Page 117 of The Killer Cupcake
She opened it to find Carmelo waiting. The moment of silent staring stretched between them, heavy with everything unsaid. Then she turned and allowed him entry by default rather than by invitation.
"I came to give you this." He closed the door. He extended his hand with a thick envelope of cash.
She glanced at it, then away. "Leave it on the table. José will count it later."
He set it down. She looked up to see him surveying the empty room. Furniture gone, only boxes remaining. The home she and Matteo had built was a skeleton of a life being dismantled. Thebrownstone sold by Matteo to Carmelo was done fair and square. So the payment was delivered as promised.
"The Army will be good for him, Debbie—and Harlem's safer for you than Brooklyn. I'm here for whatever you need. Any time. Any help."
"You know what I think?" She didn't look up from her folding.
His eyebrow arched, waiting.
"I think you've been sick with jealousy since the day you learned he loved me." Her hands moved steadily, mechanically.
"Jealous? Of what exactly?"
"Of happiness. Of the life he built for me and his kids right here in your father’s face. Jealous of his courage. Jealous because you can see that our love is real, solid, unbreakable. Something you couldn't have with Kathy." Now she met his eyes. "Matteo has true grit. That’s what my Big Mama would call it. He didn't care what people thought, didn't care about defying your father. He was—is—the man you could never be."
Carmelo’s smirk was razor-thin. "You don't know Matteo. He’s killed so many men?—”
"I know all of him. Good and bad. The difference is, I love his darkness too." She resumed packing. "Kathy can't even stomach the mention of you."
"All right, Debs?—"
"Don't." Her voice cracked like a whip. "I'm not your 'Debs.' I'm his. And whatever lies you fed him to make him abandon us, I see through them. He loves you Melo. He still thinks you’re that smart kid who is misunderstood. But I see through you, Wolf of Harlem. You'll never fool me."
"Are you finished?"
"No. Your people think Matteo is dumb. Just some muscle with a knife. I think your mother thought it, too. But he’s smarter than all of you. Even with all your book smarts, hecreated the perfect love and didn’t run or hide to do it,” her voice choked on a sob. “Now he gave his life for it.”
“I think you already covered that,” Carmelo rolled his eyes.
“Go ahead. Roll your eyes. You know I’m right. Get out. Don't contact me or Junior again. Get out and stay gone. I don’t ever want to see your face until my real husband comes home."
The Wolf’s smile was cold as winter itself. "We're family now, Debs. I'll never be far away. Tell Kathy I said hello.”
The door slammed with enough force to rattle the windows. Debbie stood frozen, feeling gutted, as if Carmelo had reached inside and torn something vital from her chest. Her hand found her belly as her knees gave way, dropping her into the nearest chair.
Her heart was shattered—that much would never heal. But as she sat there, breathing through the pain, something hardened inside her. This would be her last collapse. Her final tears. If Matteo could find the strength to walk away from everything he loved to keep them safe, then she could find the strength to build a life for her kids and him worth returning to.
And that life would have nothing to do with the Ricci name.
1978 Staten Island- Ricci Estate
Debbie hated how the past could ambush her. Standing there, it all rushed back—every wound, every regret, every irreversible choice. This day was supposed to be about new beginnings, but her mind kept circling back to old pain. Only José's death had cut deeper than the day Matteo walked into that recruitment office.
She pressed her fingertips to her eyes, catching the tears before they could fall. Through the estate's massive picture window, she had seen the spectacle arranged for Don Matteo Ricci's wedding reception. Matteo didn’t want anyone there butfamily. So, the celebration was limited to top-ranking associates and their families. Outside pristine lawns, laughing guests, the facade of family unity was on display.
Her children moved through it all like actors in different plays. Junior stood rigid beside Sandy, watching the festivities as if calculating threats. Matteo’s oldest son could do no wrong in Matteo’s eyes. Countless times, Debbie would complain of Junior’s rebellion, and Matteo would chuckle over the prison phone call and say to let him be. Cars, and any prizes Junior wanted, Matteo insisted Carmelo gave to him. Spoiling Junior made him even harder for her to raise alone. And even now, Junior blamed him for José’s death and wouldn’t let Matteo close.
But Junior was here. And he was playing his part. That was progress.
Being jaded wasn’t his fault. He'd inherited his father's wariness and her wounds. Daphne and Christopher, floated through the crowd with eagerness, desperate to belong in this glittering new world their father had built.
Were the Ricci cousins genuinely welcoming, or simply well-trained in the politics of blood? Debbie suspected the latter.
"There you are." His voice wrapped around her like memory—deep, smooth, unchanged despite everything.
