Page 22 of The Killer Cupcake (Poison Cherry #3)
WOLF IN SHEEPS CLOTHING
Carmelo's eyes narrowed as he studied the driver with the calculating gaze of a man assessing potential threats. Jean-Baptiste tooted the horn melodiously, gesturing with confident charm for them to join him.
Willa squealed with unrestrained excitement, bouncing on her toes like a child on Christmas morning. Kathy caught her hand firmly and gave her a meaningful look.
"Remember what we talked about," she whispered.
Willa nodded obediently, though her eyes never left the gorgeous automobile or the man behind the wheel.
Carmelo slipped on his dark sunglasses with deliberate slowness and walked ahead to open the wrought-iron gate, every movement radiating the controlled power of a fighter preparing for combat.
Jean-Baptiste hopped effortlessly out of the convertible without bothering to open the door—a show of athletic grace—then walked around with fluid steps to open the passenger door for the ladies.
" Mesdames , your chariot awaits," he said with a sweeping bow.
The front seat was pulled forward, and the girls settled into the plush rear seats, sinking into leather that felt like butter beneath their summer dresses. Carmelo stood motionless for a long moment, his jaw working as if deciding whether this adventure would proceed at all.
"We haven't been properly introduced," Jean-Baptiste said smoothly, extending a manicured hand. "They call me JB. I'm a friend of the Boanno family, and you must be the champion everyone's talking about."
Carmelo stepped forward, his handshake firm enough to make a point. "I expect you to be a perfect gentleman with Willa. We clear on that?"
JB smiled. " Plus clair que le cristal —clearer than crystal, mon ami ."
Carmelo held his gaze for another beat, then nodded curtly and walked around to slide into the front passenger seat.
JB smoothed his silk tie with manicured fingers and shook his head with amused respect before returning to the driver's seat—but not before sending Willa a theatrical wink that made her smile.
The drive through New Orleans was nothing short of magical. The summer heat was oppressive, but the breeze created by their movement provided sweet relief, carrying the intoxicating scents of jasmine, café au lait, and the mysterious spices that seemed to perfume every corner of the city.
Kathy found herself mesmerized by the people they passed. Fashion and prim dressing had been important in Harlem, but this was something else entirely—as if looking beautiful were a municipal law rather than a personal choice.
The quads’ first stop was the legendary Café du Monde, where crowds of well-dressed patrons fanned themselves with ornate paper fans while waiting for tables.
JB had spoken truthfully about his family's "arrangements”.
With a discreet word to the ma?tre d' and a folded bill that changed hands like a magician's trick, they were escorted past the waiting white customers and seated at a prime table overlooking the bustling French Quarter.
The famous beignets arrived dusted with powdered sugar, like sweet snow, accompanied by café au lait so rich and perfect that it seemed almost criminal.
Before long, Kathy found herself laughing freely, blooming under the pampered attention like a flower finally given proper sunlight.
Even Carmelo's temperament softened enough for genuine smiles to break through his protective mask.
Jean-Baptiste proved to be more than just a pretty face—he was a natural storyteller and historian who could seamlessly transition from discussing baseball statistics to explaining the complex political divisions between the Sicilians, Irish, and Germans, who all vied for power in New Orleans, leaving the Cajuns and Blacks out of options.
He positioned the Black Creoles and the broader African American population as a people who lived by their own sophisticated rules, creating their own society within the larger, segregated world that suited them fine.
And everywhere they went, they witnessed this truth in action.
Congo Square had been transformed into an impromptu street festival, a celebration of culture that made the air throb with rhythm and blues so infectious it seemed to enter through the skin.
Twice, JB stopped their leisurely stroll to sweep Willa into spontaneous dances beneath the shade of ancient magnolia trees, their movements drawing appreciative murmurs from passersby who recognized the natural chemistry between the two.
Kathy lost herself completely in the rapture of absolute freedom.
Here, in this magical pocket of New Orleans, she could eat jambalaya from street vendors and feed it to Carmelo without sideways glances, could be pushed high on a rope swing suspended from a massive oak tree with Carmelo's strong hands steadying her, and no one cared. She could laugh without restraint as the warm wind whipped through her hair, and his kisses and fondling didn’t draw a sideways glance.
It was Carmelo who kept them all tethered to reality.
Like a hawk protecting his nest, he watched everything and everyone with unwavering vigilance.
If not for his constant attention, Willa would have slipped from their sight at least twice—once when a jazz band drew her into their impromptu parade, and again when a flower vendor's son tried to lead her away to see "the prettiest courtyard in the Quarter. "
Each time, Carmelo's gentle yet firm intervention brought her back to their group, his protective instincts as sharp as those of any bodyguard. He seemed to understand intuitively that in this world of beautiful surfaces, there were hidden dangers.
For one perfect afternoon, they existed in a parallel universe where love conquered prejudice, where money trumped color, and where four young people could simply be happy together under the Louisiana sun.
It was a glimpse of what the world could be—if only the rest of America could learn the lessons that New Orleans had already mastered in its own complicated, imperfect way.
"Kathy, please!" Willa pleaded, her voice breaking with desperation.
"My answer is still no," Kathy said firmly, though her heart ached at the pain in her friend's eyes.
Willa's face crumpled like paper in flames. She fled from the parlor, her sobs echoing through the grand hallways. Kathy sighed deeply, watching her disappear up the mahogany staircase. She glanced over at Pinkie, who stood quietly in the corner and gave her another subtle nod of approval.
“Keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t leave her room,” said Kathy.
“You think she’ll defy you, mam?” Pinkie asked.
“I would,” Kathy shrugged.
Pinkie nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Despite the guilt gnawing at her conscience, she knew she was doing the right thing.
Instead of following to comfort Willa, Kathy went to join the men, pushing the screen door open and stepping out to the long wraparound porch where Jean-Baptiste shared a pitcher of sweet tea with Carmelo.
The men were deep in conversation about the upcoming boxing match, and she caught a glimpse of genuine concern in Carmelo's dark eyes.
But their discussion ceased abruptly when they noticed her approach.
"JB, I want to thank you for the wonderful day you gave Willa. She's never had so much fun in her entire life," Kathy said graciously.
Jean-Baptiste gave her a curt nod, his green-colored eyes unreadable.
"Unfortunately, my answer remains no. Willa is only seventeen—we think.
We don't even know her real age for certain.
She's young and inexperienced. I am her guardian, and it wouldn't be appropriate for her to keep company with gentlemen callers.
" Kathy's voice grew stronger with conviction.
"I know she's upset with me, and I'd like to invite you to join us for dinner before we leave New Orleans, but this must be goodbye. " She extended her hand with finality.
For one brief, unmistakable moment, she caught a flash of raw anger in JB’s golden eyes—something cold and predatory that made her blood run chill. But it dissolved as quickly as mercury, replaced by the practiced smile that rose to his lips like a curtain falling over a stage.
He stood, he stepped forward, and shook her hand with perfect composure. "I thank you for allowing her to spend the day with me. She is truly a special young lady, and I appreciate you considering my request." His voice was honey-smooth. "Would it be acceptable if I went inside to say goodbye?"
Kathy glanced toward Carmelo, who gave her a slight turn of his head in disapproval. “Time for you to leave,” Carmelo said.
" Bien s?r, chérie ," JB replied with that charming smile, then turned and went down the steps. Kathy walked to the edge of the deck and watched as he got into his shiny ride and drove away.
Kathy released a long, weary sigh and sank into the wicker chair beside Carmelo.
"You're going to make a wonderful mother someday," Carmelo said softly, admiration evident in his voice.
"You think so?" Kathy smiled.
"I know so. I'll trust our daughters to your wisdom," he said, taking her hand, he pulled her from her chair to come over and join him in his. She gently plopped down onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, breathing in his familiar scent.
"I feel terrible. I know how desperately she wants to be loved and free—I understand that feeling better than anyone. But something's wrong with him. And the way Aunt Janey just let him slither into our lives... It’s like she’s instigating this,” Kathy shook her head. "I don't trust his interest in Willa."
Carmelo nodded in agreement. "Men are exactly what you think they are, cara mia . In a world full of wolves, it makes sense to protect the lamb."
Kathy lifted her head and stared down at him with sudden inspiration. "That's it!"
"What is?" Carmelo asked, confused.
"You said you were looking for a fight name—something that would stick. You should be called the Brooklyn Wolf or the Wolf of Brooklyn. Yes!”
Carmelo laughed, the sound rich and warm. "That's ridiculous."
"No! It's perfect! Think about it—the Wolf of Brooklyn! He'll rip you apart limb by limb!" She threw playful jabs at the air, her fists cutting through the humid evening with surprising skill.
"You've got killer instincts, Kathy," he chuckled, catching her hands.
"Please! For me! Be the Wolf! I want the Wolf! Ooooowwwwwoooo!!” Kathy howled with theatrical drama.
Carmelo growled playfully and pretended to bite her arm.
They wrestled and kissed and held each other with such joy and tenderness that time seemed to slip away like sand through their fingers.
The world beyond the porch ceased to exist—there was only them, only love, only this perfect moment stolen from an imperfect world.