Page 22 of The Killer Cupcake
"Willa!" she called out urgently. "Carmelo!"
Two men had descended on Willa like sharks scenting blood—one to her right, another to her left, both easily twice her age and speaking at her simultaneously in rapid-fire French, English, and Italian. Willa looked terrified, overwhelmed by the aggressive attention. A man touched her chin.
Carmelo immediately stepped toward the predators, his entire demeanor shifting from lover to enforcer in the space of a heartbeat. He said a few quiet words that made both men step back with raised hands and apologetic smiles, then pulled Willa protectively closer to their group.
"Stay close to us," he commanded gently but firmly.
"Sorry," Willa mumbled, her voice small with embarrassment. Gone was any trace of the timid sharecropper's daughter from Mississippi. In her place stood a vision in champagne lace—Janey's borrowed pearls glowed like captured moonlight against Willa’s slender throat, her dark eyes wide as saucers as she took in the velvet banquettes, the musical clink of champagne coupes, the sheer audacity of this hidden world. Willa touched her hair, newly styled into sleek finger waves, as if checking that this Cinderella transformation was fundamental and not some elaborate dream.
Carmelo moved through the crowd like a young prince, greeting other men with embraces and handshakes that spoke of genuine affection and hard-earned respect. The girls instinctively found each other’s hands, seeking comfort in the familiar touch.
"You okay?" Kathy whispered.
"It's like... like walkin' inside a diamond!" Willa breathed, wonder replacing her earlier fear.
“You’ve never seen a diamond before,” Kathy teased.
“I read about them in your books. And Debbie has that pretty bracelet with diamonds and sapphires. Remember?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah, you right,” Kathy nodded.
Suddenly, Carmine Boanno's voice cut through the music. He stood in the center of the room with a crystal glass raised high, Janey at his side, grinning with feline satisfaction.
"Salute al campione!" he roared.
The response was instantaneous and thunderous. Mobsters, both Black and Sicilian, beautiful women, and Creole gamblers turned as one organism, glasses raised toward Carmelo in a toast that felt almost religious in its fervor. Saturday's fight wasn't just a boxing match—it was war declared. This would be a testament to power and territory that would echo through both the legitimate and criminal worlds.
A young man approached through the crowd, moving with the confidence of someone born to wealth and privilege. His gaze bypassed Kathy entirely, fixing on Willa with the focused intensity of a hunter spotting new prey. He was breathtakingly handsome—skin like warm caramel, wavy hair the color of copper slicked back to perfection, and clear green eyes that seemed to glow with their own inner light. He was so polished, so flawlessly groomed, that he didn't quite look real.
He murmured something in liquid French that neither Willa nor Kathy understood, the words flowing like music. Before either could respond, he lifted Willa's hand to his lips and kissed it with old-world gallantry, his eyes never leaving her face.
Kathy felt her own pulse quicken at the electric connection crackling between them. "Kathy? What's happening?" Willa whispered, her voice filled with confused wonder.
"I think he likes you," Kathy murmured back, unable to suppress her smile.
"I... what? What do I do?" Willa asked desperately.
The mysterious suitor extended his hand with a bow worthy of European royalty, then led her toward the dance floor with the confidence of a man who'd never been refused. Willa looked back over her shoulder, seeking rescue, but Kathy made the decision to let her go. This was Willa's moment—her chance to feel special, desired, beautiful in a way she'd never been allowed to experience. When the stranger swept her into his arms and she began to sway against him to the hypnotic rhythm, Kathy saw the instant connection that was worth savoring, worth the risk.
"Looks like Willa's found her match," Carmelo said, his arm slid around Kathy's waist to pull her back against the solid warmth of his chest. She relaxed into him, feeling safe and claimed as they swayed near the table where the Ricci crew held court.
"We shouldn't be so open," Kathy said, though her protest lacked conviction. "We could get in trouble. That kiss was enough. People were watching.”
"We're fine here. My father's men don't care about this. My father doesn't care. Not really. Not about this," Carmelo murmured against her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine.
"What?" Kathy twisted in his arms to face him, confusion clouding her features. "What does that mean—he doesn't care? Not really? Of course he does, Melo. He has a hit out on me. I can't return to Harlem. My father's life is hanging by a thread because of us!"
Carmelo's eyes widened slightly, and she caught something—a flicker of deceit, of knowledge he wasn't sharing. "Yes. Right. He wants us separated, but they... uhm, they don't know who you are here. They don't care about?—"
"Stop." Kathy stepped back, her intuition screaming warnings in her head. "You're lying to me. I can see it in youreyes." Her voice grew stronger, more certain. "Don't treat me like I'm stupid, Carmelo Ricci.”
"Kat... come on, don't be angry," he pleaded, reaching for her, but she evaded his grasp.
"Let me go!" She shoved him away with both hands, the force of her anger surprising them both. "You're lying to me about something important, and I won't stand for it! I felt it earlier, and I feel it now. Tell me. Tell me.”
He opened his mouth. The truth was there, on his tongue. But one look into her lovely face and his heart raced so fast he could barely breathe, let alone speak. He closed his mouth and lost his nerve.
"Kat!" Carmelo called desperately as she stormed away from him.
