by Tia Siren
They entered the Bishop’s house and were surprised to see that many were in attendance. Samuel was sitting in the back, and looked pleased to see John walk in. John scanned the room and saw his father in attendance. They acknowledged each other with a nod.
The Bishop has absolute authority in the affairs of the Amish. He could admonish a person for not wearing their head covering properly or being late to church. John knew that he was completely at the Bishop’s mercy. But this is what he wanted. This is what he had prayed for, to have structure in his life. He was ready to accept whatever the Bishop said.
The Bishop opened up the Ordnung, the rules that governed life in their community. He began reading reasons that one might be excommunicated. Most of them dealt with things like fornication and drunkenness and the like. But then he got to leaving the Amish community, and severing fellowship. John knew that he had been guilty of that, everybody knew.
“And what sayest thou in response?” Asked the Bishop.
John had prepared a defense. “You said that I may be treated as a visitor, and stay with an Amish family if I could. That is what I have done. If it so pease the church, I would like my host, Deborah to vouch for me that I have obeyed the Ordnung these past few weeks as a member of her household. Not only that, but I have helped with the chores and done much to improve their financial situation.”
The Bishop and the Deacons behind him did not look impressed. “Is this the case.” He asked Deborah.
“It is,” she said. “Since the passing of my husband our family has been in great need of a man to help with all of the chores.”
The Bishop looked offended. “And why have you not sought out help from the church in this case? We are a close knit community that supports one another. That is part of what makes us Amish,” replied the Bishop.
“Helping is what makes us Amish, is that right?” Asked John.
“That is a big part of it,” replied the Bishop.
“If that is the case, then I can prove that I am dedicated to my faith in God and in living as an Amish. I have money that I have saved up that I will give to Deborah and Mary. They will not need to sell their house or their farm.”
The room fell silent. The Bishop paused for a few moments before answering. “But we could excommunicate you right now, and then you would never be able to benefit from your generous gift.”
“If I understand the Ordnung correctly,” continued John, “If I am shunned, no member of the church would be able to receive anything from me. Which means that I have to give the gift now, before you can excommunicate me. I have already found what I was looking for, even if you kick me out. It only took one family to take me in and show me love for me to trust in God again. I know that He lives and that serving Him is more important than serving the Amish or the Ordnung or anything else. Do with me what you must, but my conscience is clear,” said John.
There was commotion as what John had said came as a surprise. Mary and Deborah had tears in their eyes at such a kind offer. The Bishop and the Deacons conferred together before they rendered a decision.
“Are you sure about this, John? You know you don’t have to,” said Deborah.
“Yes, I am more sure about this than anything I have ever done,” he said. “You and Mary have been a huge blessing in my life. More than you could ever know. So I need to show you how grateful I am.”
Mary and Deborah gave him a hug together. John felt that he had found the belonging that he had longed for. Whether or not he was shunned, he didn’t care. He now had faith in people again.
The Bishop motioned for everybody to be silent again. “As you know, the Amish culture depends on strict adherence to the Bible and to the Ordnung. If we deviate with something small, soon it will become bigger and eventually our culture is lost. That is how we have done things for 400 years. But, the Deacons and I have decided that John has shown his commitment to serving others and to faith in God to such a degree that it absolves him of any of his transgressions against the church. We deem that he not be excommunicated. This is contingent on him fulfilling his promise of course.”
John nodded at the Bishop who nodded right back at him. There was a big heart in him all along. John saw his father in the corner or the room looking at him with the typical Amish reserve. But then he smiled and walked over.
“Son, I am so proud of you.” He hugged John. “You know that is all a father ever hopes for, that he can be proud of his son. Your mother would be proud too.”
“Father, I’m sorry for…”
“There is not time for that now. Right now is time to rejoice,” said his father.
Mary and Deborah looked elated at the news. Especially Deborah. “So looks like we are going to have even more time to get to know each other,” said Mary.
“Ya, and that isn’t such a bad thing,” replied John. He had not wanted to get his wishes up for Mary, for fear of disappointment. But now he allowed himself to dream. He saw Samuel walking out of the room, seemingly the only person that was upset.
“Come on, let’s go home,” said Deborah.
*****
That night, John was to bed court with Mary for the first time. It was something that he had never done before. “Hi,” he said when he got on his side of the bed. He didn’t know what else to say. “I kind of like that I can talk to you all night,” he continued.
“So do I,” whispered Mary. “How does it feel not to be sleeping on the couch? Do you feel more like family?”
John laughed. “I think I have a way that would make me feel even more like family though. Will you be my wife, Mary?”
Mary squealed. “Of course I will. You are my best friend, and what better than to be married to your best friend.” She wanted to jump out of bed and scream and tell the whole world. But what she wanted even more was to lay in bed and enjoy getting to know the man that she would spend the rest of her life with.
*****
THE END
Mafia Romance Collection
MAFIA Romance – Owned by the Mafia
It was terrifying to have a pistol shoved in his mouth. More terrifying was the knowledge that he had no way of repaying his debt.
“How dare you,” Grigori said. “How dare you sit at my table and gamble with me when you know you don't have the funds to cover your debts.”
Grigori tightened his grip around Lenny's throat. Lenny looked up at him with saliva running from his open mouth and a great deal of fear in his eyes.
“I ought to kill you now, you asshole. But I'm a benevolent man. I'm going to give you a chance.” Grigori looked at the photo on the mantelpiece. “She's very pretty, isn't she?” he said. Lenny growled at him and tried to break free. One of Grigori's henchmen stepped forward and assisted his boss in restraining Lenny. “What time will she be home?” Grigori asked, removing the gun from Lenny's mouth to allow him to speak.
“You fucking bastard. If you so much as lay a finger on her, I'll kill you,” Lenny growled.
“From where I'm standing, you don't seem to be in much of a position to carry out your threat,” Grigori said as he forced the gun back into Lenny's mouth.
Lenny was forty-five, the son of an Irish immigrant father and a Hungarian dancer. His father had left them when he was two and his mother, struggling to find work as a dancer, had turned to prostitution. Neglected and alone, by the age of eight he was a master pickpocket, and by the age of thirteen he was one of the best lock pickers in New York. When his mother was murdered by a drunken client, he was fifteen. The authorities wanted to take him into care, but he'd already amassed enough money to look after himself, and he disappeared. When he came back to New York, it was as a heavily muscled strongman who lived from the proceeds of his criminal activities. In and out of jail, he managed to hide his ill-gotten gains and channel them into several pieces of real estate. Lenny was a rich man; he just didn't have any cash. In his opinion, he'd invested wisely, but he would have admitted to one very simple mistake: an evening of gambling wit
h the Russians in Brighton Beach when he knew he didn't have the liquidity to pay if he incurred losses.
“Dad, I'm home,” Lucy shouted. Funny, she thought when he didn't reply. Her dad always shouted to her when she got home. He loved asking her about her day at art college, sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea, and chatting with her. She hung her coat in the hall and put her satchel down on the black and white tiled floor. “Dad, where are you?” she shouted again.
“Sit down and shut up,” Grigori shouted when she walked into the sitting room. She screamed and put her hand over her mouth.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she shouted. She didn't sit down as asked; she walked to Grigori and began to throw punches at him.
“Very spirited,” he said as he held her from him with one arm, the other still holding the pistol in Lenny's mouth. “Get her off me,” Grigori said to one of his men.
A very large, very Russian-looking man took Lucy and lifted her from the floor. She tried to kick and bite him, but he threw her onto the sofa.
“Quite a display of aggression, Lucy. I admire spirited women. In fact, it turns me on. Now, if you don't want to see your father's brains splattered all over this lovely room, sit still and fucking well listen to me,” Grigori snarled.
“What are you doing to him? What has he done?” she asked, tears beginning to escape from her blue eyes.
“He owes me money, a lot of money, and he can't pay. So, here's what we're going to do. You are going to come with me until he can pay.”
“No way. You're not taking me hostage,” Lucy shouted as she got up from the sofa and made for the sideboard, where she knew Lenny kept a handgun. Again the large man picked her up and threw her onto the sofa.
Grigori laughed. “I admire your fight, but it's useless,” he said. He took the gun from Lenny's mouth and wiped it on Lenny's shirt. “She's coming with us, Lenny, and there's not a thing you can do about it.”
“You fucking asshole, I'll see you burn in hell. When I find you, I'll rip your eyes out and piss on—” Lenny didn't get to finish the rest of his tirade; Grigori pistol-whipped him into unconsciousness. Lucy screamed again and tried to get up, but the big man had learned his lesson and was holding her. “I didn't realize what a beautiful daughter he had. How old are you, Lucy?” Grigori asked. He looked horrified when Lucy's spit landed on his well-pressed trousers. “Take the bitch and put her in the trunk. I've had enough of her.”
Lucy was thrown from side to side as the car dodged through the residential area her father lived in. She was relieved when they seemed to reach a long, straight piece of the freeway and it was a smoother ride. The tape over her mouth ripped at her skin whenever she moved her mouth, so she tried to stay as expressionless as possible. She had no idea who these men were or where she was being taken. All she knew was that her beloved father was lying unconscious in their home and she was in very grave danger.
“Take her downstairs,” she heard Grigori say as she was hauled from the trunk. Her legs scraped along the ground as she was dragged along. The man held her in one arm, opened a door, and carried her down a set of stone steps into a basement.
“Should I tie her up, boss?” he shouted upstairs.
“Tie her to the roof support,” Grigori shouted back.
The basement had four posts that supported the upper floor. Lucy found herself tied to one of them a few minutes later.
“You're so pretty,” the man said as he put the finishing touches to the knot that held her in place. “How an ugly fucker like Lenny could produce a daughter like you, I have no idea. Your mother must have been Cleopatra,” he joked. Her mouth still covered by tape, Lucy wasn't able to reply.
*****
Lucy lost track of time. She knew it had been around half past four in the afternoon when they kidnapped her, but there were no windows in the basement, and she had no way of seeing if it was dark or light. After a time, she decided to close her eyes and try to sleep, but her mind was so active that she didn't manage to drop off. All she could think about was how her father was and what these despicable men were going to do to her. She could take a beating, but she was desperately worried by the big man's comments about how pretty she looked. Was he going to help himself to her?
When the light came on she blinked uncontrollably. She heard someone coming down the stairs and held her breath, wondering what was about to happen to her.
“Here,” Grigori said as he handed her a cup of water. He tore the tape from her mouth and noticed it had caused a rash on her top lip and chin. Lucy guzzled the water, spilling some of it on her blouse.
“What time is it?” she asked. For some reason time seemed important.
“Half past ten. Do you want some food?”
“How long do you propose to keep me here?” she asked.
“For as long as it takes your father to come up with the money he owes me.”
“And how much is that?”
“Five hundred grand.” Grigori sat down on an old sofa in the corner of the room and looked at her. He too wondered how Lenny had managed to produce such a pretty daughter. He knew her mother couldn’t have been Irish, because Lucy had tanned skin and dark hair, and the Irish, he always joked, were ginger and pasty.
“But he won't be able to find that kind of money,” she said.
“How many houses does he own?”
“Five.”
“They are enormous places, each worth at least a million. All he has to do is sell one and pay me.”
“But it's not a good time to sell real estate; it could take forever,” Lucy said.
“Then you can look forward to growing old down here.”
She fixed her eyes on him in a death stare. “You're heartless. I bet your mother didn't bring you up to treat women like you are treating me.”
“What mother? I was given away when I was a baby. My mother didn't give a shit about me.”
“Untie me, please. This rope is cutting me. I won't do anything stupid,” she pleaded.
He got up, walked to her, and took out a knife. In one swift movement he cut through the rope and pulled it from her. Lucy rubbed her wrists, which were red and developing the same rash she had on her face. “Are you really going to keep me all that time?”
“Yes. You'll stay here until he pays.”
“The cops—”
“Fuck the cops. Do you think the cops will do anything? I pay them to do what I want,” he snarled.
If he hadn't been so brutal to her, she would have found him enormously attractive. He was tall and athletic looking. His dark hair was cropped and his Slavic features were fine. The most attractive thing about him were his eyes. When she looked at him, she was lost in a sea of green.
“Let me go, please. What can I possibly do to you? I'm just a young woman trying to get an art degree.”
“Where is your mother?” he asked.
“Dead,” she replied.
“How?” he asked, expressing no sympathy.
“Car crash. She was Spanish. She went to see her mother in Madrid and never came back to us.” Lucy's mind flashed back to the day the policeman had called at their house and told them what had happened. The tormented look on her father's face had stayed with her ever since.
“Too bad. I'm sorry to hear that. How long ago?”
“Three years.”
“I don't know what it's like to have parents. I was a Moscow street kid until I was fifteen, and then I came to the US.”
Lucy got up and walked a few steps. She needed to stretch, and as she bent to touch her toes, Grigori looked at her. She was wearing tight jeans, and they stretched over her body when she bent over, showing the most perfect ass he'd ever seen. He liked to think of himself as a professional criminal, the kind of man who could kidnap a beautiful woman and ignore the treasures she had to offer. But in Lucy, he found out he was, after all, fallible.
Lucy sat down on the sofa next to him and considered how quickly she could thrust her long nails into his eyes.
Was it worth trying? Maybe, she thought, but she decided to see whether she was able to talk her way out of her predicament first.
“Why did you come to the US?” she asked.
“Opportunity. I wanted to get rich.”
“And you are, but aren't you ashamed of yourself?”
He looked shocked by her question. “No. Why would I be?”
“Because you haven't become rich by hard work or ingenuity. You've bludgeoned your way to wealth by threatening people, scaring them, and who knows, probably even killing a few of them. That's a dishonorable way, a way that gains no respect.”
His face darkened, and Lucy thought he was going to slap her. “What would you have done if you'd lived on the streets in Moscow, freezing to death? Nobody gave me a start in life like you have had. I had to fend for myself. Whacking people was all I knew, and it got me to where I am today.”
*****
“Where is the bitch?” Lucy heard a woman scream. The light went on, and Lucy sheltered her eyes. There was the sound of women's shoes on the stairs and then the sound of somebody following her.
“Ah, so here she is,” the woman said. She was around thirty and thin. She was rather goth-like in her appearance. Her hair was jet black, and her eye shadow matched it. Her lipstick was very dark, and she wore a ring on each finger. Lucy took an instant dislike to her. “Why the fuck isn't she tied up?” she said in her Russian-American dialect.
“Because she can't go anywhere and her wrists are hurt,” Grigori replied.
“Who are you?” Lucy asked.
The woman slapped Lucy's face, causing her to stagger backward. “Don't you dare ask me any questions. If I want you to know anything, I'll tell you. Understand?” Lucy nodded, her hand over her stinging face. “Pretty, isn't she?” she said.
“Very attractive,” Grigori said.