter is under my protection. If you go near them, if you call them, if you even think about them, I will fly to Chicago and dismantle your entire operation. Do we have an understanding?»
«Yes… yes, Boss. Absolutely. Consider it done.»
Tony hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed.
