Page 136 of The Killer Cupcake
“The church! The church will not bend to this,” Ferrara tried to reason.
“I will make my peace with God,” Carmelo said. “Just as I plan to make peace with Kathy. I am the Wolf of Harlem, remember?”
“You’re not listening. The legal complexity alone?—"
"Forty-eight hours. Or I convene a special meeting to discuss your divided loyalties." Already, Carmelo was looking through him, business concluded. "We're done here."
Leone Ferrara—the Fox who'd outwitted FBI, IRS, and five ambitious prosecutors hunting down his father—shuffled out like a beaten dog. The moment of solitude returned, Carmelo retrieved a worn business card, fingers tracing numbers he knew by heart.
The prince had become king. Time to claim his queen.
"Sergeant Donovan speaking."
"Ricci. Tell me it's done."
"Mr. Brown enlisted this morning. Signed, sealed, delivered to the U.S. Army."
Relief flooded through Carmelo's system like morphine. His body sagged into the leather chair. "Departure date?"
"Two days. Fast-tracked as requested."
"The wife—was she present? Was she upset?” He fought to keep desperation from bleeding through.
"Lovely lady. Sweet little girl, too. She sat silently at his side, holding the child. Her eyes were down. She didn’t say anything. Quite the looker, if you don't mind me saying."
"Can any of this be traced back to me?" Carmelo asked.
"Negative. He believes the bonus is standard. Paperwork's been expedited. He signed for two years, but the contract reads four, just like your brother. Your problem is solved."
"My brother. They cannot be stationed together. Arrange it."
"Mr. Ricci, I'm a recruiter, not a general. Once the recruit boards that bus, they're in God's hands. Or the Army's, which might be worse. Besides, with this situation in Asia, we'll all be shipping out soon."
“What? You said no wars. That the Cold War was just politics, not combat!” Carmelo sat upright.
“Do you read the paper? There is always wars to be fought. It is a risk every soldier takes when he enlists. I thought you understood that.”
“My brother… he’s not in a war, he’s doing military stuff, advising,” Carmelo reasoned.
Donovan remained silent.
Carmelo ground his teeth. Two years since discovering Kathy carried another man's child. Two years of meticulous planning while his soul rotted from the inside by pretending at civility with his father. It had pushed him into complete darkness. Kathy’s marriage to that farm-boy meant the end of every dream he had planned to share with her. And the child should have been his. All hope was lost until he discovered the truth. That money and power, not good intentions, could get you anything you wanted in the world. It could bring her to him. And he’d take her in any way he could.
"Payments in your account." The line went dead.
Slim appeared in the doorway. "Fox stormed out like his ass was on fire."
"Good. Everything's aligning perfectly."
"That's what scares me." Slim's weathered face showed concern. "Getting what you want can be its own punishment."
"All I want is her back in Harlem, where I can reach her. Where she belongs, she’s trapped in that shithole town because of me. I’m helping her.”
Slim retreated, recognizing the futility of arguing with obsession. In the silence, Carmelo let himself imagine it—Kathy back in New York, close enough to touch. For the first time in two years, something resembling happiness flickered in his chest. Even if it was just the phantom pain of a limb he'd lost, it was better than the nothing he'd been living with.
Quebec - 1978
Kathy slept upstairs. Marco, his most trusted man, approached with the American newspaper he requested. It was several days old, but current enough. Carmelo set his coffee down and reached for it.
