His Fiancée Forced a Poor Maid to Kneel All Night—Then the Mafia Boss Walked In and Saw Everything

An hour passed. Then two.

The gallery had grown bitterly cold as the night temperature outside dropped toward the freezing point. Drafts from the old river-facing windows slithered along the floor, wrapping around Fay’s exposed ankles and shivering arms. Her legs had long since gone completely numb, replaced by a dull, throbbing pain that vibrated through her spine.

Her vision blurred slightly as exhaustion fought against her sheer force of will. To keep herself conscious, Fay repeated the story she had told Josie that morning—the tale of two little blue boats sailing across a dark, turbulent sea toward a shore where the sun never set. In her mind, she held Josie’s small, warm hand against her cheek, feeling the steady vibration of life that kept them both anchored.

At 3:45 AM, the heavy oak doors at the end of the east wing study clicked open.

Rafferty Cain stepped out into the corridor. He had spent the last two hours reviewing shipping manifests and enforcement reports with Silvano. He carried a leather folder under his arm, his suit jacket removed, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the thick cords of his neck. He was exhausted, the heavy burden of running a multi-million-dollar criminal and legitimate enterprise weighing heavily on his shoulders.

He walked down the private gallery, his leather shoes making no sound on the runner rugs laying across the center of the hall. He intended to pour himself a glass of whiskey in the drawing room before attempting to sleep for a few hours.

As he rounded the marble pillar near the center of the gallery, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The air in his lungs seemed to freeze instantly.

In the middle of the cold, uncarpeted marble floor sat Fay. She was on her knees, her back rigid, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her lips were blue from the cold, her body shivering in violent, involuntary tremors, but her head remained held high, staring blankly at the dark wood paneling across from her.

A few yards away, leaning lazily against the wall, were Celeste’s two personal guards. One of them was playing a game on his smartphone, while the other picked his teeth with a wooden toothpick.

Rafferty’s gray eyes narrowed into two deadly points of steel. A terrible, silent rage flared in his chest—a rage so sudden and absolute that the air around him seemed to drop ten degrees.

He did not shout. He did not step forward immediately. He simply stood there, watching the scene unfold, his mind reconstructing the horror of what had been happening under his roof while he was working in his study.

The guard with the phone happened to look up. When his eyes landed on Rafferty Cain standing in the shadows, his face drained of every drop of color. He dropped his phone, the device cracking loudly against the floor. The second guard froze, his hand dropping away from his mouth, his knees suddenly shaking.

"Mr. Cain..." the first guard stammered, his voice trembling violently. "We... we were just following orders, sir! Miss Vanderpool—"

Rafferty raised one finger.

The guard stopped speaking instantly. He looked into Rafferty’s eyes and saw something so horrifying, so utterly devoid of mercy, that he stepped back until his shoulders hit the stone wall.

Rafferty walked forward. His movements were slow, deliberate, like a apex predator stalking through its territory. He ignored the guards completely, walking straight toward the kneeling woman.

He stopped directly in front of Fay.

Up close, he could hear her breathing—shallow, ragged gasps of pain. Her skin was deathly pale, translucent beneath the dim gallery lights. Yet, even as he stood over her, she did not look up immediately. She remained in her position of enforced punishment, her dignity locked behind a wall of sheer endurance.

"Miss Delacroix," Rafferty spoke. His voice was unusually low, a deep, raspy murmur that sounded like grinding stones.

Fay blinked slowly, her mind swimming back from the haze of pain. She slowly raised her head. When her pale gray eyes met his cold river-gray ones, she did not see the arrogance of a mafia lord. She saw a profound, dark shock mirroring back at her.

"Mr. Cain," she whispered, her voice rough, dry as paper.

Rafferty knelt down in front of her. Without a second thought for his expensive tailored trousers, he dropped both knees onto the freezing marble floor, bringing himself down to her exact eye level.

He reached out, his large, warm, calloused hands gently taking hold of her freezing fingers. Her hands were like ice, trembling uncontrollably within his grasp.

"Who did this to you?" Rafferty asked softly. The gentleness in his voice was so terrifyingly out of place compared to the lethal aura radiating from his body that even Fay felt a chill run down her spine.

Fay swallowed hard, her throat burning. "It doesn't matter, Mr. Cain. My shift is almost over."

"It matters," Rafferty said, his thumb gently rubbing the back of her frozen hand, trying to push some of his own heat into her skin. "You are in my house. No one suffers in my house without my consent."

He looked past her, his eyes locking onto the two trembling guards standing near the archway.

"Silvano!" Rafferty called out. His voice was not loud, but it possessed a sonic quality that carried down the vaulted hallway like a thunderclap.

Within five seconds, the heavy double doors of the study burst open. Silvano stepped out, his hand already resting inside his coat on the handle of his weapon. He took one look at Rafferty kneeling on the floor beside the maid, looked at the two terrified guards, and understood instantly.

"Boss?" Silvano asked, his face hardening into concrete.

"Take those two pieces of trash out of my house," Rafferty commanded calmly, never taking his eyes off Fay’s face. "Disarm them. Break their knees. And leave them on the Vanderpools' front lawn before sunrise with a message from me."

"Understood, Boss," Silvano replied without a second of hesitation. He produced a silenced firearm from his coat, gesturing for the two guards to move. The men didn't even dare to scream; they walked forward with their heads bowed, sobbing silently as Silvano guided them down the rear staircase.

Rafferty turned his attention back to Fay. He looked down at her knees, resting on the cold floor.

"Can you stand?" he asked gently.

Fay tried to shift her weight, but the moment her leg muscles engaged, a sharp, excruciating cramp tore through her thighs. She gasped, her body swaying forward.

Before she could hit the floor, Rafferty’s arms caught her.

He pulled her securely against his chest, one arm wrapping firmly around her waist, the other sliding beneath her knees. With effortless strength, he stood up, lifting her completely off the cold marble floor and cradling her against his broad chest.

Fay’s breath caught. She felt the incredible warmth radiating through his white linen shirt, the steady, powerful rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek. "Mr. Cain... please, you don't have to—"