Page 39 of The Killer Cupcake
"I'm sorry, Kathy," he whispered, his voice rough with self-loathing. "I don't know why—I mean, I know why I need you so much—but I don't understand why I can't stop myself from destroying everything I touch."
She turned her face away, tears streaming silently down her cheeks as the full weight of their situation crashed down on her. He moved off her carefully, watching helplessly as she curled inward like a wounded person.
All Kathy could think about was Sandy—her brilliant, fragile daughter who believed her mother was dead. Sandy, who had always been so carefully protected, sheltered in the safe bubble of independence she'd meticulously crafted in Washington. For every hole in her memory, she filled it with the make-believe life she wanted to give her. Now her baby was completely vulnerable, beyond her reach, probably devastated with grief and open for trauma to return.
What kind of mother was she to have allowed this to happen?
"Kathy?" Carmelo reached out again, his touch gentle this time, but she sat up abruptly and pulled her silk robe around herself like armor.
"I'll sleep on the sofa. Just stay away from me, please, please, stay away from me!” she said without a look back at him. She didn’t need the inevitable excuses or justifications.
As the cabin door closed behind her, Carmelo collapsed back against the pillows with a deep, shuddering sigh. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, knowing he'd expected this outcome from the moment he'd conceived his elaborate deception. Every action in his life had come with brutal consequences—he'd learned to accept both the punishments he inflicted and those he endured. Like watching Kathy walk out of his life, marry another man, and keep his daughter hidden from him for years. He had survived it all through sheer force of will.
But this felt different. This felt like the beginning of the end.
He lowered his hands. He stared at the empty space beside him in the bed where her warmth and perfume still lingered, then slowly reached out to run his palm over the indentation her body had left in the sheets. The gesture was achingly tender for a man who'd just orchestrated the cruelest betrayal imaginable.
Closing his eyes, he listened to the gentle lapping of waves against the yacht's hull and accepted the truth he'd been avoiding: all he could do now was wait to see if the woman he loved more than life itself would ever be able to forgive him for loving her this much.
Three hours later.
Kathy stirred with a soft moan, her body stiff from sleeping curled on the narrow sofa. Through the haze of exhaustion, she felt herself being lifted with infinite care. Her eyes fluttered open to find Carmelo's face above her, his expression tender and filled with quiet regret as he carried her back to their bed. This was the man she knew, the boy she loved. She could see him now.
Without conscious thought, she wrapped her arms around his neck, seeking the familiar comfort of his strength despite everything that lay broken between them. When he lowered her gently onto the mattress in their cabin, she immediately curled against his warmth, too emotionally drained to maintain the walls she'd tried to build.
He simply held her—no words, no attempts at justification, no desperate pleas for forgiveness. Just his arms creating a sanctuary around her exhausted form, the steady rhythm of his breathing against her forehead, and the soft press of his lips against her brow.
He pulled the covers over them both with careful movements, cocooning them in shared warmth as the yacht rocked gently on the dark water. For the first time in hours, Kathy felt something approaching peace settle over her weary soul.
Sleep came mercifully this time, soft and healing.
Morning
Kathy woke to golden sunlight streaming through the cabin windows, warming her face and painting everything in honeyed light. The yacht rocked gently around her, and for a blissful moment, she almost forgot the devastation of the night before. It had only been a dream. When she realized the space beside her was empty, she shot upright and scanned the cabin with sudden alertness.
Carmelo was there, seated in the corner chair, watching her with stillness. He had already showered and dressed in crisp off-white linen—a long-sleeved shirt and matching pants that made him look like some dangerous angel. The designer sunglasses were back in place, hiding his eyes, his expression carefully controlled.
The Wolf was back in command.
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on her with unnerving intensity even behind the dark lenses.
Kathy wasn't afraid—she'd weathered too many of his storms to be intimidated now. But she was acutely aware of the shift in him, the way he'd rebuilt his defenses while she slept. If she had woken just an hour earlier, she might have caught him while his guard was still down, when he was still the broken man who'd held her so tenderly. She could have reached him then, turned him toward her vision of a life where they stood together and faced their enemies instead of running from shadows he'd created.
But it was painfully evident in his cold, controlled presence that the window of vulnerability had slammed shut.
"I understand you're disappointed in me, Kat." His voice was carefully modulated, businesslike. "I knew this would happen. What I wanted to say last night is that taking your life was the only way I could save it. My enemies within the other families and inside the government had me backed into a corner with no other options." He stood with fluid grace, already moving toward the door. "I'll take you back to the villa and give you some space to process this. We can figure out the rest later. But understand this, there is no going back.”
"Carmelo, I—" she began, reaching toward him.
But he was already walking out, his retreat as calculated as everything else he did. The cabin door closed behind him with quiet finality, leaving her alone with the morning light and her racing thoughts.
She dropped back against the pillows and rolled her eyes at the ceiling, frustration bubbling up in her chest. She bit her bottom lip, her mind already working, already planning.
"You're not escaping that easily," she murmured to the empty room.
She dressed with deliberate care, taking her time to style her hair in the soft waves he preferred and applying her makeup with the precision of a woman preparing for battle. She chose a strapless summer dress in bright yellow—something she was certain would capture and hold his attention. She massaged his favorite jasmine oil into her skin until she was as fragrant as a garden in bloom, each detail calculated to remind him of what he stood to lose.
When she emerged, he was seated at the yacht's stern, deep in conversation with the captain. She could feel his awareness of her, even if he didn’t look back to see her.
