Page 19 of The Deadly Candies

Carmelo’s good eye fixed on the crucifix above the door, his chest heaving. Lucia followed his gaze. The Christ figure’s chipped paint mirrored her son’s brokenness.

“You pray with me,” she said, pressing her rosary into his unbroken pinky. “For strength.”

He jerked his hand away, the motion sending a spasm through his ribs.

Lucia crossed herself.Madonna, forgive him.She’d spent nights on her knees at St. Raphael’s, begging the Virgin to purge Carmelo and his father of the anger and rage. Was it even possible? Her son was in love, and she never knew. She’d found the young girl’s letters and read them. Beautiful letters, and sweet. She nearly cried at the innocence and purity she read. If only Cosimo could have read those letters and seen what true love looked like.

Instead, he was obsessed with the Mafia and the prejudices that they once faced when trying to come into America. During Carmelo’s healing, she had to find a way to make Cosimo see reason. And if not, she had to do the unthinkable. Open her sons’ eyes to the fact that fairytales do not exist. Harden him from being the boy who loved and dreamed big, to the man his father would want him to be.

She’d soften that life lesson by finding him a nice Italian girl—Rosa Esposito’s daughter, maybe—instead ofKathy.

A nun bustled in, snapping gloves onto her hands. “Time to change the bedpan, Mrs. Ricci.”

Carmelo’s face flushed crimson as the nun lifted the sheets. Lucia didn’t turn away at the sour stench. She soothed her boy and comforted him through the humiliation.

Earlier –

“You want to stay overnight at the hospital? For months? Leave me behind? For months?” Cosimo narrowed his eyes at his wife, his voice edged with suspicion.

Lucia felt her heartbeat quicken, but she kept her tone gentle as she packed. “We just agreed to this, Cosimo. It will only be until he’s through the worst of it.Ha bisogno di cure speciali—he needs special care. We can’t trust the nurses and nuns to understand what our son is going through.”

She could feel his gaze heavy as she pulled her dress back on and picked up her torn underwear off his office floor. Since returning to his bed, she'd been dutiful, obedient. She no longer had the luxury of choice. Whatever love had once been there, once made her heart race at his touch, had long since evaporated, replaced by cold pity for the man who’d emerged after he secured his place as Don Ricci under Lucciano’s brutal regime.

“Lucia,” Cosimo spoke again, softer this time, coaxing. He zipped his pants and stepped to her. “Guarda mi. Look at me.”

She closed her eyes briefly, gathering herself, then turned slowly with practiced ease, meeting his eyes with a gentle, practiced smile.

Cosimo face still flushed from their intimacy, hair damp at the temples. He extended a hand toward her.

She hesitated only a moment before stepping forward. He took her hand, brought it gently to his lips, and pressed a tender kiss against her knuckles. Then, without warning, he pulled her into him for a more intimate embrace. Lucia preferred sex with him than intimacy. When he wanted to love on her, she wanted to scream.

“I know this is hard for you,amore mio.Non volevo ferire il ragazzo—I never wanted to hurt our boy. You believe thatsì?”

She couldn’t speak. He’d said the same tired line to her a hundred times now. Each time, staring hard into her eyes to see if there were any ambers of rebellion. To give voice to her pain would invite his madness. Instead, Lucia simply nodded, offering him another delicate smile, perfected through years of marriage to a man capable of unimaginable cruelty.

Cosimo brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I didn’t tell you. When I went to see him.Gli ho detto che lo amo—I told him I love him. That we’ll be okay. He’s a Ricci, Lucia.Forte e coraggioso—strong and brave, our family’s future. He understands. So, stop worrying so much.”

“Cosimo, per favore,” she whispered, desperation slipping into her voice. “Give me this. Just let me stay all day, all night with him.Verrò a casa nei fine settimana—I’ll come home on weekends. I promise. I am his mother.Se avesse solo un mal di stomaco sarei lì con lui—even if it were just a stomachache, I'd be at his side.È così che amo questa famiglia—this is how I love this family.”

She touched his chest gently, kissing him with all the tenderness she could muster, hoping it was enough.

“Per favore, Cosimo. Ti supplico.”She pleaded softly against his lips.

But instead of replying with words, he took her hand and led her out of his office. She let him escort her back upstairs. Once in their room he unzipped her dress again, this time with gentleness and touched her with care. Lucia felt herself drift elsewhere, far from this bed, far from this city, far from the love he now wanted to give. She envisioned Italy, her parents’ small home, the comforting smells of basil and rosemary from her mother’s kitchen, the laughter of her sons untouched by the darkness of their father’s world.

When it was over, Cosimo released another satisfied grunt—his consent. She lay beside him in silence, eyes fixed on the ornate ceiling above, as tears threatened to spill. Lucia understood clearly that wishing was useless. Cosimo would not change. Only sacrifice could shield her sons from further harm.

And she would sacrifice everything to keep her boys safe from their father. This was her fault. She’d been too soft. Let Carmelo roam Queens with his jazz records and big dreams. Let him think love could bend the world’s rules. He needed to see the world for what it really was. And who his father would make him be.

* * *

When the nurse left,Carmelo grunted, his gaze darting to the window. Snow blurred the view of the parking lot, where his father’s black DeSoto sat like a hearse.

“Yes,” Lucia said, sharper than she meant to. “It’s another day. Tuesday. The snow is still here, but it will be gone soon. And hopefully, you will be, too.This place reeks. I can take better care of you than thesenuns.” She said with the toss of her chin. “Forget everything,caro. You are safe, and with your family. Where you belong. You heal. We find you a good job, a good wife?—”

Carmelo’s fingers twitched inside the cast, a raw, animal sound tearing from his wired jaw. Spit and blood flecked the bandages.

Lucia reacted out of fear, rushing to him to soothe him. For a heartbeat, she saw her husband in him surfacing—the same wild rage in his eye.Dio, how would she ever heal the pain in her son?

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