Page 27 of The Killer Cupcake
He reached under his bed, fingers brushing dust before closing around the shoebox. Inside, the iron hammer gleamed dully in the moonlight—the same one his father had swung into his ribs, his spine, his skull. Beneath it lay Kathy’s letters, their edges soft from being handled too much.
And then, the one thing he couldn’t bear to touch but couldn’t bear to burn:
Mama’s letter.
The paper whispered as he unfolded it. The scent of her rosewater perfume clung to the fibers, faint but unmistakable. Carmelo wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. Then, in the suffocating dark, he read her words again.
Each sentence.
Each word.
My Dearest Carmelo,
If you are reading this, the waters of the East River have taken me. Forgive me,figlio mio, for the sin I commit this day. Forgive me for leaving you, and for the burden this letter places upon your soul. Know that I stand before God now, guilty of self-murder, my eternal soul condemned to toil in fire. I accept this torment willingly. It is the price I pay for your future and the survival of our blood.
I have watched. I have judged. I have loved my three sons with a mother's heart. I have tried. The future ofthe famiglia rests on the shoulders that must bear the impossible. It cannot be Nino. My sweet firstborn, his mind forever trapped in innocence... the world would devour him whole. He needs protection. It cannot be Matteo. My second son burns with pride like his father, but his fire is brittle. When he learns of my death –howI died – that brittle pride will shatter. He will need healing, Carmelo. He will needyou, just as Nino will. He does not have the spine to lead. He does everything from his heart. Do not let Matteo’s toughness fool you.
It must be you, Carmelo. My youngest. My fiercest. My sacrifice.
I watched your father's hammer break your bones. I saw your eyes, figlio. There was nothing but defiance. You spat blood and threats instead of begging for mercy. Youshielded me even as the blows fell, refusing to apologize or submit.
You have your father's strength, cunning, and ruthlessness—everything that makes him a Ricci. But unlike him, you still have a heart that fights for something, not just against. You fight for us.
But your heart, my brave son... it is also your vulnerability. I know about the girl. Kathy. I see how she pulls you towards a life beyond what I had dreamed for you. That life is a dream, Carmelo. A beautiful, deadly dream. Cosimo knows. He will use her to break you, to destroy you before you can stop it. The order is already whispered: the black death on her, on her family.
My death is the only message I could send to you and your father to stop this war between you. To force you to see the truth. You need each other. You will be the head of the family, the heir he wanted. You will take your father’s place because it is the only way to protect those you love, including Kathy. But to gain his trust, you will have to make a sacrifice. You will marry Maria Romero. Hear me, Carmelo. This is my only request in death.
This marriage is your defense. It restores your father’s pride from the shame of your running away with a colored girl. Use his pride. Negotiate with your father. Tell him youwill marry Maria, you will step into your birthright as he always demanded... but only if the hit on Kathy and her family is lifted. Permanently. He will agree. A son, finally, for him to mold would be his greatest temptation. He will secure a powerful alliance, which is worth the life of one black girl to him. It is the only way to save her life, Carmelo. The only shield you can raise between her and Cosimo's vengeance.
I know what I ask will break your heart. It will break hers. This I know. Sometimes, figlio, the deepest love demands the cruelest sacrifice. To protect her, you have to let her go.
Do not let my soul burn in vain. Unite our broken family. And one day, when you are strong enough, finish what your father started with that hammer. Break him.
I loved you. I love you.
Mama
Carmelo weptuntil his chest ached and throat burned raw—silent, racking sobs of a man whose childhood had died with his mother. Tears fell onto the worn floorboards as grief consumed him completely.w
When no more tears would come, he wiped his face and made the sign of the cross. He pressed his lips to his mother's letter, tasting salt and sorrow on the paper, then folded it carefully and placed it with Kathy's love letters—artifacts fromanother lifetime. As he slid the box back under his bed, his fingers closed around the cold steel of the hammer.
The weight of it felt heavier than before, as if it had absorbed some essential piece of his soul.
He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, held it until his lungs burned, then exhaled slowly through parted lips. Each movement felt deliberate, ritualistic—a condemned man's final preparations. The journey to his parents' bedroom felt both endless and too brief. He hadn't crossed that threshold since the terrible morning when he'd collected his mother's burial clothes for the ceremony held at a funeral home instead of the Catholic church. Now he paused before the heavy oak door, his hand hovering over the brass handle for a long moment before pushing it open into suffocating darkness.
The room reeked of stale cigarettes, unwashed sheets, and the bitter medicinal smell of a man slowly dying from his wounds. Heavy curtains blocked every trace of natural light, creating a tomb-like atmosphere that seemed fitting for what was about to unfold.
His father lay sprawled across the massive four-poster bed like a broken king on his deathbed, his once-powerful frame diminished by pain and grief. The moment Carmelo's footsteps whispered across the carpet, Cosimo's eyes snapped open. Without hesitation, he raised a chrome-plated pistol with his good arm—the left one, since Carmelo's bullet had rendered his right shoulder completely useless—and aimed it directly at his son's heart.
Carmelo stood perfectly still, the hammer hanging loose at his side like an executioner's tool. He felt no fear, only a strange sense of relief. Death would be infinitely preferable to fulfilling his mother's last request.
"Go ahead," Carmelo said quietly, his voice steady as stone. "It would be a mercy."
Father and son stared at each other across the chasm of mutual destruction they'd created—two Ricci men who'd lost everything that mattered, including each other. After what felt like hours, Cosimo slowly lowered the weapon, his eyes studying his youngest son with an expression that bordered on recognition.
"I will take care of Nino," Carmelo began, his voice carrying the hollow tone of a man reciting his own death sentence. "I will find Matteo and bring him home." He paused, the next words sticking in his throat like broken glass. "And I will marry Maria Romero."
Cosimo's eyebrows drew together in confusion. Despite everything—the shooting, the months of recovery, the poisonous hatred between them—this was not what he was sure his father expected to hear.
