Page 109 of The Killer Cupcake
Slim stepped inside, fedora tucked under his arm, moving with the easy grace of a man who'd survived too much to fear ordinary dangers. "Got a minute?"
"No." Smoke punctuated the refusal.
"Might want to reconsider."
"Not in the mood for games, Slim."
"Fair enough. I've been sitting on information, trying to find the right moment. Starting to realize there isn't one, and my neck's getting itchy from waiting."
"Stop talking in riddles."
“Okay. Fine. It's about Kathy Freeman,” Slim said.
Two words that changed everything. Carmelo's entire body shifted—not dramatically, just a subtle realignment that spoke of barely leashed violence. He set the cigar in the crystal ashtray with exaggerated care. "We had an agreement about that name. You’re never to speak it in front of me. And I don’t crack your jaw.”
Slim swallowed a smile. He didn’t care how many bodies the Wolf dropped; he raised the Ricci boys. Where Mama Stewart was their surrogate mother after Lucia’s death, Slim was the father they wished for from the start. It killed him to see the honest, kind boy disappear into the violent, maniacal chaos of Cosimo’s bloodline.
"Every move you make is about her. This war, the deaths, the territories—it's all one long suicide note to Kathy Freeman. Before you finish writing it in Harlem's blood, you should know the truth."
The silence that followed had weight. Slim watched his boss's fingers drum once on the desk, inches from the hammer that had ended more than one difficult conversation.
"There's nothing about Kathy I don't know. I pay well for information. I know about her Sunday picnics after church, with her daughter and new husband. I know she’ll be back in the classroom soon, teaching kids. See? I know her world.”
"You know what Maria made sure you'd know."
"Maria?" Something shifted in Carmelo's expression. “What the fuc?—”
"Your wife. Mother of your twins.”
"I'm aware of who she is." Carmelo's smile held no warmth. "She paraded the twins in front of Carmine Bonanno. Made sure Kathy heard about it. Old news, Slim."
Slim's response was a slow, deliberate head shake.
"If you have something to say, say it."
"Caesar's been warming her bed. You know this. I've reported it."
"And I've told you repeatedly—I don't give a shit. She can fuck whoever keeps her quiet. I'm there for my children. Why are you wasting my time with this?"
"Because you're carrying the wrong guilt." Slim straightened. "You think you raped her. Think you’re a monster because you saw as a kid what Cosimo did to her mother.”
“Among other things,” Carmelo rolled his eyes.
“No. No son. Not other things. This here is the moment you gave up and gave in to the worst part of your nature. Every body you've dropped, every black woman in Harlem you've taken to bed trying to replace Kathy—it all comes back to you believing you're the monster Maria said you were. The rapist.”
"You applying for consigliere now?” Carmelo smirked.
“You applying for Don?” Slim countered.
Carmelo’s smile faded. “Spit it out, Slim.”
"This needs saying. Caesar and Maria—it's not new. Goes back before your marriage. Before the so-called rape. Before the convenient pregnancy to land your plane permanently here with your father.” Slim paused, measuring his words. “Cosimo has been in her ear the whole time through her mother. Planting the seed to harvest. He wanted you back in the fold. That’s why he pretended not to care about you traveling and boxing to be with Kathy. He’d always had control. That’s why Caesar stopped traveling with you. He was putting in work with Maria. Setting you up.”
CHAPTER 42
REWRITING HISTORY
The weight of his father’s betrayal pressed down on Carmelo’s chest like a tombstone. For six days, he’d vanished from the family, holed up in what he called hissafe house. A place he’d bought and rebuilt with his own hands after losing Kathy. New Jersey was his exile, his purgatory. There, he sketched her face until his fingers cramped, punched the heavy bag until his knuckles split, and drank himself into a stupor to sleep without dreaming of her.
