Page 36 of The Deadly Candies

“When do they want you to quit?” Matteo asked.

“This week is my last week.”

Matteo clenched his jaw, his mind racing. “Then tomorrow. Tell them you have to work after school tomorrow to finish up. And then we’ll figure something else out. Okay? Tomorrow?”

There was a pause, and then Debbie’s voice, soft but resolute: “Okay, Matteo. But only tomorrow. See you then.”

13

Debbie’s Place - Harlem, New York, 1978

Matteo sat in his car outside the beauty shop, his men fidgeted nervously beside and behind him. At the golden hour, Italians in Harlem who were just lingering were at risk. Even Don Matteo Ricci. These were hard times for this community, with Nicki Barnes gone and the federal raids continuing.

He didn’t care.

He never cared about his own safety.

It was always, and forever, about his wife, Debbie.

Matteo’s eyes were closed. His mind drifted back to Debbie’s promise to return to him that day when he left her in Mama Stewart’s diner. A promise she’d broken. When she hadn’t come back to Mama Stewart’s the next day, he’d grown desperate and depressed. He even drove through Harlem for days looking to catch her on the streets. Something that she eventually learned when he passed her, and her mother was carrying laundry back to their tenement. She saw him but pretended she didn’t. Just as she pretended, he hadn’t been out of prison for over a month, and he’s only touched her once. Matteo did not give up then, and he would not give up now.

He was home, and she was pushing him away. Mentally, he couldn’t handle it. If she would just be his, if they could just be back to normal, maybe his rage wouldn’t cloud his judgment, especially when the Ricci family needed him sharp, when his brother’s family and their lives depended on it.

But it always came back to Debbie.

Did she love him enough to do it all again?

Did he love her enough to let her go if she couldn’t?

Did he deserve any of the things he wanted?

Could he ever make up for the trauma he’d brought back from Vietnam and into their lives? He wanted to atone. He saw a priest regularly, but salvation wasn’t in his Hail Marys. It was Debbie. He needed his woman, and that was just how it was. She’d come home with him, or he’d burn New York to the ground and take her by force.

* * *

Inside the shop,Debbie stood behind Dhara, her hands expertly finishing the last touches on her client’s hair. Her feet ached; her ankles swollen from a full day of styling.

“Ms. Debbie, oh my goodness. You’re a magician, girl!” Dhara gushed. She admired her reflection in the mirror.

Debbie smiled. “That’s all you. I just put a little seasoning on it for ya.”

“Girl, get up out the chair! I’ve been sitting here waiting for almost an hour!” Peggy shouted from across the room, her voice sharp but playful. The women started a back-and-forth banter that soon became a bit too personal. Debbie did her best to shut it down.

The door swung open. Matteo walked in. Tall, broad-shouldered, built like a boxer who never lost. His leather jacket clung to him, cut sharp enough to suggest Savile Row, but the scars and tats on his knuckles told a different story. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but not the strong line of his jaw, the kind that made women lean in to see if he’d smile. Tattoos coiled up his neck—faded ink, prison-grade—disappearing under his collar, only to resurface on his hands.Every mark tells a story. Every glance at the customers sends a warning.

Debbie froze.

Heads turned.

Eyes in the shop volleyed to him, then to her, and then to him again. Everyone fell silent, including the bird that Minnie kept in the cage.The mob funded Debbie’s Placefrom the start, a beauty shop at first in her home, then it expanded and doubled as a front for Matteo Ricci operations, even while he was in prison and the Wolf was around. When you consider how Matteo never missed a payment to Debbie, he had every right to walk in. From his prison cell, he kept up with her demands to keep her beauty parlor modern and trendy, to fund her little business ideas that often failed. In exchange, Debbie cursed out his men and refused to let them do the business he wanted them to do from her workplace. He eventually gave up and started making payments to his brother out of his own pocket to cover the expenses and disrespect. It just wasn’t worth it to piss her off.

Matteo had sworn to her he’d stop having his men check in on her when he went to prison. Now that he was out, all the rules had changed. Every day, she could see them following behind her as she drove the city, or lingering too long around her neighborhood. She’d avoided his calls. She should have known this was coming.

“Ah, Ms. Debbie,” Minnie stammered, breaking the tension. “I can take Peggy and get her ready for you.”

Dhara was already out of her chair, shoving bills into Debbie’s hand before hurrying toward the door. The other customers sat in silence and remained watchful. Debbie rolled her eyes at Matteo and marched to the back of the shop. Her office was her only refuge. He followed. His men were now stationed at the salon’s entrance like sentinels.

“Shit,” Debbie huffed as she threw open her office door. “Mutherfucker!”

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