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Love Among Thorns

Love Among Thorns

Mafia
last updateÚltima actualización : 2025-05-12
Por:  Timi’s pen En curso
Idioma: English
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Sinopsis

Action

Comedy

Mafia

Protective

Weak to Strong

Amara had only ever known two things: fear and survival. Running from a past that left scars deeper than skin, she never expected to find safety — let alone love — in the arms of Rafael Moretti, the most feared man in the city’s underworld. Ruthless, powerful, and haunted by his own demons, Rafael never imagined someone like Amara could slip past the armor he wore like a second skin. Saving her was never part of his plan. Needing her was never supposed to happen. But when her past comes hunting and his enemies see her as his one weakness, Rafael will stop at nothing to protect her — even if it means burning down the world they know. As danger tightens its noose around them, Amara and Rafael fight for a love that was forged in chaos and baptized in blood. Together, they will build a sanctuary — a home, a family, and a future no one can ever take from them. In a world where trust is a weapon and love is the most dangerous risk of all, will they find their forever — or will the past destroy them before they ever have the chance?

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Izzyi
Izzyi
This story had me hooked from the very first chapter! The characters feel so real, and the emotional tension kept me turning pages late into the night. I especially loved how the author balanced drama, romance, and suspense—it was addictive in the best way. Can’t wait to see what happens next.
2025-05-23 16:46:07
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48 Capítulos
1
Amara Blake POVThe walls of my house were thin.So thin I could hear the clock tick in the kitchen from my bed.So thin the neighbors probably heard the way my mother smiled with her voice and slashed with her words.So thin I could almost pretend I wasn’t trapped inside.Almost.I sat curled up on the farthest corner of my mattress, arms wrapped around my knees, textbook open but untouched in front of me.Calculus formulas blurred on the page, swimming in and out of focus as the fight downstairs rose in pitch — another argument about the car payment, about the dirty dishes, about the way I “forgot” to call my father “sir” yesterday.It didn’t matter what the spark was.The fire always burned the same way.My fingers traced the fraying edge of the quilt — a habit I didn’t remember picking up, but one I clung to when the shouting started.It didn’t stop the memories from clawing at me.Didn’t stop the bruises from blooming later, when words gave way to fists.I wasn’t a child anymore.
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2
Rafael’s POVThe car rolled up the long drive, tires crunching over gravel as moonlight spilled across the stone façade of the Moretti estate.It looked more like a fortress than a home — sharp lines, heavy iron gates, windows too narrow for sunlight.I carried the girl — Amara, according to the worn student ID in her pocket — through the front doors.Mrs. Holloway, the housekeeper, stood waiting in the marble foyer, hands folded neatly in front of her apron.Her sharp eyes softened the moment she saw the bundle in my arms.“She’s hurt,” I said gruffly. “Clean her up. Keep her comfortable.”Mrs. Holloway’s gaze flicked to me, full of unspoken questions.But she merely nodded, already moving to prepare a guest room.As I laid Amara down on the soft sheets, she whimpered — a sound so raw it cut deeper than any blade.“Shh,” I muttered, more to myself than to her.I brushed a strand of blood-matted hair away from her forehead.She didn’t wake.Good.Better that way.I straightened and st
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3
(Rafael’s POV)The fire crackled softly in the library, throwing flickers of gold across the polished wood floors.I stood at the window, staring out into the night, watching the black sedan parked two streets over — far enough to seem innocent.But not far enough to be missed.They were getting bold.I didn’t turn when I heard the soft creak of the door opening.Only one person in this house moved like that — quiet, deliberate, without the jittery fear that infected most of the men under my command.Mrs. Holloway.“She’s sleeping,” she said simply, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.I gave a brief nod, still watching the distant car.“You should keep her, Rafael,” she said after a beat of silence.At that, I turned.Mrs. Holloway’s hair was silver at the temples now, pulled into the same severe bun she’d worn for decades. Her face, lined by time and care, held a softness reserved for very few.I narrowed my eyes slightly.“She’s not a stray kitten, Angela,” I said, voic
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4
(Amara’s POV)The house was unnervingly quiet when I padded down the hallway the next morning, my bare feet soundless against the thick rugs.I clutched the note to my chest like a shield, heart hammering against my ribs.Part of me still screamed that I was making a mistake — that trusting anyone, especially a man like Rafael Moretti, would only lead to another cage, another betrayal.But another part — a softer, stubborn whisper — urged me to try.Just once.To believe that maybe someone could be kind without expecting anything in return.I found him in a small study near the back of the mansion, the door half-open, the scent of coffee rich in the air.Rafael sat behind a desk littered with papers, his dark hair a little messy, like he’d been running his hand through it all morning.He looked up as I hovered in the doorway, and something unreadable flickered across his face — something almost… gentle.Quickly hidden.I forced my voice to work.“Um… thank you,” I whispered, so soft I
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5
(Amara’s POV)The key sat heavy in my palm.I could still hear Rafael’s voice — rough, honest — promising me freedom if I chose it.No cages.No chains.No demands.And yet…I stayed.Maybe it was foolish.Maybe it was weak.But when the world outside had shown me nothing but cruelty, Rafael’s broken kindness — even guarded, even rough-edged — was enough to make me pause.I slipped the key into my pocket and retreated to the guest room he’d given me.The walls were soft cream, the bedspread a muted blue — colors that made my chest ache with the memory of childhood hopes I’d long since buried.I curled up under the covers, waiting for the storm to break.It didn’t take long.Somewhere deep in the house, a sharp noise cracked — a sound like wood splintering.I sat bolt upright, heart hammering.Voices rose — sharp, commanding.Footsteps thundered down the hall.I scrambled out of bed just as the door burst open — but it was Dominic, Rafael’s second-in-command, his face carved in stone.
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6
The sunlight filtering through the heavy curtains was warm, golden, and almost tender.Amara lay still for a long time, just breathing, feeling the strange softness of the bed beneath her.It wasn’t like the bed at home — lumpy, hard, cold no matter how many blankets she piled on top.This bed felt… safe.Her fingers curled slowly around the edge of the comforter. She was used to waking with fear, to the sound of slamming doors, heavy footsteps, raised voices.But here, the only sounds were the faint ticking of a distant clock, the cheerful clatter of pots from somewhere downstairs, and — was that humming?She sat up cautiously. Every movement felt wrong, too quiet, too soft.The bruises from days before ached dully under her clothes, but the house itself wrapped around her like a living thing, gentle and patient.Maybe… just for today… she could pretend she wasn’t a ghost.Amara slipped from the bed, made it quickly — habit, always — and tiptoed to the door.She cracked it open and p
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7
(Amara’s POV)The house smelled like bread.Not just any bread — something warm and homemade, like comfort baked into the air itself. Amara stood in the wide doorway of the kitchen, still wrapped in the oversized sweater Mrs. Holloway had given her, watching the housekeeper hum softly as she pulled a fresh loaf from the oven.It felt wrong to intrude. Wrong to want this.But Mrs. Holloway turned around with a soft smile, flour dusting her sleeves.“You’re just in time,” she said. “Would you like to help me set the table?”Amara nodded before she could stop herself.Something loosened inside her chest as she moved carefully around the kitchen, placing plates, unfolding napkins. The simple domesticity — no shouting, no violence — felt almost dreamlike.Maybe this was what normal was supposed to feel like.As they worked, Mrs. Holloway spoke quietly, as if sensing Amara’s fragility.“You remind me of my daughter,” she said, voice wistful. “She would have been about your age now.”Amara f
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8
(Amara’s POV)The safehouse didn’t look like what I expected.It wasn’t some fortress of cold marble and cameras. It was a quiet, two-story home tucked behind heavy iron gates, wrapped in ivy and early-spring roses.There was a porch swing. A vegetable garden. Curtains that looked like they were picked by someone who cared about color and light.Homey.A word I barely understood — a word that clutched at something deep inside my chest and wouldn’t let go.Mrs. Holloway squeezed my shoulder as she unlocked the front door.Her smile was gentle, patient — a silent reassurance that I could take my time.“Come in, sweetheart. Let’s get you settled.”Inside, the house smelled like cinnamon and fresh linen.The living room was filled with warm, golden light from the windows. There were books stacked on side tables. Cozy blankets thrown across couches. A little black cat sleeping in a sunbeam — who opened one eye, blinked at me lazily, and yawned.I stood frozen on the threshold, overwhelmed
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9
Rafael’s POVThe clock ticked loudly in the study.Rafael leaned back in the worn leather chair, the glass of whiskey untouched at his side, and stared at nothing.It had been three days since Amara and Mrs. Holloway moved to the safe house.Three days without seeing her peeking shyly around corners. Without hearing her soft footsteps padding down the hall.Without that fragile, maddening hope she carried like a flickering candle against the dark.I’m getting soft, he thought bitterly.Weak.He didn’t have time for weakness. Not now.Dominic had already flagged disturbing news this morning:There had been movement near the old Blake property. Vehicles. Strange visitors. Whispers on the streets.Someone was in stirring up the ashes of Amara’s escape — and it wouldn’t be long before those embers turned into wildfire.“Boss,” Dominic’s voice came over the private line, grim and clipped. “We traced one of the cars. Blake’s connected to old friends… not just locals. Out-of-town muscle.”Ra
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10
(Amara’s POV)The rain fell in sheets against the windows, gray and heavy like the memories pressing into my chest.Mrs. Holloway had lit a fire to chase away the chill, and she bustled in the kitchen now, humming softly as she baked bread — an ordinary, comforting sound. I sat curled on the old sofa, knees hugged to my chest, trying to ignore the way my hands trembled.He’s giving you safety, my mind whispered. You should feel safe.But safety had never been free. Safety always came with conditions, with cruelty hidden underneath.I didn’t know how to accept it.The door creaked open, and Rafael stepped inside, bringing the scent of wet leather and cold air with him. He locked eyes with me — not cold, not threatening. Just…watching.He crossed the room slowly, pulled up a chair in front of the sofa, and sat.For a long moment, neither of us spoke.Then he said, voice low and steady, “They’re accelerating.”I blinked at him.“Your parents,” he clarified. “They’re pulling favors. Looki
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