Page 63 of The Killer Cupcake
Kathy's smile dimmed like a candle in the wind. "Not good at all. She's taken to bed permanently. Her feet... the doctors say they may need to amputate one or both. And she's so heartbroken she can't get around anymore." Her voice caught."I've left the classroom to take care of her. Mama came down like I wrote you, and some church ladies are with her this week while I'm here. But I don't know... this isn't going to get better."
He nodded gravely. "She's strong, though. She has to be—she made you and Debbie."
The comment brought fresh tears to her eyes, but these were tears of happiness. It was true. Although Kathy knew her lineage traced back to the formidable Elliott women, it was Big Mama who was the source of her true grit. Big Mama had given her the backbone to survive her exile from Harlem these past two years. The mere thought of losing her always sent Kathy spiraling into grief—a fear she never mentioned to Debbie, knowing her cousin would dissolve into inconsolable fits. Everyone just prayed and planned for the best recovery.
"Hey," Carmelo lifted her chin with gentle fingers. "Look at me."
She did.
"You've done so much for me, Kathy, for us. You've been patient. You've given up family, given up everything for me." His voice grew thick with emotion. "You're my girl, but what you've sacrificed goes deeper than anything I can replace with my love. I’m sorry. I stay up at night, every night, thinking about how I can ever make it all up to you. Wishing I had power, I don’t. You're my family. Other than Nino, Matteo, and Debbie, you're the only family I have left. I can't move forward or backward without you."
"You've done just as much for me. Surviving that hammer, boxing, risking your life to get us free. I see it, Carmelo. You're my hero—honest, kind, fundamentally good, and I?—"
"I'm no saint," he mumbled, pulling away slightly.
She caught his hand, stopping his retreat. "You're still my hero. The bravest man I know besides Daddy. I'll wait foreverfor us. And even longer than that, if I have to. I will never love anyone but you." Her smile was radiant with certainty.
They embraced again, then walked through the abandoned funeral home, talking about the Mafia and Vegas. He shared how his father despised the idea of expansion with the Marcellos and secretly envied how wealthy Marcello had become in the segregated South. But Carmelo had done his research. He'd learned from Matteo that Meyer Lansky, a Jewish gangster, lived by his own rules in Nevada, and the Mafia were destined to be kings in that desert kingdom.
"Have you seen Carmine?" Carmelo asked.
"I saw him in the car when he dropped me at the bus station, but we didn't speak," she shrugged.
"That's strange. He came to New York, and we were supposed to have dinner. But he never showed. The next day, he met briefly with Matteo, then left without explanation. I've tried calling him several times, but he hasn't returned my calls. Janey called me back. Said she’d tell him my message. Nothing. Is he upset with me about something?"
"That is odd. Janey mentioned he was in a foul mood. Must be all the business pressure he's dealing with," she suggested.
"Must be. I'll see him at the hotel, try to catch up. We might need to leave Memphis for one of the smaller towns to spend time together safely. I'll work it out," he assured her.
She grinned with anticipation. "I suppose I should go."
He groaned in protest. "The weigh-in tomorrow is open to both white and colored spectators. Will you be there?"
"Yes! I promise," she smiled brightly. "I'll be there cheering you on."
He hugged her tighter, and they parted with that sacred promise hanging between them—a bridge across the darkness that would carry them to whatever came next.
CHAPTER 26
SHATTERING THE MISSING PIECES
The clink of glasses, the roar of masculine laughter, and thick clouds of cigar smoke overran the lobby of the Chamblee Hotel—a hotel that had been upgraded to high-end service for those who dwelled in society's underbelly. Men like him and his brother.
Matteo lit his third cigarillo and exhaled slowly, his sharp eyes sweeping the faces of men they knew and those they didn't. Among them all, he didn't see Carmine Boanno.
"He's not here?" Carmelo asked, tension crept into his voice.
"Doesn't look like it. Maybe he took Kathy's aunt to the Memphis Belle," Matteo suggested.
"No coloreds allowed there. That would be too risky, even for the Marcellos. He has to be here somewhere—maybe in the rooms upstairs. Gambling rooms to the back? We need to find him."
Matteo threw out his arm, stopping Carmelo's advancement. "Wait. Slow down. You're acting jumpy as a cat."
"I've got this feeling," Carmelo mumbled, running a hand through his dark hair. "Something's wrong. A fucking funeral home? No safe house for me and Kat? He isn’t sloppy like this. Why does this feel… I dunno, neglectful?”
“You’re pouting cause you had to leave her behind,” Matteo rolled his eyes.
“No. It’s in my gut. I need to talk to him tonight,” Carmelo insisted.
