Page 59 of The Killer Cupcake
The truth hung heavy between them. The house they lived in—his father's money. The car he drove—his father's gift. The clothes she wore, the food she cooked, the life they pretended to share—all of it bought and paid for by Don Cosimo Ricci. She was as trapped in this beautiful lie as he was.
"I'm sorry, Maria," he said, the words inadequate for the weight of his guilt. "I'm so damn sorry."
He started toward the door, but her voice stopped him cold.
"Melo!" The desperation in her cry made him freeze. "Please. Come back tonight. Don't leave me alone in this house again. Please." Her voice broke slightly. "Even if you sleep on the floor like always. Just... don't abandon me completely."
Carmelo closed his eyes, the weight of her loneliness crushing down on him. She wasn't asking for love—she was begging for basic human companionship from the man whose name she bore.
"I'll be back tonight," he promised quietly.
"Thank you," she whispered, her gratitude for such a small mercy breaking his heart all over again.
He hurried toward the door and the car waiting outside, carrying the guilt of two women's pain—one who loved him despite everything, and one whose love he could never return.
CHAPTER 24
MEMPHIS TENNESSE - 1952
Two Years Later.The Greyhound station was loud with the thrum of idling diesel engines. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly pallor over the cracked linoleum and vinyl seats. Janey perched beside Carmine, absently flipping the pages of a dog-earedMcCall’s. He slept beside her, head tilted back against the hard plastic, mouth slightly open, exhaustion etching deep lines around his eyes. Two years of relentless road trips – ferrying Kathy to clandestine meetings with Carmelo – had taken their toll.
Janey checked her wristwatch for the third time in ten minutes. Its gold face winked accusingly in the harsh light.
“Carmine,”she murmured, nudging his shoulder. His breathing hitched, but he didn’t stir. “What time did the ticket man say? She should’ve been here.”
Only the distanthissof air brakes answered her. Memphis at midnight felt worlds away from the electric buzz of Carmelo’s fight camp. She studied Carmine’s profile – the familiar stubborn set of his jaw even in sleep, the new threads of silver at his temples. Her fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, the gesture tender, almost unconscious.
These past yearshadchanged them in a good way. She had become the wife he needed as his illness took hold of him. And for a reward, he did everything in his power to make her happy. Whisking Kathy across state lines, outmaneuvering Big Mama and the watchful Brenda, had become their strange, shared purpose. North Carolina’s pines, Texas dust, Chicago’s biting wind… they’d traced Carmelo’s rise in boxing together with Kathy in tow. Now Memphis. Next, whispers said, California – a state that still sent an old, cold shiver down Janey’s spine since the execution of Marianne Temple for her crimes.
Carmine had returned from New York two weeks ago, tight-lipped and shadowed. The upcoming Memphis bout wasn’t just another fight; it was history. The Wolf of Brooklyn is defending his belt, mob factions from Jersey to New Orleans circling like sharks, and even Sinatra is lending his Rat Pack glamour to the pre-fight gala. Solidarity, they called it. To Janey, it smelled like pressure for Carmine.
She’d tried to pierce Carmine’s gloom. “He wins this,”she’d said brightly just yesterday, packing Kathy’s gift in her suitcase,“nothing stops them from marrying this year. Vegas. That’s a good place for us all to go to, you said. A place for my baby niece can be happy and make me babies.”
His response had been a grunt, averted eyes, and a sudden intense focus on polishing his cane’s silver head. Sulking. Muttering under his breath like a man carrying a stone in his shoe. It wasn’t fatigue. Janey knew the rhythm of her husband’s moods – the rare volcanic temper, the icy calculation, the sun-warmed affection he showered her with after returning from one of his trips. This… this was different. This was the silence of a secret kept.
The roar of a big engine announced another bus’s arrival, its headlights cutting through the station’s gloom like twin blades.Janey’s gaze snapped to the disembarking passengers, heart thumping a frantic rhythm against her rib cage.
Where are you, Kathy?
The Birmingham bus groaned to a halt, air brakes hissing like a tired serpent. "She’s here!" She jabbed Carmine’s ribs with her elbow.
He jolted awake with a gravelly curse, blinking against the station’s harsh fluorescents. In the backseat, Deion—Carmine’s sixteen-year-old apprentice, his dark skin nearly swallowed by the shadows—was already unfolding his lanky frame from the car and out of it. The teen headed to Kathy. Deion, who looked five years older than his age, was their shield against Jim Crow’s jagged edges: the one who booked "colored" motels, handled gas station attendants, and smoothed their path to help them avoid hostile territory.
"Carmelo should be waiting at the Prichards', right?" Janey's voice rang with excitement. She thrived on these clandestine Southern movements, feeding on chaos disguised as calm. When silence met her question, she studied Carmine's profile in the dashboard's glow.
His jaw tightened, knuckles white on the wheel. "What's eating you? Spit it out."
"The plan's shot." He turned to face her, expression grim. "The Prichard farmhouse burned down. I told Deion to get Kathy checked into the colored hotel."
"You're telling me this now?" Janey's shock quickly turned to fury. She pointed at Deion and Kathy embracing beside the pumps, exposed under the harsh lights. "The Prichard place was supposed to keep them safe. Now what?"
Carmine exploded. "I ain't their fucking guardian angel, Janey! I gotrealbusiness! How long did you think this circus could roll on?"He slammed his palm against the horn, drawing attention to them.
Deion metKathy at the bus steps and took her worn suitcase. Despite her exhaustion, she smiled, relief brightening her face.
"We're heading to the Prichards', right? Is Carmelo already there?"
"Change of plans, Miss Kathy." Deion kept his voice low. "The farmhouse burned down. Klan got word about white men and black women meeting there. The Prichards made it out safe to Carolina, but there's no sanctuary now." He shifted her bag. "I got you a room at the Douglass Hotel. Our driver Snake will take us."
