Page 23 of The Killer Cupcake
Kathy headed straight for her aunt's table, her silk dress swishing with each determined step. Carmelo stood frozen in the middle of the dance floor, caught between truth and deception, unsure what words could possibly repair the damage.
A heavy hand dropped onto his shoulder like a lead weight. He glanced back to see Caesar's grim face. "It's time."
"In a minute. I need to talk to Kathy—she's upset," Carmelo said, starting to move toward his retreating girlfriend.
Caesar's grip tightened, stopping him cold. "It's Don Marcello. He wants to see you now. You can't say no to this."
Carmelo looked back toward the table, where Janey sat, watching him with those penetrating cat-like eyes, while Kathy settled beside her aunt, clearly venting her frustrations about his strange behavior. He could see Janey absorbing every word, filing away information with the calculating mind of a woman who collected secrets like other people collected jewelry.
He cursed under his breath, torn between duty and love, and reluctantly turned away from the woman who held his heart,toward whatever fate awaited him in the shadows of the criminal world he'd chosen to embrace.
"Willa has founda new love in the Quarter," Janey said.
Still fuming over Carmelo's sudden disappearance and his complete dismissal of her feelings, Kathy wasn't really listening. She glanced toward the dance floor and paused over the scene. Willa was wrapped in her gentleman's arms, but now they were kissing. Passionately! Lost in each other as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
“Whoa, we need to bring her back to the table," Kathy said, starting to stand.
Janey's manicured hand pressed firmly against her wrist. "Sit," she commanded softly.
"She doesn't know him," Kathy protested, concern evident in her voice.
“She's getting to it,” Janey smirked, clearly enjoying the romantic drama unfolding before them.
But Kathy had seen enough. She stood decisively and hurried onto the dance floor, weaving between other couples until she reached Willa. Without ceremony, she grabbed her friend by the arm and pulled her out of the stranger's embrace.
"Kathy!" Willa gasped, dazed and clearly intoxicated by more than just the kiss.
The suitor's expression hardened as his gaze shifted from Willa to Kathy, his mesmerizing eyes flashing with annoyance. He took a threatening step toward them, then suddenly froze. Kathy followed his line of sight and realized he was looking beyond them to the table where Janey sat watching the entire scene with an unwavering stare. A dare? Something more? Theman's demeanor changed instantly—he gave Janey a respectful nod that seemed almost apologetic, winked at Willa, and then turned and melted back into the crowd without another word.
"Why did you do that?” Willa shouted, her face flushed with embarrassment and anger.
"You don't know him," Kathy said firmly, still watching the spot where the mysterious man had disappeared.
"So what, Kathy! I was having fun for once in my life!" Willa's voice cracked with disappointment.
“Did he give you something to drink?” Kathy said, and moved in closer to smell her breath.
“Leave me be!” Willa said as she stormed back toward their table.
Janey sat there smirking at Kathy as if the entire event was set for her entertainment. Between Carmelo's games and Willa's sudden attitude, and her aunt's trickery, Kathy had reached her breaking point. She threw her hands up in defeat and headed in the opposite direction. Maybe she should have something to drink. Initially, she walked toward the bar, but then spotted a lighted corridor that obviously led toward the restrooms.
She needed air. She needed space. She needed to be free.
CHAPTER 11
LA REINE NOIRE II - 1950
The cigar smoke hung thick as swamp mist, catching the dim glow of candlelight. Carmelo accepted the hand-rolled cigar, his smile a razor’s edge in the gloom. “Grazie,Don Marcello, for your hospitality,” he murmured, drawing deeply—smoke plumed from his lips—a dragon’s breath, a silent vow. Carmine Boanno stood near the heavy velvet drapes, his stern gaze a physical weight.Distrust radiated off him like heat.But the Marcello men? They watched Carmelo with the cold appraisal of butchers sizing up a prize bull.
Don Stefano Marcello was a relic propped against crimson velvet. Seventy or older, if Carmelo had to guess. Skin like crumpled parchment stretched over brittle bones. He had no sons. Caesar’s briefing echoed in Carmelo’s mind:Twelve daughters. Husbands stripped of their birth names, reborn as Marcellos. Blood diluted, loyalty enforced.
Six of these adopted "sons" flanked the old Don now, crammed into the circular booth that dominated the speakeasy’s left wing. Their eyes, flat and reptilian, tracked Carmelo’s every flicker of expression.
“Prego.” The Don’s voice was a dry rattle, the Sicilian dialect thick as tar. It wasn’t a question. It was a test.
Carmelo’s gaze slid to Carmine, then back to the ring of faces. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke through his nostrils again.Once upon a time, these men, natural-born killers like his father, would have frozen his blood with fear. Before his mother’s suicide. Before the gunshot that tore through his father’s shoulder. Before his big brother’s mental collapse. Back when he was the baby of the family, he was protected and shielded from the harsh realities of the criminal world.
All of his innocence came and was taken before he understood that the snake-eyed evil festering beneath their tailored suits wasn't a perversion of tradition—it was tradition’s beating, rotten heart.
