Clipping Thorns (Withered Rose Book 2), page 11
“Do you ever think about God?” I ask slowly.
He shrugs one muscular shoulder. “Sometimes.”
“Do you ever pray to Him?”
“I don’t know how to pray.”
“I can teach you. I can show you how to mutter prayers and magically feel better.”
He glances back at me with a grin tugging at his lips. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I’m glad you’re honest with me.” I touch his shoulder. “I’m glad you were honest last night.”
I feel his body stiffen beneath my hand. “Nothing else happened except a kiss,” he says softly. “And a lap dance.”
He hadn’t mentioned the lap dance last night, but I exhale my anger and look at him dead on. “I forgive you.”
He nods.
“But not because of the sex last night. I forgive you because I’m your wife—a Christian wife—and I can’t expect God to forgive me if I don’t forgive you.”
Amory’s face is unreadable. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you when the doctor came. I knew I should have been. But I was honestly afraid of finding out whether you were pregnant or not.”
His confession shocks me—and reminds me to reach into the bedside table and take my pill for the day. Amy watches me gulp down some water from the bottle I keep on the table, then he swallows nervously. “Why did you cry?”
“Because the test was negative. And I was happy.” I stare down at my hands, clutching our blankets. “I was happy to know that we wouldn’t be bringing a child into this world. I was happy that I was still free of the responsibilities and the burdens of parenthood.” My eyes begin to water with guilty tears. “Children are supposed to be a blessing. But I was so happy to find out that I wasn’t going to have one.”
Amory’s hand covers my own. “It’s okay to not want children, Rosa.”
“I’m a Christian, I’m supposed to want children.”
He pauses. “I’m not an expert on Christianity, but I’m pretty sure the Bible never said you had to desire kids.”
“It tells us to be fruitful and multiply.”
“And what part of that scripture included a command to be happy about it?”
I blink at him, realizing he’s right. The truth leaves me in a stunned silence. I have no idea what to say to that—but I suddenly feel the need to explain myself.
“One day I do want children. I’m just not ready yet.”
“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” he assures me. “When we’re both ready, we’ll stop using contraceptives and have a kid.”
I shake my head. “We’ll have an heir.”
Amory grins and leans forward, but I back away, leaning into my pillows. “I still want to talk.”
He frowns slightly. “What else?”
“I love you. I love being intimate with you. But we cannot use sex to solve our problems. Every time we get into an argument, it ends with us tangled up in bed.”
He smirks. It’s teasing and daring and sets my heart racing, but I ignore the goosebumps pebbling my flesh and try to stay focused on the conversation. “I want us to be able to talk about things with our clothes on.”
Amory leans back with that dangerous grin on his face. He folds his hands behind his head as he says, “We don’t have any clothes on now.”
“You know what I mean.”
He winks at me, but when I don’t blush and shy away, he realizes I’m serious and blows out an annoyed sigh. It doesn’t sound like he’s irritated with me, the contemplative look on his face seems like his annoyance is directed at himself. Though I’m not sure why.
His grey eyes focus on my face. “I’m sorry,” he says evenly. “I’ve never been married. I’ve never even been in a relationship before. This is just as new for me as it is for you.” His grin turns sheepish. “When I promised I wouldn’t be a cruel husband, I didn’t realize I had no clue how to be a good one.”
I relax beside him. “I’m sorry too. I thought that since I’m Christian, that automatically made me a good wife. I never thought there would be things I’d need to learn and work out for myself.” I laugh. “I’m sorry you married the Withered Rose.”
“You aren’t withered,” he tells me.
I believe him. “Not anymore. Adella called me a vine of poison ivy.”
He wrinkles his nose like he wants to laugh. “You aren’t poison ivy. You’re still a rose—still my rose—you’ve just grown thorns.”
“Maybe that’s what this part of our story is about,” I say quietly.
Amory looks at me, silently asking for an explanation.
“Clipping thorns.”
He nods slowly.
“This is us learning how to be a married couple. Learning how to love each other in a way that pleases God and us.” My shoulders sag. “I haven’t always done my best. I haven’t been a very good wife or a very good Christian.”
Amory reaches up and tugs one of my thick curls. “You are a good wife. And a good Christian. You’re a good wife because you’re a good Christian.”
Silence unfolds for a long moment. Both of us stare at nothing as we think about what to say and how to say it. This is one of the few times we’ve been able to have a serious conversation that hasn’t ended with us in bed or screaming at each other. Not yet at least.
Amory takes a breath. “It’s hard to be a mafia wife. I can’t imagine the inner turmoil you face as a Christian woman in this situation.”
I shrug one shoulder. “God prepared me for this. He continuously renews my strength each day.”
“How can I make it easier for you?” he asks genuinely.
This is my chance. This is my opportunity to sow the seeds of faith in hopes that it will lead to Amory’s salvation. But I don’t want to throw this at him. Or else the seeds will never take root. I learned that the hard way when we first got engaged. Just the mention of my faith caused an explosive argument between us where he declared he wasn’t a Christian man and our marriage wouldn’t be Christian, either.
Since then, I’ve done my best to follow God’s prompting and use the guidance of the Holy Spirit when it comes to feeding Amory the Word. Before we separated, he’d started reading the Bible on his own, and he’d even asked questions to Father Serrano. We’d prayed together and had come to an amicable arrangement around my faith. Amory is still a mafioso, but he’s not the cold man he was when we first got engaged. He has changed in small, progressive ways, and I know it’s the result of my prayers and pleadings with God.
I look at him seriously and hold out my hands for him to take. “Let me show you how to pray.”
He doesn’t move for a moment.
“I want to share something with you that has meaning,” I tell him. “We share our bed, and we share our hearts. But sex doesn’t last forever, and our hearts will face challenges in this life. But when our love is rooted in Christ, it will be strong enough to overcome those challenges.”
He watches me thoughtfully, still unmoving.
I swallow, determined not to lose this fight. “Amory, I want us to have a spiritual connection as well as a physical and emotional one. I want our love to transcend time and space. I want it to carry into the next life. That is a connection that can only be established through God. What we have right now is amazing. But it isn’t truly love.”
“How can you say that?” he asks defensively.
I don’t feel offended by the sudden frown on his face. Amory isn’t Christian, I don’t expect him to view or understand love and marriage the way I do. The Bible says the wisdom of God is foolishness to the world. In a way, Amory can’t understand how I feel until he gets saved because it is the Spirit within that brings this understanding.
Still, I want him to hear me out. I want to sow the seeds of faith now, so they can take root in preparation for his coming salvation. “Love comes from God, Amy,” I say in a gentle voice. “Only when we love God as one, can we truly love each other.”
He shifts like he’s thinking to himself, truly considering the things I’ve told him. I can only hope that I’m getting through to him.
Amory looks back up at me, then drops his gaze to my still outstretched hands. “Okay,” he says in a murmur. “Teach me how to pray.”
He takes my hands and we both close our eyes. “Prayer is simply talking to God. Speak to Him the same way you would speak to me. Just say whatever’s on your mind, and when you’re finished, always close in Jesus’ Name.”
He squeezes my hands. “All right.”
“I’ll say a prayer this time, so just listen to me and then when you’re ready, you can say one of your own.”
When he squeezes my hands again, I take a breath and begin.
“Dear Heavenly Father, forgive us for our sins, Lord. Thank You for giving me the chance to witness to someone I love. Thank You for this peaceful morning I’ve had with my husband, please give us plenty more just like this one. Bless us and protect us today. Give us the strength to honor You in everything we do. In Jesus’ Name I pray, amen.”
Amory waits in silence for a long time—so long, I’m not sure he’s going to say anything. But then I hear him inhale deeply and his deep voice fills the room as he starts to pray. “God … Um … Please protect Rosa today. Protect her every day. In Jesus’ Name, amen.”
When I open my eyes, I realize he’s staring at me. I don’t know how long he’s been watching me, but the look on his face is totally unreadable and instantly makes me nervous.
“You did great,” I whisper.
He drops my hands and nods. “Thank you for teaching me.”
“You prayed for my protection.”
He nods again. “I don’t know much about what it means to be a Christian. I haven’t been to church since I was in high school. But I think I believe in God.” He looks at me directly. “I believe in the God you serve. And I believe He is the only One who can truly protect you.”
“Protect me from the war,” I say.
Amory sighs and shifts in the bed so we’re facing each other. “The Morenos and the Volkovs have teamed up. They blew up two buildings in Brooklyn last night.”
My heart begins to race. I’d been kept out of the fray in the Bronx, holed up in my grandfather’s mansion. He didn’t even allow us to watch the news—the less we knew, the better. But now, as Amory’s wife, I’m in the thick of things. I won’t be able to escape the violence or the news or maybe even the bullets themselves. I could die in this war. Amory could die in this war.
He's right. Only God can protect us now.
“It’s time for the Hunters to retaliate,” Amy says darkly. The look in his eyes is violent and angry. I try not to shift away from him as he speaks, I don’t want him to know how afraid I am. How afraid I feel of him. I know he’ll never hurt me, but the thought of Amory hurting other people makes my palms sweat.
I had forgotten that he’s the underboss. I had forgotten that he didn’t rise to that position through prayer and fasting. He killed and maimed and tortured his way to the top. I’m not sure what he’s willing to do to stay there, especially at a time like this.
His salvation is more important than ever. If he goes around murdering Wolves and Spaniards in this war, he could be changed forever. Hardened by the violence and darkness, beyond the reach of my prayers.
I internally shake my head. I won’t give up on believing in God to save my husband. No matter how dark things get. But I can do my best in trying to keep Amory from drifting too far.
I take his large hands in my own. “You don’t have to fight them. We can try to compromise with them.”
He presses his lips into a hard line. “They blew up a salon, Rosa. They did it at night while it was empty, but the message was clear. No one is safe.”
Not even the wives and children.
I gulp as I realize the weight of his words. The mafia operates on violence and intimidation. It’s what the organization is built on. But there is a code of honor in this twisted business, if you can believe it. Part of that code is to leave women, children, and civilians out of the fight. That means you don’t blow up hair salons where innocent people frequently go.
Last night, the Volkovs and the Morenos dishonored the code. They made it clear they don’t plan to play by the rules. That means anything can happen. Nobody is safe.
I blink at my husband, unable to hide my fear now. The angry look in his eyes should calm me, but it only sets me further on edge. Amory has every intention to retaliate. He won’t let the salon incident go unpunished. He’s going to step into this war.
My heart aches at that thought. I could lose him tomorrow if things go wrong. Our house could blow up right now, if the Volkovs were bold enough to do it. There’s no way to tell how much time we have left together.
Amory pats my hands, and I realize I’m clutching him for dear life. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, pulling away.
He reaches up and cups my face with both his hands. “I’m going to keep you safe, Rosa. No matter what.”
“How?”
“Vater wants to send our families to safehouses in Manhattan. Giovanni offered shelter to us and the Stronghold.”
I shake my head. “Do you really think Manhattan is safe?”
“I think it’s safer than Brooklyn.”
I can’t argue against that, but I don’t want to go away. I don’t want to be apart from him.
Amory sees this in my eyes and leans in to kiss me sweetly. “I’ll try to see you when I can. If I can.”
“How long will it be like this?”
He leans back to look me in the eye. I do everything I can to hold my tears in. “I don’t know. A few days. A few weeks.”
“A few months,” I say when his voice goes quiet.
He nods solemnly. “Until the war is over and it’s safe.”
I don’t want this at all, but I know staying will only make me a target and a burden. So I close my eyes and say in a shaky voice, “Okay. I’ll go to the safehouse.”
I hear Amory gasp and I open my eyes to find him staring at me in shock. “I thought you would fight me on this.”
“I asked you to include me in decisions. But that doesn’t mean we have to fight about every decision we make.”
He laughs which lightens the air a little. I suddenly feel like I can breathe with the ache easing away at the sound of Amory’s sweet chuckles. “I’m glad we’re not fighting,” he says.
I lean into his hands still cupping my face. “So am I.”
“You’ll have to start packing right away.”
I nod since I can’t find any words to speak right now.
Amory kisses me deeply. “It’ll be okay,” he says when he pulls back for air. “It’ll be okay.”
He keeps repeating that to me, like it’s a spell he’s trying to cast. I’m not sure if I believe him or not, but I certainly want to. I don’t want this to be the last time we kiss, the last time he lays me on the pillows, the last time we make love.
I give him everything I can as he surrenders to our passion. My name is a whisper on his lips, my desire is a gasp in his mouth. He is the man of my dreams and I hope he can feel it in the flames I fan between us.
When he rolls off of me, chest heaving, I turn my head to stare at the side of his face. He’s tired and spent, eyes closed as he pants. But I’m not done. I climb on top of him, and his eyes fly open. There’s a question on his face, but I don’t let him ask it. I lean down and cover his mouth with my own, tears spilling down my cheeks as I run my hands over his chest.
He breaks away. “Rosa?”
I kiss him harder.
He breaks away again. “Rosa…?”
“Please,” I say, finding his mouth once more. I don’t get to say the rest because he finally gives in. Kissing me with more passion than the first time. Working through his exhaustion, putting my needs over his aching limbs and tense muscles.
He lies motionless as I kiss his cheeks and his jaw and his neck. “Rosa,” he sighs.
For the first time, I pull away and stare at him, wondering if this is okay—if he’ll let me bury my sorrows in lust. He reaches up to stroke my cheek and nods. It’s a small act, a silent gesture granting me his permission.
“You need this,” he murmurs.
I do. I can’t explain why, but the ache of his coming absence leaves me short of breath. We only just got back together and now we’ll be separated indefinitely. It’s almost more than I can bear.
Without notice, I crumple into a heap of tears and choking cries. Amory lies still, staring at the ceiling as he pets the back of my head, tangling his fingers into my curls. There is nothing I can do. With our lust forgotten, all that’s left is pain. I give in to it fully, heaving terrible sobs into Amory’s chest as he quietly comforts me.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
I am too.
Fourteen
There are twenty men in our group. That feels like way too many for a covert operation, so I’ve split everyone into groups of five. In ten minutes, we’re going to drive to Staten Island to infiltrate the Wolves’ Den. The goal is to send a message—one that’ll be louder than the explosion of the salon and the law firm. We aren’t barbaric like our enemies, we won’t try to harm civilians, but I told my men not to hold back. This is the sort of war the Volkovs want, they’re about to reap what they’ve sown.
First, we need to get into the Island.
The Wolves control the ferries all by themselves, and with the help of the Morenos, they’ve been monitoring the bridge more closely than I’m comfortable with. Still, if things go wrong, I’d rather have the option to turn around and speed off in my car than try to get away in a steamboat.
We decide to chance the bridge.
I went over the plan with Hans and Trenton a hundred times. We’re supposed to break into groups and travel as a caravan of multiple decoys. Decoy One will draw attention of the guards along the bridge; we’re hoping they look suspicious enough to get pulled over and have their vehicle searched. Once that happens, Decoy Two will speed past to create an obvious scene—but evident or not, Moreno’s men will have to take them seriously and try to stop them. This will give Decoy One the time to steal away or open fire, we’ve left the choice up to them.
