Page 37 of The Deadly Candies

Matteo stepped in behind her, closing the door gently. He walked straight toward her. She turned on him, ready to unleash her anger, but he pressed a hand to her mouth, stopping her before the argument could begin. She blinked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. Slowly, he lowered his hand.

“You made me come when you wouldn’t call me back,” he said, his voice low, raw with hurt. Then he kissed her.

Debbie hesitated for a moment, pushed at his crushing embrace before melting into him, her arms wrapped around his neck. She kissed him back, her anger dissolved under the weight of his touch. She had forgotten what it felt like to belong to someone—physically, emotionally. Their relationship had been a series of starts and stops, but this?This was new.

He pulled away, his eyes searching hers.

“We okay now?” he asked.

“You’re in trouble,” she said, her voice sad with concern. “You know you can’t just roll around Harlem like this. With the Black Council gone, it’s too soon. The men around here are trigger-happy. Even your son.”

“Tonight,” he said firmly. “You’ll be with me tonight. We agreed.”

“Right. We agreed,” she said, her gaze drifting away from him as she fought to find a plausible excuse.

“Debbie, stop fucking with me. You’re pushing me away. Why? It’s not the kids. It’s not your clients. You don’t give a damn about what anyone thinks. That’s what I love about you,” he said.

“It’s Kathy, Matteo!” She pushed him away and moved to her desk, her voice rising. “Ever since you said they could be alive. That she and Carmelo planned this, it’s like it’s 1959 all over again. Those two are playing with people’s lives. For what? They had their chances to be together. They could never do it. Now this? Why this way? Putting a target on your back. You have the government, the Mafia, and the council, what’s left of it, gunning for you. We don’t have time for romance. Do we?”

“Stop,” he scratched his brow.

“Carmelo was supposed to do the witness protection play, but instead he ran. Now it’s you. Only you. How the hell are those diaries and making Sandra read them going to stop any of this? We find them, then what? And what if… what if you are wrong? What if he did die in that car crash, and so did she? What if she’s dead? Then I have to grieve her all over again. All of it makes me sick.”

“Cara, I swear on my life they are alive. Carmelo planned this; he’s always planned for this and prepared for this. It took him a long time to rebuild with Kathy. But he did. And then they disappear? Bullshit. My brother would never turn rat and enter witness protection. He’s the Wolf. He’s out there watching us. Waiting for my enemies to make a fatal move. I need to figure out something only Sandra can help me with.”

“What? You said we needed to him,” she said.

“Ah, yeah, find him. That’s right. It’s not Sicily, or Africa like they used to say. It’s close, it’s somewhere they can be close, and Sandra is the key. You know why she’s the key to them both.”

“It’ll take too long to get inside of that head of hers. You know she doesn’t have a memory,” said Debbie.

“She does. It’s just buried, different. Carmelo said—” he began.

Debbie sighed. He stopped her from leaving him.

“I also know something else,” he said.

“What?” she asked.

“How to protect you and our family. So let me.”

Debbie paced away from his reach.

“Don’t start sweet talking me. It won’t work. now,” she mumbled.

“I’m not going to quit. You need to give me an answer,” he insisted. “Marry me. Publicly claim me. To them and the kids. Marry me.”

“I’ve got to think about it,” she scratched her brow.

Matteo stared at her, his jaw tightening. “Prison, Debbie. Do you know what prison is?”

“You’re not listening to me,” Debbie rolled her eyes and turned away. He turned her back to him. She blinked, caught off guard by his hard look of desperation. She snatched her hand from his and glared, ready to bare her claws and go on the attack. He had to smile. She refused to smile. A feeling of hopelessness came over him. Thirty years of fuck-ups, how can he make her believe now. She wasn’t always this way. She would defend him no matter what. Believe his lies. Forgive his crimes. Go for her own knife or his gun if a woman came close to him. Always. It wasn’t until José died that she lost faith in him. Punished him. But never, ever abandoned him. So, the love was there. Somewhere buried deep. And he needed to gain it back.

“Fuck it,” he said, his tone hardening. “If you don’t want me, just say it. Say it to my face,” he said in defeat.

“And then what?” she shot back, crossing her arms. “You’ll go away? You’ll leave us alone? Stop telling everyone I’m your goddamn wife when you know I’m not!”

Matteo smirked, a dark glint in his eyes. “No.”

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