She Gave Her Warm Coat To The Mafia Boss’s Freezing Daughter — The Boss Found Her And Did This...

She Gave Her Warm Coat To The Mafia Boss’s Freezing Daughter — The Boss Found Her And Did This...

The snow fell like tiny blades that night, slicing through skin and bone, each flaking a cold reminder that winter did not care who you were or what you were running from. Brandon Ashford's laughter echoed across the abandoned industrial lot as he shoved Isabella backward, her phone skidding across the frozen ground into the darkness. What's wrong, princess? Daddy's little mafia brat can't fight back. His breath formed clouds in the freezing air as he cornered her against his black BMW, his eyes glazed with alcohol and wounded pride. Brandon, please, the storm is getting worse. Isabella's voice trembled, not from fear but from the cold, seeping through her torn school uniform, the buttons ripped open when she had tried to escape his grip. You should have thought about that before you humiliated me in front of everyone. With one violent shove, he threw her into the snow and climbed back into his car. Good luck getting home, you stuck up bitch. The BMW roared away, tires spitting slush and gravel, leaving Isabella alone in the abandoned factory district, ten miles from anywhere, in minus twenty degree weather. She was still lying there, arms wrapped around herself, blood freezing on her split lip, when a shadow emerged through the whiteout. Are you okay? Isabella looked up and saw a woman she had never seen before, thin, almost fragile, wearing a faded navy coat that had clearly seen better decades. The woman's cheekbones were too sharp, her eyes too hollow, the kind of face that spoke of years of hunger and loneliness. I'm fine, Isabella lied through chattering teeth. Just waiting for... You're turning blue and your lips are bleeding. The woman did not hesitate; her hands moved to her coat buttons. What are you doing? She pulled off the only coat she owned, the last thing her mother had given her before cancer stole her away thirteen years ago and draped it over Isabella's shoulders. The fabric still held her body heat, smelled faintly of lavender and survival.

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