Clipping Thorns (Withered Rose Book 2), page 21
I can’t believe she’s so upset, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Gisela lost her father-in-law, and now she might have to watch her Jägermeister die. She is the perfect mafia wife. Much better than me, in her four-inch heels and simple dress. Even in an emergency, Glizzy made sure she arrived in appropriate attire and she’s trying her best to keep herself in control.
I feel like an idiot, blinking around the room and waiting for my husband to say something or do something. My dress is fine, it’s black and stops just below the knee—but I can’t pretend it was my idea to wear it. Douglass picked out my clothes and even passed me the low heels I’m wearing. If it weren’t for my security guard, I would have arrived in the negligée I’d been wearing as I waited for Amy to get home.
Amory drags his gaze from his father to look at the doctor. “Thank you for—”
A sob cuts him off. It comes from Gisela.
Conrad hisses, “Quiet, woman.” His voice is low and throaty, a menacing threat if I’ve ever heard one. “You come in here dressed like a whore and now you can’t keep yourself together?”
I frown.
Gisela is wearing a black dress—it’s strapless and formfitting, but she doesn’t look like a whore. And even if she did, she doesn’t deserve to be insulted like this. She’s still Conrad’s wife. But that makes no difference to him.
He lifts his hand as she continues crying. My heart begins to race, especially when Glizzy leans away, anticipating the blow.
Amory stops him.
“Enough, Conrad.” His eyes are grey storms in his face, but his voice is deadly and calm. He glances at Gisela. “Let her cry.”
“Now is not the time,” Conrad snaps.
Amory nods. “Klaus, take the women out of here.”
Klaus follows orders, shuffling us out single file like we’re children being dismissed. “Come on, ladies. I’ll take care of you,” he says. His voice is warm and comforting, completely opposite of Amory and Conrad. The kindness in his tone is so disarming, I don’t even feel upset about being put out of the room. If I’m being honest, I’m happy to get away.
I reach for Gisela once we’re in the hall. “Are you okay?”
She sniffles and nods, blubbering only a single word. “Christina.”
Oh, right. I had almost forgotten about my mother-in-law. It’s her husband lying in the hospital bed, but Gisela is the one who can’t keep it together. I’m sure it’s just nerves. I’m anxious and jittery too. I have no idea what’s going to happen from here. But Christina has decades of experience under her Gucci belt. She knows her husband is lost and she knows Amory will be taking charge from here. Her role is done. Her service to the German mafia is over.
Like a retired grandmother, Christina holds her head high as I turn to her and offer a packet of tissue from my purse. She shakes her head, regaining some of the dignity she’d lost through the tears running down her cheeks. Now that her crying is over, she looks different. There is an air of regality and elegance to Christina that seems to transcend age and stature. No matter who runs the mafia, she will always be the Huntress of New York.
Her silvery white hair is meticulously curled, like she’s just removed a fresh set of rollers, her lashes are painted in clear mascara, so she doesn’t bleed black tears like Glizzy, and her lipstick is still perfectly intact. A deep shade of red that looks like velvet on her lips.
In this moment, as she takes my hands and pulls me close enough to smell her Chanel No. 5, I don’t see the former German Mistress, I don’t see a retired Huntress, I see a mother and a wife. A tired woman who has finally removed her crown and is about to place it on my head.
“Remember what I told you on the night you first visited the estate?”
I nod, trying to hold her powerful gaze.
Christina’s diamond earrings wink in the fluorescent lights as she shakes her head and squeezes my hand. “No, child. Do you remember?”
“I do,” I tell her.
“What did I say?”
“Diamonds are just pretty shackles.”
She sighs and her grip on my hands loosens somewhat. I understand her anxiety—so far, Christina has been right about everything. I love my husband dearly, but I am shackled to this life because of him. I am shackled to him because of this life.
“What else did I tell you?” she asks, giving me a stern shake. “What else?”
“To be the wife he needs me to be.”
She nods. “Rosa, you are no longer a De Luca—”
“I know that.” I accepted my place in the German mafia the moment I said, ‘I do.’ But Christina doesn’t seem to believe me.
“No. You are not an Italian in the German mafia. You are German now.”
Without thinking, I glance up at Douglass. A man who was Hunted, branded, and forced into a rival mafia. He drinks German beer, sleeps with German women, and even speaks the German tongue now. I have to be like him. Amory will have it no other way.
I’m no longer a captive bride, here against my will—hiding behind a contract I didn’t want and a marriage I had no say in. I am the Huntress of New York.
I think of what that means as I stare into Christina’s wide eyes. I think of how it felt when I walked with Amory through Morgen’s funeral and had every man and woman in the room incline their heads in respect as I walked by. And I think of what it was like to stand beside my husband in that hospital room.
I was the closest person to him. On his right side. Even closer than Conrad and Klaus. Christina had cried and was ignored. Gisela had cried and was threatened. But I had stood strong. I had kept my composure. Better than Conrad who had insulted his wife and threatened to hit her. Even better than Amory who had clenched his jaw and curled his fists.
Amory needs me now more than ever. Maybe more than I need him. Because if there is someone who must keep a cool head at all times, it shouldn’t be the man in charge. It should be the woman who has that man’s ear.
Christina’s death grip goes slack as she takes my hands in hers and cups them like she would a child’s hands on a cold wintery day. She raises my hands and kisses the back of each one. Her next words come out in German. I don’t understand a single one, but I nod and look her in the eye, letting her know how much this moment means to me.
“You are ready,” she says with a tremble in her voice. “It is not an easy job. And you will receive no rewards and no credit. But you will have the admiration of every woman in New York. Because we know what it’s like.”
I bite my lip, thinking of my mother and all that she endured as the Mistress of the Italian mafia. It’d been even worse for her because she wasn’t Italian. She’d been a Black American bride taking command of the Italian gangs of Manhattan. The older families had nearly declared a civil war until my father put his foot down.
Born and raised in Italy, Giovanni Sr. was not one to be challenged. When he demanded respect for his American wife, the others fell in line. Not as quickly as my mother would have liked, but by the time I was born, whispers of ‘darkies’ had ceased. Those insults died on the slit throats of the unfortunate souls who’d been caught muttering them.
When Christina steps away, Gisela appears by my side. The older woman smiles at both of us, reaching up to pinch each of our cheeks. “Such beautiful women.” Her face grows serious now. “My husband is lost—”
“There is still a chance—”
She shakes her head. “He is lost. That means I am now retired. You are the wife of the Jägermeister.” She looks at Gisela. “And the wife of the underboss.”
I gape at my friend. She’s just as shocked as I am, but our surprise only lasts a moment. As I glance over my shoulder, I realize Klaus is still outside in the hall with us. If Amory were considering him for underboss, he would be in that room right now. But he was only Uwe’s best friend. Not Amy’s.
“Two amazing women,” Christina says. “Two friends.”
“Two Christians,” I say without thinking.
Christina smiles and gives me a nod with so much reverence, I wonder if she might have an idea of what my purpose is in this city.
“You’re both in a position to make a difference now. To change the men who can change the city.”
Gisela and I nod in unison.
“Do it,” Christina says sternly. “In this business, we are taught to stand behind our men. In the Church you are taught to stand beside them.” She smiles. “I’m going to tell you it doesn’t matter where you stand, as long as you’re close enough to whisper in his ear. Tell him what he wants to hear so he will listen when you say what he needs to know.”
Christina steps back and gazes at us, but her face shifts into concern when Klaus walks over. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve been instructed to escort you to the estate, Mrs. Jäger.” He’s looking at Christina, which lets me know the statement isn’t for me. It’s somewhat confusing when there are three Mrs. Jägers standing in the hall. But I suppose if he were speaking to Gisela, he would say ‘Lady Gisela,’ and if he were speaking to me, he would have said ‘Mistress.’
The realization hits me hard. Christina is truly retired. And even though there hasn’t been an official announcement yet, we all know the unspoken truth.
Amory is the new Jägermeister.
“Why is she going to the estate?” Gisela asks.
Christina smiles at her. “To pack my bags.” She turns to me. “The home is yours now. I’ll be moving out as quickly as possible.”
I don’t respond because I have no idea what to say, but Christina isn’t offended by my silence. She simply nods and pats my shoulder as she walks away with Klaus following behind.
Gisela and I watch her go, only stirring when Douglass appears behind us. “May I have a word, Mistress?” he asks.
Glizzy inclines her head and steps away without me asking her to. I look up at Amory’s guard. “Yes?”
“Do you know what she said to you in German? When she took your hands.”
I remember Christina speaking German as she’d kissed my hands and then told me I was ready. “I have no idea,” I say honestly.
Douglass nods. “She said … There’s a girl inside you. A twenty-year-old virgin who sees the world as black or white.”
I swallow, trying not to be embarrassed.
“Kill that girl,” Douglass says. His dark eyes are glued to my face, making his words seem more haunting than they really are. “Kill the girl inside, Mistress. Because you aren’t a child anymore.”
I nod in silence.
“But you don’t have to grow up so quickly. I’m right here. And so is Gisela. There are people in this organization who care about you. Genuinely.”
“God cares about me,” I whisper. When I look up, I see Douglass smiling. He’s only two years older than me, but the years he’s spent beside Amory—protecting him, fighting for him, killing for him—makes him look so much older now.
“He does care,” Douglass says. “I believe that.”
“Christina said I’m ready for this. But I don’t know if that’s true.”
“It must be true. You have to make it true.” Douglass steps back and takes up position by the door again. His eyes linger on me for a second longer before he glances away and stares ahead. Back to business as usual.
Twenty-Four
There is only silence. The Priest beside me is whispering a prayer as he performs Vater’s last rites, but I don’t hear any of it. It’s as if my ears have been shut off, my eyes switched to the pitch darkness of the void. I cannot see. I cannot hear. All that I register is my screaming thoughts. The same beating questions that have been haunting me since I accepted my place in this organization.
Will you accept this position?
I remember when my father first posed the question, the day I was initiated into the gang. I was naked and bloody, sobbing uncontrollably on the floor of one of our warehouses. I’d been beaten within an inch of my life by a team of six German men. Klaus had been there. Oberon had been there. They’d watched as I was reduced to a sniveling child. Had watched as a razor had carved into my flesh, as a bat had cracked my ribs, as a grown man had held me down and violated me.
I killed that man two years later. Vater had saved him for me. Had said it was justice to have him as my first hunt. My first execution.
I’d pulled the trigger with a smile on my face.
Sometimes, when I’m alone, I can feel his hands on me. I can feel the razor cutting my skin open. I can feel the jolt of my ribs cracking. And I can hear Vater’s voice in the background—over my own screams.
Will you accept this position?
Did I really have a choice? What would have happened to me if I had said no?
I never thought about it. Just as I don’t think about it when the Father beside me closes his Bible and looks me in the eye.
“The rites are done,” he says calmly. “Before he passes, I must ask for his sake. Uwe has named you as his successor. Will you accept this position?”
Vater had asked that question again when I was named as the underboss. There was another beating. Ten men that time—I’d gotten stronger. And smarter. I knew what was going on, had been waiting for it to happen. So, when I was snatched out of my bed and dragged to one of our warehouses for the second time, I made it my business to fight back.
I sent three men to their graves before they managed to strip me naked. I broke the arm of another man before they disarmed me. And when one of the men tried to touch me the way the first guy had when I was just a boy, I strangled him with my bare hands.
I didn’t fight them because I wanted to become the underboss. I did it because I wanted to live. They would have killed me in that room. That had been their assignment. Kill or be killed.
It was a bloody night. But that was what Vater had wanted. To show everyone that he’d made the right choice in naming me as his successor. That he’d found someone just as ruthless as him.
The memories of my initiation send a shiver down my scarred back as I stand in the hospital room staring down at Uwe’s body.
Will I become the Jägermeister?
There’s still time for me to say no. To walk away from all this. But I won’t leave this life behind. Not when the men who murdered my father and uncle still draw breath.
Mikhail Volkov killed my family. And he had help from a traitorous rat.
He will pay for this.
For whatever reason, the Voice saved me that day. It tried to warn me, and I made the mistake of ignoring it—of ignoring Him. The Voice of God. If I had chosen to believe even a second earlier, Vater would be up and walking around. Oberon would be alive. And Wolfgang wouldn’t be in a coma—not to mention Maximilian who’s been hospitalized the last three days.
My injuries were mostly superficial. My bandages are gone, leaving a scar going through my right eyebrow, six stitches in my left arm, and fresh burns on my chest. I’m fine. I wear these new bruises like badges of honor, but revenge will be my real reward. I will not let the Russians get away with this.
I had once entertained the thought of salvation. I had heard the Voice of God. Had felt His welcoming presence. And I saw the repercussions of rebellion. I learned firsthand what happens when you ignore a divine warning. But I’m not angry at God. I’m angry at myself.
“Father,” I say quietly, staring at the Bible in his hands.
He raises an eyebrow, undoubtedly annoyed that I still haven’t answered his question. “Yes?”
“What do I have to do to become a Christian?”
He eyes me a long moment, and when he crosses his hands one over the over, the sleeve of his cassock slides up and I see the bullseye tattooed onto the back of his right hand.
I almost laugh.
“Never mind.” If I were to get saved, I doubt this guy would be the one to help me. He’s the same Priest who blessed me before my initiation. The same man who stood by and watched a fifteen-year-old kid get beaten and raped and didn’t say a word to intervene.
“You didn’t answer my question, sir,” the Priest says.
I look at him, enjoying the way he shrinks beneath my glare. “You asked if I’ll accept this position.”
He nods.
I can still get away… I can still pack up and take Rosa and leave. The thought is tempting. I think it’s what I truly want to do, if I’m being honest. But every time the thought of escape works its way into my head, I see Onkel’s burned body and Uwe’s brain-dead figure lying in the bed before me.
The machinery beeps as it keeps him alive. He is nothing but an empty vessel. His soul gone to hell long ago.
“Will you accept this position?” the Priest asks once more. He’s stepped closer to me now, irritated by my silence. If he weren’t a member of the clergy, I’d gut him where he stands. But there’s a rule in the mafia that even people like Volkov must follow.
We don’t kill members of the Church. Because, whether we believe or not, they are Children of God. And not even a fool would risk the wrath of God just to gain petty vengeance. So I let the Father step into my personal space and disrespect the boundaries of the future Jägermeister. Just this once.
He’s a smart man, because he backs up as soon as he sees the look on my face. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “But it is imperative that you answer while he still breathes.”
I’ve got to accept the role while Uwe is still alive, otherwise those in opposition of my rule can say I stole the title, or even accuse me of having Uwe killed just to get it.
I don’t want to be the Jägermeister. I don’t want to be in the mafia anymore. I’m so tired…
But I do want revenge. I want to keep Rosa safe. And I want the Jäger name to stay afloat. This is the only way I know how to do that.
When this is over, I’ll take my wife and get out of here. I’ll escape. I’ll even do right by the God who saved me. But first, I have to end this war.
I walk over to Uwe’s bed and grab his hand, but not to hold it. I pry the signet ring from his swollen finger and slide it onto my own. As I adjust his hand, I see the bullseye tattooed onto the inside of his wrist. He was a true Hunter. The Master of Hunters. And now his hunt is over.
