Page 115 of The Killer Cupcake
Something he couldn’t undo.
He had to leave.
Join the army and go for two years.
There was no way to change any of it.
Debbie took it the worst. They had the worst fight he’d ever had with her. She screamed at him. Ran from him. Reduced Junior to tears with her rage and hysteria. It got so bad that José had to take Junior to Mama Stewart while Matteo did his best to calm her for the baby’s sake, if not for their own.
After her body was exhausted, she was inconsolable. All she did was cry. And eventually he cried with her. He’d not shed a tear since his mother died. And this felt just as painful. A death to their dreams and their plans. He knew they would not come back from this. He just knew it.
They spent the remaining hours holding each other, memorizing touches, storing up love for the separation ahead. When Caesar arrived at dawn the following day, Matteo kissed his family one last time.
"I love you," he whispered against Debbie's lips. "More than my life. Remember that."
"Matteo—please, please, I can’t do this without you."
But he was already walking away, because if he looked back, he'd never leave. Behind him, Junior's cries pierced the morning air. "Papa! Papa, come back!"
In the car, Matteo broke completely. Caesar drove in respectful silence, letting a good man grieve for the life he was about to lose. Somewhere in Brooklyn, Carmelo was orchestrating the cover-up that would sell this fiction.
By nightfall, Matteo Ricci would be another volunteer, eager to serve his country against the Communist threat. No one would question a young man's patriotic choice.
No one except the family he left behind.
CHAPTER 44
LIFE OF LIES CHANGES EVERYTHING
The Ricci dining room gleamed with old-world elegance—crystal, silver, and hypocrisy polished to a high shine. Maria had outdone herself. Don Cosimo held court at the head, flanked by his remaining lieutenants, while Carmelo sat at his right hand where Matteo should have been, and instead of his wife, Nino sat next to him.
"A toast," Maria suggested in Italian, raising her glass of sparkling cider. "To family."
"To family," the table echoed in kind, though the words rang hollow with one son conspicuously absent.
"Where is Matteo?" Don Cosimo finally asked, his tone deceptively casual. "He was supposed to discuss the Vegas timeline tonight."
Carmelo set down his fork with deliberate precision. "Matteo won't be going to Vegas, Father."
The table fell silent. Maria's hand froze halfway to her glass.
"Explain,” said the Don.
"He enlisted. Left for Fort Dix this afternoon. Said he wanted to serve his country before settling down." Carmelo's delivery was flawless—a hint of surprise, a touch of pride, no trace of the puppet strings he'd pulled.
Don Cosimo's face cycled through confusion, rage, and something that might have been relief. "Enlisted? Without consulting me?"
"Apparently, the Communist threat motivated him. That, and perhaps a desire to prove himself worthy of the Ricci name since he’s made some mistakes in the past.” Carmelo met his father's eyes steadily. "He asked me to tell you he was sorry for not asking permission, but felt that you would understand."
"This is... unexpected." The Don's fingers drummed on the table.. "And the colored girl? His bastard?"
A more profound hush fell over the table. It was the first time at a family gathering that Cosimo had mentioned he knew of Debbie and Matteo’s child. The first time, he acknowledged the truth. And it all but solidified Carmelo’s deep-seething hatred for the man who contributed to his and his brothers’ birth and destruction. He had to wonder what kind of man he and Matteo would have been if they’d been born to anyone else but the Demon at the head of the table.
“She will move to Harlem under my protection, as I have promised him.” Carmelo's tone suggested this was non-negotiable. "Matteo serves honorably, and they stay safe. It's a matter of family honor now. Which I think he has restored. Wouldn’t you agree, Father?”
Don Cosimo glared at Carmelo. Everyone waited. Maria’s gaze remained lowered as she fed his daughter from her lap, while her mother tended to his son.
Cosimo shrugged. “As long as she understands her place is never at this table, everything is fine.”
