Poor Waitress Shielded Mafia Boss’s Father From Vicious Dog — What He Did Next Made Everyone Cry

Chapter 2

The back kitchen of the Copper Kettle was only as wide as a car, and at night it was the warmest place in the entire neighborhood. Delaney pulled the plastic chair out from the corner, set it beside the sink, and gently guided the old man into it. He sat down like someone who had forgotten how much his own body weighed.

His coat was soaked through, and when she lifted it off him, a patch of melting snow slid to the tiled floor and gathered into a small gray puddle. She took down the first aid kit from the top of the refrigerator. She’d opened it more times than she could count in the four years she’d worked there — mostly for herself, for grease burns, for the moments when a knife slipped at three in the morning after her body had stopped obeying her.

She pushed up his sleeve. Three parallel scratches ran along his forearm. Not deep, but bleeding, caked with dirt. She washed them with warm water first. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t wince. He only looked down at his own arm as though it belonged to someone else.

“This may sting a little,” she said, applying antiseptic.

He still didn’t move.