He Sent His Maid Into a Christmas Blizzard for One Bottle of Wine, but the Mafia Boss Learned Who Had Really Ordered Her to Die

Roman didn't hesitate. He ripped off his heavy wool overcoat, wrapping it around Claire’s limp, freezing body. He scooped her up into his arms, pulling her tightly against his chest to offer whatever residual body heat he possessed.

She was terrifyingly cold, heavy and unresponsive in his arms.

"Stay with me," he growled into the storm, his boots breaking through the deep snow as he carried her back toward the mansion. "Claire. Stay with me."

Nothing. Her head fell back against his shoulder, her breath invisible in the freezing air.

He looked up at the massive, glowing windows of DeLuca House. Golden light spilled out onto the snow. He could see the silhouettes of his guests inside—drinking, laughing, celebrating beneath crystal chandeliers.

A violent, black rage surged through Roman’s veins, hotter than any fire.

Someone in that house had sent this innocent woman out to die. Someone had treated her life like trash to be thrown into a blizzard for a bottle of wine.

"Whoever did this," Roman whispered into the howling wind, his grip tightening around Claire, "is going to wish I never found you."

He kicked open the service doors with enough force to splinter the wooden frame.

The heat of the mansion hit him, but he ignored it, rushing straight into the service hall. The staff gasped as they saw their intimidating boss burst inside, covered in snow, holding the unconscious, frozen body of the server.

"Get Dr. Keller!" Roman roared, his voice shaking the framing of the room. "NOW! In my private quarters!"

"Yes, Mr. DeLuca!" Frank shouted, instantly sprinting toward the main house to fetch the family’s private physician who was attending the party.

Roman carried Claire up the back staircase, bypassing the main ballroom entirely, and barged into his private master suite. He laid her gently on the massive king-sized bed, stripping away his wet jacket and immediately pulling the heavy down comforters over her shivering frame.

Her face was still deathly pale, her skin icy to the touch.

Dr. Keller burst into the room moments later, carrying his emergency medical bag, followed by Frank.

"What happened?!" Keller asked, rushing to the bedside and pulling out a stethoscope.

"Hypothermia," Roman said, his breathing heavy, his hands trembling slightly—a phenomenon Frank had never seen in all his ten years of serving Roman DeLuca. "She was outside for nearly an hour. Barely has a pulse."

Keller worked quickly, placing warm saline packs around Claire's torso and checking her core temperature. "Her core temp is dangerously low—89 degrees. She's in severe shock. We need to warm her slowly, or her heart will go into fatal arrhythmia."

As Keller worked, the bedroom door opened again.

Vivian Mercer walked in, holding a small plate of appetizers. She looked around the room with a slight frown of distaste.

"Roman, darling, everyone is wondering where you went," Vivian said smoothy, taking a bite of a tartlet. "The mayor wants to toast to the new harbor contract. You really shouldn't ruin the evening over an accident with the domestic staff."

Roman turned slowly to face her.

The air in the room instantly plummeted. Even Dr. Keller stopped his movements for a fraction of a second, sensing the absolute lethality radiating from the head of the DeLuca family.

Roman took three slow, deliberate steps toward his fiancée.

"An accident?" Roman asked, his voice deceptively soft.

Vivian faltered slightly under his dark, terrifying gaze, but she held her head high. "She was clumsy. She shouldn't have stayed out so long if she couldn't open the door."

Roman reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around Vivian's slender throat. He didn't choke her, but the pressure was enough to stop her breath, forcing her to look directly into his eyes.

"You sent her out there," Roman whispered. "Knowing it was locked. Knowing the storm was turning."

Vivian’s eyes widened in shock and sudden fear. "Roman... I... I just wanted the wine..."

"If she dies," Roman said, his thumb pressing lightly against her artery, "you will answer to me personally. Do you understand me, Vivian?"

He released her, shoving her back toward the door. Vivian stumbled, clutching her throat, her face pale with humiliation and growing terror.

"Get out of my room," Roman commanded. "And do not leave this house."

Vivian turned and fled the suite.

Roman turned back to the bed, stepping up beside Dr. Keller. He looked down at Claire’s pale face, his heart aching with a profound, terrifying protective instinct he had never felt before.