Page 60 of The Killer Cupcake
A horn blast cut through the night. Kathy spun to see Carmine's car already speeding away, Aunt Janey's silhouette visible through the rear window: no wave goodbye, no acknowledgment.
Something was wrong
They had parked.And Janey worked on calming her temper. Outside, cigarillo smoke coiled around Carmine’s head like a phantom crown. He’d gotten out of the car to escape her wrath.
He’s hiding something.
And this time, she’d tear the truth from him with her bare hands. She got out of the car. Carmine glanced her way, and she shot him a threatening glare. Husband and wife stared at each other. Whoever crossed the line first would probably be the victor, because neither truly wanted to hurt the other. After a long pause, Janey heard a car arrive. She turned and looked tosee Kathy exit the car last, with Deion following her with her bag, walking her to the front of the hotel.
“Go be with her, deal with me later,” Carmine said with no fear, just exhaustion and exhaled smoke through his nostrils. He dropped the cigarillo and stomped it out with his shoe, then went back in the car to wait.
Janey softened a bit. She rolled her eyes and walked on toward the motel.
Two Months Earlier. New York City
Carmine Boanno crossed the room, offering the customary embrace. A careful, one-armed affair. Don Cosimo Ricci,Capo di tutti capisince Luciano’s exile, returned it stiffly. The bullet Carmelo put in his shoulder two years prior had left its mark: the limb hung useless, hand arthritic, nerves deadened. A constant, painful reminder of betrayal beneath the fine silk threads of his suit.
“Don Ricci. Too long,” Carmine said, the familiar cadence of Sicily warming his voice despite the tension. He kissed both cheeks, noting the Don’s pallor beneath the tan. “You look… solid.”
Cosimo grunted, easing himself behind the vast mahogany desk like a king reclaiming his throne. “Still breathing. Can’t say my sons deserve credit. A humorless flicker in his dark eyes. Boanno’s men remained outside the heavy oak door—a command of respect to the Ricci position among the families.
Carmine took the offered seat.“I hear Matteo handles more territory. Making a name for himself. Harlem remains your jewel?”
“Harlemwill be mine,” Cosimo corrected, the words a soft rasp that carried steel.“Bumpy Johnson’s time in the sun ends soon. The pig-pen awaits him. It’s all arranged. Luciano’s pet Negro falls, the dominoes tumble… exactly as I placed them.”He steepled his good hand against the bad one, the gesture predatory.
“And your sons? Matteo… Carmelo? Are they positioned for this… transition?”Carmine kept his tone neutral, probing the rumors of fractures within the Ricci family.
Cosimo’s gaze sharpened, becoming flinty. “I hear whispers, Carmine. Marcello’s winding up? Carmelo wears our name in the boxing ring, the world champion, but he is Ricci, not Marcello. I think our little arrangement is set to expire. I can manage my sons’ career going forward without the old Don’s support.” Cosimo leaned forward slightly to drive home his decision.
“Don Marcello is ill. Very. He may not make it to the New Year. He sends only respect, Cosimo,”Carmine demurred smoothly, the lie practiced. The old man was too honery to die, but Carmine knew these families waited like vultures to sweep in to New Orleans.
He expertly changed the subject. “I knew DeMarco, back when the earth was younger, even before we met. His passing left questions. Forgive Don Marcello’s concern for you and your sons. We understand that this is a family matter that has been well taken care of. In two years, your boys have risen to the top. That credit goes to you.”
Cosimo acknowledged the half-apology with a curt, dangerous nod.
“As for my Don,” Carmine continued, shifting gears,“he admires the champion’s shine along with the profits you split. But his sights are set beyond the ring. The desert calls. Bugsy Siegel’s Flamingo is spitting gold coins all over the streets of Vegas. Meyer Lansky has been seeking investors since Bugsy’s unexpected demise. He courts the Battaglias… in the Almalfi, Mancini is Sicily.”Carmine let the implication hang—Italians and Sicilians encroaching from across the water would neversit well with Cosimo. That would only raise Luciano’s power in Italy.
“I’m listening,” said Cosimo.
“Don Marcello believes this desert fruit should be harvested by our hands. He proposes a new alliance. You and him.”
“Battaglia?” Cosimo’s lip curled, a flash of old pride, the resentment of being an outsider when Tomosino moved in and claimed the Cammora.
“My interests,” Cosimo stated flatly after a weighted silence,“are here. New York. Chicago. Detroit. Tell Marcello those jewels are greater than sand to me.”
“A small stake, Cosimo,” Carmine pressed gently, playing the diplomat.“A foothold. Lanskey owns Vegas, but eventually it will be in our hands. The dice will roll in our favor…”
A soft knock cut him off. The door opened.
A stunning young woman with dark hair entered, radiant in a summer floral dress. In her arms, a baby boy swaddled in pale blue. Behind her, an equally striking older woman, evidently the girl’s mother, clearly held a baby girl wrapped in soft pink.Twins.
“Scusi, Papa,” the young woman murmured, her voice melodic. “We leave now. We wanted yourbambinito say goodbye to Nonno.”
Carmine rose automatically, a polite smile fixed in place. His eyes, however, snapped to the infants, then to Cosimo.
Don Cosimo’s formidable presence dissolved. The ruthlessleadervanished, replaced by a besotted grandfather. He pushed his chair back, his good arm opening. The baby boy was carefully placed in the crook of his inner elbow. Cosimo bent his head, pressing a tender kiss to the downy forehead. The baby girl was then transferred to his lap, receiving the same gentle affection.
“Carmine,”Cosimo announced, pride swelling his voice,“my daughter-in-law, Maria Ricci. And her mother, my wife, Rebecca. Behold the future of the Ricci family! A king and a queen!”
