Page 98 of The Killer Cupcake
"Word on the street is they pulled him from the Hudson this morning." Midas couldn't meet his eyes. "He's dead, boss."
"I gave you an order!" The lamp was in his hand before he realized it, hurled across the room to explode against the wall inches from Midas's head.
"GET OUT! NOW!"
They fled. Carmelo sank into his chair, the truth hitting him like cold water. He'd sent them to save Pete Freeman. Instead, he'd painted a target on the man's back. His father had used his own rescue attempt as a death sentence.
He'd just killed Kathy's uncle.
He got up and rushed out of the office into the parlor where the phone was. He should have the fucking phone in his office. He dialed Matteo’s place in East Harlem, and his brother never answered. He shook all over with panic and braved the call to his father.
“Hi, need to speak to Pa,” he told his mother-in-law.
“He just left, sweetie. Is there something you need?—”
He slammed the phone down hard enough to crack it. Breathing hard, he felt a surge of panic rising in his chest.
“Melo? You okay?” Maria asked.
“Get away from me,” he said, trying to catch his breath. Thankfully, she didn’t listen. She came over to him and touched his forehead. Carmelo couldn’t breathe; his face turned red as a beet.
“Calm down. Calm down,” Maria said patiently. She took his hands. “Breathe, Melo. Breathe.”
He closed his eyes and breathed out of his mouth and through his nose, the way Maria was doing in front of him.Finally, the seizures in his chest stopped. But they were replaced by insurmountable fear. He burst into tears. Maria gathered him into her arms and held him. He had no choice but to hold on to her. He had no one. He had killed Pete Freeman, and Kathy would never forgive him.
CHAPTER 37
AFTERMATH - HARLEM 1952
Josémaneuvered his car close to the curb; the streetlights cast long shadows across the dashboard. "What time should I come back?"
Debbie juggled her belongings while balancing Junior in her arms. His chubby fingers reached desperately toward José as he called him Pa-Pee because Papa was for Matteo. "You heading over to Sam's?"
"Yeah, he's making his famous pot roast. He sends all his love, Debs." The words came out thick, weighted with unspoken grief.
She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek to keep composure. Her eyes caught the chrome gleam of Matteo's motorcycle parked beneath the flickering neon of Mama Stewart's Diner. Drawing in a shaky breath, she said, "I'll call you. They've sedated Mama—she needs the rest. Brother's already gone to the streets, and Ms. Gladys brought the church to sit vigil, so... I can’t stay there.” She paused, gathering strength. "I need to prepare myself for tomorrow. And right now, I need Matteo. Pick me up first thing in the morning?"
"What about the train? When do they arrive.”
"Not until the afternoon. We'll all gather at Uncle Henry's when the family arrives.”
"I'll request the day off. Count on me," José promised.
Debbie leaned in and pressed a kiss of gratitude to his stubbled cheek. He made no effort to hide the tears that slid down his face. Pete had become like a second father to him after the wedding—their lavender marriage (a term that José taught her) had blossomed into a genuine family.
She stepped out of the car and hurried toward their door. Before her hand touched the knob, it swung open. Matteo pulled her inside. He wrapped them both in his arms. Junior, caught between his parents, squealed in mild protest.
Debbie's bags hit the floor as something broke inside her. The sobs tore from her throat, violent and unstoppable. Matteo half-carried her inside, prying Junior from her shaking arms.
"How's Mama?” he asked, shifting the baby to his hip.
“She isn’t good. Matteo? Can't—can't breathe—,” Debbie panted.
Matteo helped her to the sofa, placing Junior on her lap. The toddler immediately cried out, reaching for his father. Matteo scooped him up again and headed to the kitchen. He returned with cognac over ice instead of water. She accepted it gratefully, sipping slowly as she tried to steady her breathing.
Matteo dropped beside her, pulling her tight against his side. She turned, buried her face in the crook of his underarm, still shaking. Junior's babbling filled the silence, punctuated by Matteo's ridiculous fish faces and the baby's resulting shrieks of laughter. His steady presence, his unflinching care—it was slowly taming the wild grief clawing at her insides. But part of her wanted to keep crying, terrified that if she stopped, she'd lose her grip on her father completely. The contradiction was driving her mad.
"They tortured him." The words scraped out of Debbie's throat as she clawed her way back from despair.
