The Mafia Boss Found His Fired Maid Freezing in the Snow—By Midnight, His Estate Manager Disappeared

Upstairs, the thermal blankets and hot tea had finally coaxed the shivering out of my bones.

Dr. Vance packed his stethoscope into his leather bag, snapping the latches shut with a crisp click.

"She's going to be fine," the doctor told Nicholas, who stood leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. "No frostbite, just severe surface exposure. Keep her warm for the next twenty-four hours and make sure she drinks plenty of fluids."

"Thank you, Thomas," Nicholas said.

The doctor nodded, grabbed his coat, and slipped out of the room.

Nicholas walked over to the bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress.

The bedside lamp cast a soft, golden glow across his sharp cheekbones and the dark stubble along his jaw.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better," I whispered, pulling the blanket higher around my chin. "Thank you for... for coming after me. If you hadn't..."

"You would have died under the oak tree," Nicholas finished for her, his tone unsparingly blunt. "And Richard would have told me you ran off because you stole silver."

I looked down at my hands. "I broke his grandfather's vase. It was expensive."

"It was insured," Nicholas said dismissively. "And Richard won't be mentioning it again."

"Where is he?"

"Gone," Nicholas replied simply. "He retired early."

I swallowed hard, sensing the terrifying weight behind those three words.

"You shouldn't have fired him over me," I murmured. "I'm just a temporary maid through the holidays."

Nicholas reached out.

His large, calloused thumb brushed lightly against my cheekbone, wiping away a stray tear I hadn't realized was there.