Clipping Thorns (Withered Rose Book 2), page 4
We spend a few moments staring at each other in silence. The hatred between us is palpable, but I fight against it. Eliana and I don’t know each other. I know she’s supposed to be my husband’s new fiancé, but, technically, we have no reason to feel such animosity toward one another. As far as I know, this marriage is a contractual arrangement. It isn’t something she wants any more than I did when I first got engaged to Amory.
Unless …
I squint at Eliana, overcome with shock as I realize what’s going on now.
“You actually want to marry him,” I whisper.
She nods slowly. “Of course I do.”
“But why? Why do you want him so badly?”
“Because I’m in love with him. I know him more intimately than you ever have or ever will.”
My eyes widen at the true meaning in her words. “You’ve slept with him.”
Eliana takes a step. “That’s right.” Up close, I realize just how tall this woman really is. She towers over me and looks down the barrel of her nose as she says with a Spanish accent, “I had your husband before you did.” She lets that sink in. “I know him in ways you never will.”
What a low blow…
Eliana’s laughter sends chills over me, it’s like the sound of shattering glass—loud and piercing and painful. She reaches out and gently strokes my cheek. “I know what makes him moan. I know what leaves him short of breath.” She drops her voice to a whisper, leaning closer. “I know how to finish him in just ten—”
I slap her.
My hand whips out before I can stop myself. The sound of it echoes through the entire corridor, louder than my pounding heart. Eliana’s head snaps to the side, her curtain of dark hair flying up around her. I can see the print of my hand on her cheek when she turns back to look at me.
We’re both shocked and speechless, but she comes to her senses before I do. Her lips pull back into a snarl and her eyes turn to orbs of fire burning in her face as she raises her hand, but she never gets to strike back. Amory is there, grabbing her arm and pulling her away with a hiss.
“What is going on?” he snaps at us both.
I stare at him with my mouth open and my eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to—”
“She hit me!” Eliana screams. Some stragglers from the reception glance up to stare at the scene, it won’t be long before we attract too much attention, but Eliana doesn’t care. She twists her arm free from Amory’s grasp and shouts, “Why are you just standing there! She just struck your fiancé!” She jabs a manicured finger at me. “Hit her back!”
Amory steps into her face. His voice is low, and his eyes are filled with rage. “Be quiet, Eliana,” he says darkly. “If you speak again, you will be sorry.”
Eliana turns and glares at me, then she shoots a horrible look at Amory and storms off. I don’t allow any joy or relief into my heart. Amory might have threatened Eliana, but he hasn’t exactly taken my side.
I can barely meet his eyes as I mumble, “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. There’s still plenty of rage in his eyes, but it isn’t as much as when he was glaring at Eliana. “What have you done?” he says slowly.
Eliana had been out of line. She’d been rude. She’d been disrespectful. But she didn’t deserve to be slapped—and even if she had, no one had the right to deliver the blow. Not even me.
She’s the oldest daughter of a mafia boss, that makes her a princess of equal standing to me. Hitting her would have gotten anyone else killed on the spot. But since I’m the offender—another mafia princess—that slap can only be taken as a declaration of war.
Amory knows this, which is why he shakes his head and takes a step back, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions I’ve never seen him express.
Worry. Anxiety. Fear.
“What have you done?” he says again.
“What have you done?” I snap. “You’ve been sleeping with her all along!”
His face pales and his eyebrows shoot up. For a moment, his mouth just hangs open and no words come forth. When he does gather himself enough to speak, his phone buzzes again, and he grinds his teeth together. Grey eyes glance at the screen before he takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, but I’m the one who gets the last word.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night. Then we can discuss everything.”
I turn and walk away, headed toward the reception, without looking back.
Five
My hands are shaking so badly, I can’t even finish my tie. It’s been days since I went to see Rosa in Manhattan and she still hasn’t come over like she promised. Every night since then, I’ve gone through the same routine, preparing myself for her anticipated visit.
Right around five, I finish up my business, then I head home and place a special order with my personal chef. He remembers all of Rosa’s favorite foods, so I get him to prepare a feast each night. I hop in the shower while he cooks, find something nice to wear once I’m finished, and then I sit and wait for the bell to chime.
It never does.
It’s night number four and I’m starting to wonder if Rosa was just pulling my leg at the wedding. If she’d only been saying what she thought I wanted to hear. If maybe this was her way of getting revenge for what I did to her almost a month ago.
The pain is still raw. I can still see the tears in her eyes as she sobbed. I can still hear her pleading with me to stay. To make things right between us. I can still see her body, when she’d undressed right in front of me and offered herself for my enjoyment.
It had taken strength I didn’t know I had to shove her away and leave. And now she’s coming back. Or at least that’s what I hope.
There could be a number of reasons why she hasn’t shown up yet. It might have been difficult to sneak away. She might not have access to a ride all the way to my side of Brooklyn. She might even be having second thoughts.
Whatever the case, I need Rosa here—even if it isn’t for selfish reasons like trying to seduce her all over again. I don’t even know why I’m trying with the fancy dinner and the new tie. She’s coming here to sign new annulment papers, not to have a steamy date night. But even though I know what must be done, I can’t stop the inkling of hope from pouring into my heart. I can’t stop myself from wondering what could happen if I play my cards right.
Destruction. That’s what could happen.
If Rosa doesn’t sign the papers this time, I will lose aid from the Morenos, and I’ll have to fight this war alone. Which means it’ll be a race against the clock to see how long it’ll take Mikhail Volkov to put a bullet in my brother’s head and then my own for trying to protect him.
It isn’t even that the Volkovs are so much bigger, stronger, or richer than us. It’s that they’re more motivated, which obviously gives them an edge. The Volkovs will not stop until they have their revenge, or they no longer exist. Neither option is good for us, because it will take everything we’ve got to get rid of them. And some.
We’re at war because my little brother Wolfgang beat a Russian woman so badly that she went into a coma and nearly died. It also doesn’t help that Wolfgang has been on Mikhail’s radar for four years now. Ever since his fiancé died under suspicious circumstances, the Russians have had it out for us. I don’t blame them. Sofia Volkov was Mikhail’s oldest daughter. She had been a beautiful woman full of love and joy and laughter, all the things my brother didn’t deserve.
Wolfgang killed her with his bare hands. And I helped cover it up.
With some assistance from Giovanni, we covered up the murder and made it look like a robbery gone wrong. Gio was supposed to destroy all the evidence, but when his sister ran away and the Italian mafia nearly crumbled, Giovanni threatened to use the evidence to expose me to the Russians if I didn’t agree to marry Rosa.
You already know our marriage didn’t last long. What you probably don’t know is that I don’t want the annulment any more than Rosa does, but it has to happen or else I’ll die at the hands of Mikhail Volkov.
I sigh as I give up on the tie and sit on the edge of my bed. I start rummaging through my bedside table in search for the clip-on I know I have somewhere in there, but the first thing I see when I open the drawer is a King James Bible. I know it’s Rosa’s because I don’t own a Bible. I used to read it on an app on my phone before Rosa left, but after the annulment, I deleted it and haven’t looked back.
For reasons I can’t explain, I reach for the Book and sit with it in my lap for a few silent moments. I don’t open it. I don’t read it. I just stare at the cracked leather cover and run my fingers over the dry ridges. I’d had all of Rosa’s things sent over to Jameson’s Palace when she moved out, but I hadn’t known the Bible was in my drawer until now. She must have left it on purpose, I realize, for me.
Rosa is a devout Christian—so devout that she refused to sleep with me because she thought it would be wrong to share her marital bed with a sinner like me. I almost laugh at the memory of all the times she’d blushed and shied away whenever I’d tried anything sexual with her. One time, she even lied about being on her period just to get away from me. It had been frustrating at the time, but when Mikhail declared war and I realized her grandfather and brother would not stand as my allies until we consummated the marriage, my frustration turned to understanding.
I refused to buy allegiance using Rosa’s body as payment. It’s a decision that cost me the aid of two powerful gangs, but I won’t change my mind on that. I don’t share Rosa’s beliefs or her views on sex, but I deeply respect them, and I won’t do anything to ever try to change them.
In fact, it’s Rosa and her faith that’s been slowly changing me.
I remember sneaking away to read passages of the Bible I barely understood when we were still together. Mumbling the scriptures aloud, trying to force myself to understand. At the time, I’d only read the Word because I was trying to understand my seemingly insane wife. But now, as I stare down at the old leatherbound Book, I realize there was more to it than that.
I … miss reading the Bible. I miss hearing and watching Rosa pray, even though I never understood why she did it or if anyone was even listening. I miss having someone who cared enough about me to be concerned for my eternal soul. Even though I’m still not sure if I have one—if a soul really exists.
Rosa believes in souls. And she wanted to save mine. That’s why she left this Bible here, an echo of her concern left in our home. I squeeze the Book in my hands, unsure what to do with it. I should read it, but the thought summons a sudden charge of pain deep inside. What’s the point? I ask myself. I had only started reading for Rosa’s sake; once she signs the papers again, I’ll be with Eliana, and I won’t need the Bible or prayer or anything else Rosa brought into our marriage.
Eliana isn’t religious. That much was obvious the first time we slept together. And the second and the third, and every other time since then. But I hadn’t opened my bedroom to her because of her spiritual beliefs, I’d taken her to bed because she was sexy and willing. And now, for reasons I can’t even understand, I don’t want to marry the woman.
She’s still sexy and she’s still willing. But I don’t want her anymore. I want Rosa. My wife. Even though she never wanted me until it was too late. Even though she may never want me again.
I remember her last words to me at the wedding reception. How angry she had been after finding out about my relations with Eliana. She had to know she was the only virgin between us, but I suppose knowing your husband had other women and actually meeting the other women face to face are two different things. Their encounter had ended in a slap fight and would have gotten worse if I hadn’t intervened.
The only reason the whole thing hasn’t dissolved into an all-out gang war is because Eliana never told her father about what happened. She’d spent the entire car ride crying, but when we pulled up to her father’s villa, she wiped her eyes, fixed her makeup, and kissed me goodnight. We haven’t spoken since that event. There’s no doubt she’s still pissed I didn’t backhand Rosa for pimp slapping her, but I’m not my brother or my father. I don’t believe in hitting women and I wasn’t going to start just because my crazy fiancé ordered me to.
I should be worried about Eliana going to Emilio, and I had been at first, when everything had gone down. But when Rosa yelled at me for sleeping with Eliana, all the worry washed away.
Eliana can’t go to Emilio. If she tells her father Rosa slapped her, he will want to know why—which means she will have to tell him it’s because she spilled the beans about our sex life and got her smile wiped off her pretty little face for it. If Emilio ever learns that Eliana and I slept together outside of marriage, if he ever finds out she isn’t a virgin, he will punish her for her promiscuity. And I’ll likely be in hot water too. No one cares too much if I sleep around, but the daughters of high-ranking men are off limits. They’re raised to respect their bodies and we are expected to respect them for that in turn.
In my defense, Eliana is the only high-ranking mafia woman I’ve ever been with. She’s honestly the only woman I’ve ever been with more than once. But those are details I never got to share with Rosa before she stormed off and left me staring blankly behind her. Now, I’m not sure if I’ll ever get the chance because she still hasn’t come over like she said she would.
I toss the Bible onto the bedside table and go downstairs to have a cup of coffee. The annulment papers are sitting on the coffee table in my lounge, like a written omen waiting for us to bring into fruition. I don’t look at it as I stir sugar into my mug and then grimace at the bitterness. It needs cream, but there isn’t any out on the display. With a sigh, I start toward the kitchens but freeze in the middle of the room when I hear the bell finally chime.
Douglass enters the lounge and finds me dumbly holding my mug of coffee. I’d already told him not to bother asking permission—if Rosa comes over, let her in without question—had been my orders. I’m thankful he followed them.
Rosa glides into the room with all the elegance of a princess. She is exactly how I remember her; despite all the recent changes I’ve noticed. The Rosa I married never would have slapped another woman in the face. And she wouldn’t have had the reflexes to almost break my windpipe when I’d scared her before.
She’s always been called the Flower of Manhattan, and then she’d been known as the withered rose. But now she’s something else—a new creature entirely. I’m just not sure what. But I’m certain I like it.
“You finally came,” I say, setting down my coffee.
Rosa brushes a loose curl from her face and nods. She’s wearing a long skirt and a cropped shirt to match; I hope she doesn’t catch me stealing glimpses of her midsection. When she speaks, my vision snaps to meet hers.
“Sorry it took so long.”
“I thought you were angry with me.”
Her gaze drops for half a second. “I needed time to think.”
“Think about what?”
“About whether I really want to sign those papers.”
I frown. “We’ve gone over this before.”
“No,” she shakes her head, “you’ve gone over it. But we never made any decisions together. We never explored any other option except getting a divorce. I don’t want that, Amory.”
I stare at her. “I don’t want to trade your virginity for help. That isn’t right.”
“I’m not giving it to you for help, I’m giving it to you because you’re my husband and I love you.”
The words hammer through me. Every single one. Rosa has never admitted to loving me. She’s never even told me she has feelings for me. Not until now.
The revelation tears away every bit of self-control I have. Before I know it, I’ve crossed the room and taken her into my arms. She gasps and presses a hand to my chest, but only to stable herself—not to push me away.
“Rosa,” I murmur, leaning closer. “Say that again.”
She stands on her tiptoes and whispers it against my lips, each word is like a kiss I try to catch between us. “I love you.”
There are no thoughts in my head except the desire to claim her for myself. It is instinctive. Primal. Desperate. But I can’t let my carnal needs take over—not now, not like this. I can sense the hesitancy as I kiss Rosa, slowly, deeply, my hands going around her waist, slipping beneath her shirt. She lets out a noise that sets me on fire, but when she backs away, I know she’s scared. Just as scared as she was on our wedding night.
There is little difference between then and now. She’s still afraid, still unsure, but I’m not. I’m still her husband, I still have every right and every intention to wipe away her fears and doubts, to show her that I can be the man she needs me to be. Not the man I’ve become.
I step forward and kiss her cheek. She leans into me, eyes fluttering closed at the gentle contact. When I pull away, I study her a moment. So calm now. So willing. Even in her fear.
“Don’t be afraid,” I whisper, pulling her closer.
“I don’t know—”
“I’ll show you.” I kiss her other cheek. “Just follow me.”
Six
Follow me…
What does he mean by that? The question swirls in my head as he carries me to his bedroom—a place I had once feared as much as I’d feared him. Now, I welcome his presence. I ache for his touch.
He treats me delicately, lovingly. It sets every nerve in my body on edge. The way he places me on his bed and stares down at me. How he kisses me tenderly, as if he’s afraid to touch me.
“Love me,” I whisper.
And he does.
He loves me with every part of himself. His body. His hands. His eyes. His lips.
When I expect pain, he gives me pleasure. What I think is lust, he turns to passion. When I offer desire, he takes it and gives me inexplicable ecstasy.
Panting for breath. Nails digging into his back…
I feel like I’m standing on a cliff, peering over the edge. Every part of me is alight with fire. Burning with the crackling flames of our passion.
