Page 49 of The Killer Cupcake
“She told you that?” Pinkie eyes stretched.
Kathy nodded.
“They are strange. Trust me, we protect her, and there is nothing anyone can do to separate those two.” Pinkie hesitated, then continued quietly, “Can I tell you something? Just between us?”
Kathy nodded. “Of course.”
“I’m leaving soon. I want an education, to marry, to build a life. Carmine’s health is failing—he could live another day or another decade. I believe Janey took your Willa and let Jean Baptiste hurt her, not to punish or teach her, but because Janey will need someone once Carmine is gone, once I’m gone. She needs someone vulnerable she can care for, heal, and love. Someone who will be loyal and love her back. She sees that in Willa. That’s what I think.”
Kathy stared out at Janey, now swaying gently in Carmine’s arms, his hand tenderly stroking her back as he whispered loving words only a husband would share.
“I don’t understand why there’s so much pain in the world,” Kathy said softly. “Why can’t we just love freely and openly?”
“Don’t ask why, Kathy,” Pinkie said gently. “Just live—live each day like it’s your last.”
Kathy smiled faintly and nodded. “I’ll try.”
CHAPTER 21
THE WOLF OF NEW ORLEANS - 1950
The night blazed like hell's furnace. Even the air seared her lungs when she breathed as Kathy pushed through the sweat-slicked French Quarter crowd, grateful for Carmine Boanno’s armed escort and the reconciliation that had made her and Janey family again.
She needed her own support tonight. For three days, she'd watched Carmelo transform in the ring—her gentle lover becoming someone feral and dangerous. She'd tended his bruises, loved his pain away, whispered encouragement against his battered skin. But what girl wanted to watch the man she adored summon rage like a weapon? What woman could bear seeing her heart walk willingly into slaughter?
The whispers followed her:The last man who fought the Klan’s boy face was crushed and his neck snapped.
"You okay,chère?" Janey squeezed her trembling hand.
"I think so," Kathy whispered.
Above Bourbon Street's garish neon, the Shamrock Arena's marquee blazed:
SOLDATO "THE WOLF" RICCI vs. "MISSISSIPPI MAULER"Sicilian Steel vs. Southern Savagery
"They changed his name," Janey observed.
Kathy stared at the electric letters spelling out her lover's new identity. "I see."
"Dai, andiamo!" A Sicilian capo cleared their path through the mob, delivering them ringside past the Marcello family and New Orleans' Black elite. Men's eyes devoured them both—desire and fear in equal measure. She kept her eyes averted, feeling undressed by their intense stares.
"Ignore them,chérie," Janey winked. "They can look but never touch."
Inside, the arena reeked of cigar smoke, cheap gin, and blood-hunger. Kathy's gut twisted as she studied the ring—a squared circle of stained canvas under merciless lights. The Mauler paced like a chained gladiator, a beast of a man, while his Klan handlers smirked from their corner in pristine white suits.
Then—him.
Carmelo emerged from the shadows like a angel of war. Caesar draped emerald silk edged in gold across his shoulders, but beneath the Marcello colors, his body gleamed with sweat and liniment. Every scar told a story of survival: the hammer-blow ridge along his ribs, fresh bruises from brutal training, the faint pink stain on his lips from her ruby kiss—the one he'd refused to wipe away after she made love to him in a tight closet before leaving him to his fate and getting dress for the event.
His eyes, black as midnight water, found hers across the screaming crowd.
He winked.
I'm here,her heart hammered.I love you.
The bell clanged like a funeral chime.
Round 1:
