Page 140 of The Killer Cupcake
“We’re all family. That’s the secret. No matter what happens or who tries to hurt us, or how much we hurt each other, we survive because we’re family,” Debbie winked. “Now let me go give the Penny Man some sugar so we can get this day started.”
Sandy laughed and smiled. The door closed. Sandy dropped back on her pillows, and her head turned toward the window. She thought of the game she played with the man with no face. She was beginning to remember. If she took her medicine, would the memories stop? She had to wonder.
"The Feds don't thinkI'm dead?" Carmelo's voice cut through the tension.
Ernesto's gaze slipped to Kathy, who stared back unflinchingly. Her presence at the table—a violation of every tradition—made him hesitate.
Carmelo's jaw tightened with restraint. "Look at me, not her. I told you—she sits in on all meetings going forward. This affects her and our daughter."
Ernesto exhaled slowly. The consigliere had counseled generations of powerful men, but Carmelo defied every rule. From his obsessive control of Harlem to this insane anonymity escape scheme, nothing followed tradition. How could he advise a Don who shared his crown with a woman—a Black woman, no less?
"Speak." The single word carried lethal weight.
Ernesto flinched. "There's one Fed who won't let it go. He's investigating Ms. Kathy, particularly her past alliance with NickyBarnes and then Frank Lucas. His theory? When the Black Council fell, you two disappeared together, taking a lot of the trafficking money with you. He's using the media to spread it. Soon they'll squeeze the families for information."
"And Matteo?" Carmelo asked.
"He married Debbie. At your mother's grave."
Kathy's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Good for them."
"He's also demanding his son be accepted into the family. That's... problematic. The kid?—"
"Junior." Kathy's correction was sharp. "His name is Junior."
"Of course. Forgive me." Ernesto swallowed. "Junior and Nicolas have history. His ties to Frank Lucas complicate things. Matteo's moving too fast—transferring property, accounts. I can't intervene quickly enough. And your son Nicolas is on the warpath, secretly conspiring to take down his uncle. I think he’s making moves to kill him. To take over. The kid lost it when he saw you left him scraps in the Will. He’s spending too much time cozying up to your enemies. And the feds are watching everything.”
Carmelo's fingers drummed once on the table. "It's Matteo’s family—his choice. Nicolas is my problem. I think I know how to solve it.”
"Don Battaglia won't accept these fractures. Mancini's worse—they see you as Americans playing at being Mafioso. That medallion represents tradition, but if Matteo shows up with his half-Black son to the families, they will all implode to keep Junior out.” Ernesto spread his hands helplessly.
"Interesting." Kathy's voice could have frozen blood. "That medallion was protected by a Black woman for decades. Your precious traditions exist because she preserved them."
Ernesto bowed his head, chastened. "Much respect to Mama Stewart. I'm only conveying reality. The families prefer Nicolas. Unless you rise from the dead?—"
"Giovanni Battaglia." Kathy turned to Carmelo, her mind already three moves ahead. "His son. How old?"
"Twenty-three, maybe twenty-four. Fresh from college."
"And half-Irish, you said." Her eyes gleamed with calculation. "His Sicilian father broke tradition for love. Left Sicily and started his Mafia empire with the Camorra. Perhaps Giovanni will understand Junior's position."
Ernesto watched them communicate without words—a look, a gesture, perfect synchronization.
"We go to Italy," Kathy continued, her strategy crystallizing. "The entire family. Naples."
"What?" Ernesto sputtered.
"She's right." Carmelo's approval energized her further. "Matteo, Debbie, all the children—including Sandy. We take Nicolas and Nina to get them away from the conspirators. To deal with my… son. A family reunion beyond the Fed's reach."
"Getting you two out of Quebec, I can manage. Convincing Matteo?—"
"I know where the medallion is." Kathy's bombshell silenced the room.
Ernesto's eyes bulged. "Where?"
"Our daughter played a hiding game with it years ago. Somehow, she brought it from Jersey to Harlem." Kathy's fingers intertwined with Carmelo's—united, unbreakable. “Right before my Mama died, I found it in bed with her. She thought it was her treasure.” Kathy looked over to Carmelo. “She wanted her Papa to come to our house and find it. To stay with us.”
Carmelo blinked.
