Mafioso

It was a beautiful winter evening. The snow lay softly on the pavement, crunched quietly underfoot and swirled in the light of the lanterns, as if hundreds of tiny stars had descended from the sky. The cold wind penetrated to the bone, but the streets still looked almost magical. Mafioso and Chance walked slowly side by side. Their steps were accompanied only by the crunch of snow and rare breathing, turning into white clouds of steam. Chance, without thinking about the weather, chose light clothes for the walk, completely unsuitable for the frost. At first he tried not to show it, but over time a slight shiver ran through his body, giving away the cold from which he could no longer hide. The mafioso, noticing this out of the corner of his eye, stopped for a second, silently took off his strict dark jacket and put it on Chance

• Oh, thank you! - Chance said, feeling a pleasant, albeit quickly melting warmth. - ...And aren't you cold yourself? The mafioso just grinned and shook his head, adjusting his fedora “Everything is fine…” he answered, but his voice was shaking slightly. It was obvious: he himself was no less cold, and maybe even colder. But for the sake of Chance’s comfort, he preferred to lie and keep silent about his own discomfort