Page 126 of The Killer Cupcake
"Got it."
"Wait." Matteo scanned the crowd again. "Where's Sandy?"
"No idea. She's not with Junior."
"Find her! Christ." Matteo was already moving. "I'll be back."
He strode inside his home and ignored those who either wanted to kiss his ass with congratulations or talk business. He walked straight out the family door, past the parade of chauffeured cars lining the street. This stretch of coastline belonged to his top men exclusively—he could walk barefoot to the beach without concern. But Junior alone out here was different. Unacceptable.
The Mercedes sat where he'd expected, music drifting from barely cracked windows along with telltale smoke. A smile tugged at his mouth. Kid had balls, at least.
Junior shot upright at his approach, frantically rolling down windows to release the evidence. Debbie would raise hell about her car reeking after Matteo had just had it detailed.
By the time Matteo reached the driver's door, Junior was climbing out.
"Get back in. You're driving."
"What?" Junior's confusion was evident.
Matteo walked around the car and slid into the passenger seat. Junior hesitated before returning to the driver's seat, adjusting his seatbelt properly. "What about Ma? We can't just leave?—"
"She doesn't need your protection anymore. I'm home. Nobody touches what's mine." Matteo reclined his seat. “Drive.”
“Where?”
“To the beach,” he replied, staring straight ahead.
“Why?”
Matteo’s gaze cut over to him. “You asked me a question about the man you called Father. I said I would tell you what happened that night when you were ready.”
Junior felt his hands shaking.
“You’re ready,” Matteo gaze moving back to the road ahead.
Junior studied his father's face, then nodded slowly. The engine turned over, and they pulled away from the curb into the night.
1961 - Brooklyn,the Gardens
The Carroll Gardens apartment had become a tomb for Matteo Ricci. Kicked out of Debbie’s house for the final time, the Gardens was the best his brother would give him.
This was his hell. The lights were kept off. Darkness thick as tar soothed him. The rot and stench of half-eaten plates mixed in with his senses as he heard the scratch of rats in corners. All of itadded to its suffocation. The silence of his loneliness was broken only by the sound of bottles rolling when he reached for one. His fingers found one at last. He drank to forget. The gag was that his drinking made him remember.
The apartment dissolved.
Jungle stench rose like his fevers whenever he entered his haunted dreams. It was a sweet decay instead of the apartment stench. Pebbling rain on elephant grass instead of windowpanes, but pounding through the triple canopy of the forest leaves, his mind had transported him back to.
Thump-thump-thump.
The Huey helicopter that had dropped them into the combat zone was pulling away, its rotor blades fading into the distance. They were alone now in the hot LZ—a landing zone under enemy control—with no quick escape, no door gunners for cover, no medevac if things went wrong. Just them and the terrible silence that meant Mr. Charlie, the enemy, Viet-cong, was out there, watching, waiting.
Then, the world tore open.
The first mortar landed and opened the earth. Then the world became violence—erupting mud, vegetation turned shrapnel, spider holes lids flipped open as the black-pajamed Vietnamese joined the fight from holes that shouldn't exist. Their muzzle flashes competed with the steadythud-thud-thudof American return fire.
He was down, sighting his rifle. Beside him, Ely Brown—Mississippi by way of Harlem—matching his rhythm shot for shot. When Ely had arrived in-country and been assigned to Matteo's unit, the coincidence had seemed impossible. Two men from the same New York streets, ending up in the same squad in this green hell. But after months of firefights and midnight conversations, they'd discovered the thread: the same recruitingoffice, the same over-eager sergeant, the same expedited papers. No coincidence at all. Someone had engineered this.
The enemy and envy of his brother had become salvation for Matteo and a lifeline. Together, he and Ely survived, determined to return to the women they loved. They laid down a suppressing fire that was a thing of brutal beauty.
