Page 41 of The Deadly Candies

“Why are you in my bakery today? I saw you across the street, and I saw you at the funeral,” she said.

“I thought you said you remember me?” his brows furrowed.

“I—I guess. I remember your name. I think we were kids or something,” she said, her gaze averted to the door of the bakery instead of his eyes. It was avoidance. He knew that trick. He often used it on his uncle Matteo when he demanded to know what secrets his father left behind. She was avoiding for a different reason. Maybe searching through that empty head of hers to make sense of their connection.

Then she spoke: “I remember we used to play in the bakery and… outside. The three of us. You and your… sister?”

Nicolas nodded, though the mention of his sister made his stomach twist. “Nina. Yeah.”

“Aah, Nicolas and Nina. Twins! But you didn’t like being called twins because you were a boy and a girl. Yes, yes, I remember you…I guess.”

“We were always running around, getting underfoot. Your grandma Brenda used to chase us out with a wooden spoon from the kitchen where we snuck the cookies.”

Sandra laughed, but it was a hollow sound, like she was pretending at their connection. He found that curious. Who was playing who? Did she really remember him? Or was this a trick?

“The last time I saw you was at the funeral. Your grandma Brenda’s funeral, I meant to say,” he clarified.

She nodded in agreement and blinked her doll-like eyes with long lashes at him. The innocence behind them was remarkable. She smiled for him and remembered the good memories; did she recollect any of the bad?

“You needed time to recover. The grief was too much for you,” he echoed, his voice quieter now. “After that, you went away back to ah… school. That’s what my father called it. We never saw each other again. Even after my mother and father divorced. Never.”

“Until yesterday,” she said, her smile still bright. There was no accusation in her eyes. “Are you… Matteo’s kid?”

Nicolas chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “No. Matteo has other kids. My father was Carmelo Ricci. The Wolf of Harlem. Remember that?”

Sandra frowned, her brow creasing in confusion. “Carmelo… I knew him?”

“Of course, you knew him. You used to spend time with him as a kid. He’d take you to the zoo. You had this zebra he bought you that you loved. Told me once he was going to take you to Africa. Things he never promised to do with me and my sister,” Nicolas said with a tinge of bitterness.

“Huh?” Sandra asked.

Nicolas looked up into her eyes. And then a light went on. Suddenly, she had access to memories she had carefully locked away. Was it him? Did he cause her to have some kind of breakthrough? Wouldn’t her mother’s death have done that?

“Yes. I remember him now. The zoo. He knew a lot… about animals. I called him Uncle Carm,” she said.

Nicolas nodded. “That’s right. Uncle Carm.”

“Strange. He was around, but Mama…” She trailed off, her expression clouding over. “Why is it so hard for me to remember him, and… then it’s not? Carmelo Ricci is Uncle Carm?”

Nicolas hesitated. he glanced around to see if anyone was close enough to hear them. Uncle Matteo had threatened to cut off his balls and throw him in the Hudson River if he approached her. And he knew his uncle meant it. But he had to see her. He had to try. His fingers tightened into a fist. “You had an accident,” he said slowly, watching her face carefully. “Do you remember that, Cassandra? The accident? The doctors?”

“What?” Her frown deepened, and he could see the sheen of panic in her eyes. He had fucked up. Matteo would cut his throat, for sure. He told him to let Debbie and him handle her memory issues through diaries. That sounded weird. How could he, when he was the cause of it all?

“It was in front of the bakery. “We were kids, playing in the street and running in and out of traffic like idiots. You got hit by a car. Bang your head really bad. Had to have surgery on your head.”

Sandra stared at him, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. The color drained from her face, and for a moment, she looked like the little girl he remembered—scared, vulnerable, lost—dared to do something by two bullies—him and his sister. Something that changed their lives forever. But then she shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the memory. “That’s a lie. I don’t… I don’t remember that.”

Nicolas leaned forward; his voice low. “You were hurt pretty bad. Like I said. Head injury. You were in the hospital for weeks. After that, you… changed. You didn’t remember a lot of things. Not me, my father, or even your mother, sometimes. So, they sent you to more doctors. They called it school. It wasn’t.”

Sandra’s hands trembled as she reached for her tea, but didn’t drink. She just stared at the cup, her mind clearly racing. “I remember you. You weren’t nice to me. I only wanted to be friends,” she said, finally looking up. “But there are so many gaps. I always thought it was just… a dream. You know how dreams fade.”

“It wasn’t,” Nicolas said, his voice heavy with guilt. He felt himself on the verge of tears. He hadn’t cried since he was a kid begging the Wolf for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, beautiful. It was the accident that stole everything from you. And it was my fault. I have hated myself ever since. I have wanted to see you. Dreamt of that day, over and over. How you smiled and trusted me. What I did. What I… caused.”

He closed his eyes and shuddered with guilt and the sick feeling of being unworthy of her presence or forgiveness. “We were so confused back then. Our parents. Who they were. What they were to each other. We couldn’t figure it out. We were kids. We… I’m so fucking sorry.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes locking onto his. “I don’t want to talk about this! Not with you!”

He looked away, unable to hold her gaze. “Listen to me. Aunt Kathy protected you, and so did my father. But all of that is over. We aren’t kids anymore. And they are dead. I need your help.”

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