Page 118 of The Killer Cupcake
She looked back and time folded. Beneath the hardness sat the same beautiful roughneck who'd once feared nothing and no one. War had etched new lines, prison had stolen softness, but her Matteo remained. She'd spend their marriage rediscovering every tender place the world had tried to destroy.
His expression shifted. "Why are you looking at me like that? What's wrong?"
She crossed to him in three steps, burrowing into his embrace. This house—being here openly, wearing his ring—itawakened every sleeping grief. The memories crashed down: the empty years, the damaged man who'd finally come home to her.
"I spent so long hating your brother." The words spilled out raw. "Hating him with everything in me. Now he's gone and I just want to say thank you."
"Bella." He lifted her face, reading her tears. "Did someone say something? Who?—"
"I need to thank him," she whimpered through fresh tears.
"For what, baby?"
"For whatever devil's bargain he made to bring you home. For pulling strings to get you out of prison. For trying to stitch our family back together." She fisted her hands in his shirt. "He sent you away, but he also brought you back. I want to thank him for this chance to remember what we were. What we could be with our children. I saw the Wolf and all the destruction he caused. This is Melo. I feel it. This is him trying to make it right for us.”
His eyes went liquid. "I thanked him for both of us. You were always the only thing I needed, Debs. The only thing that mattered. He knew that. He hugged me in that prison and said he wanted me to be free.”
Something broke free in her chest—not tears but laughter, bright and startling. She pressed closer, laughing against his neck, tasting happiness after so much sorrow.
"We're really going to be okay," he said, wonder in his voice.
"Yes.”
"Come meet the other wives. Let them see who really runs this family,” he said.
"Not yet." She caught his sleeve. "I need to tell you something first."
His brow furrowed. "Tell me what?"
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. gathering courage. "Something happened this morning. I was sick, andwhen I'm queasy, you know I always smoke to calm my stomach."
“I didn’t know that?” he frowned.
“Yes, you do!” she snapped.
“Sorry, sorry, babe, okay, tell me what’s wrong?”
His expression sharpened with concern.
“Cigarette didn’t help. I threw up more. And then Janey comes, and I got upset and threw up again." Color bloomed in her cheeks.
"You ill now?" His palm found her forehead, checking for fever.
She caught his wrist, moving his hand away. "Not ill. Pregnant."
"What?" He searched her face for the punchline. "Pregnant?"
Her smile was answer enough.
"Bella, you're forty-eight years old!" His laugh was pure shock mixed with amusement.
The joy fled from her face. She pushed against his chest. "I know what I know, Matteo. My body doesn't lie."
"Can women even make babies at forty-eight?"
"Apparently, this one can!" Her stance turned defensive.
He studied her, understanding dawning. "You're serious."
