Page 44 of The Killer Cupcake (Poison Cherry #3)

P resent. After thirty years, Kathy's body knew Carmelo's absence before her mind caught up. The sheets beside her had surrendered their warmth.

"Melo?" She sat up, pressed her palms hard against her eyes. "What is it now?"

The real problem wasn't what drove him from their bed—it was that they'd never learned the art of true forgiveness.

They only knew how to bind themselves together with beautiful lies, pretending at healing while their old wounds festered.

She remembered that first betrayal of trust, how she'd faked forgiveness to get him through the Memphis fight, only to gut him afterward with the truth: they were done.

That innocence they'd shared in their love was ash, just like her heart.

Three decades later, the dance continued. Still pretending, still bleeding, still blaming. Even sex had become just another performance, another way to avoid looking at what they'd become.

She slipped from the bed, removed her nightie, and found his linen shirt, and pulled it on over her nakedness.

Knowing he preferred to see her wearing it.

She buttoned it, removed the scarf from her hair as she moved through the villa's darkness.

Strange how this Quebec sanctuary mimicked their old Italian dreams, echoing every safe house he'd ever built for them. Different addresses, same gilded cage.

The house listened to her breathing. She aimed for the stairs—he'd be at the poolhouse, drowning in vino and regret. But then: a sliver of light bleeding from beneath a door she'd never noticed.

These upper rooms had held no interest before tonight.

Now something pulled her forward. Jazz leaked through the wood—Coltrane, maybe, mournful and raw.

Better than Springsteen. She pressed against the door, first her ear, then her whole body, as if it were Carmelo himself—all that beautiful defiance keeping her.

Her mother's last words surfaced, and suddenly she understood what Brenda and Henry had found before the end. Peace. Real peace. Not this endless war they called love.

She turned the handle.

What waited inside stole her breath.

1952 - Memphis, Tennessee

"Here, sweetie, drink this."

The voice pulled Kathy from the void. For a heartbeat, she saw Big Mama's face—all that worn kindness and strength. But her vision cleared, and it was someone else—another woman who knew how to gather broken girls.

Kathy sat up trembling, her mind in pieces. The cup shook in her hands as she sipped something bittersweet with honey that burned away the taste of betrayal.

"What's your name, baby?"

"Kathy, ma'am."

"Well, Kathy, I don't know what all that was about, but you're safe now. Nobody comes through that door unless Kathy says so. They call me Mabel."

"I need—" Kathy's voice cracked. "I need a ticket home."

"Where's home?"

A knock rattled the door. Kathy flinched hard, pressing back against the headboard.

"Ma, some men here asking after Kathy," came a young voice.

"Please don't let them in. Please!" Kathy. pleaded.

"Shh, now." Mabel's hands were steady on her shoulders. "Who are these men? Tell me true, child. Can't protect what I don't understand."

"They're—they want—" Kathy couldn't form the words. "They're bad people. I just need to get on the next bus home. Just a ticket. Please."

"Don't you worry, sugar." Mabel pulled her close, solid as a fortress. "Mabel's got you. We'll get you back to your people."

"What's taking them so long?" Matteo grunted and paced.

Carmine leaned against his car. He watched the young Ricci vibrate with barely contained violence.

His own body ached from wrestling Janey into submission.

He'd left strangers watching his wife—that couldn't hold.

He needed to get back before she hurt someone or herself.

But the Marcellos owned him now. Whatever independence he'd had, Janey's poison had dissolved it.

Carmelo had to fight, which meant Kathy had to come with them.

"Go in and get her," Matteo demanded. “The fuck are we standing out here holding our dicks for!”

Carmine's gaze slid to Matteo and his boys. A bunch of Sicilians causing trouble outside a Negro hotel—they might as well paint targets on their backs.

"Shut your mouth, boy,” Carmine said, voice like gravel.

Matteo's eyes narrowed, but he held his tongue.

Carmine pushed off the car, holding the younger man's stare until Matteo looked away. Then the hotel door opened. A silver-haired woman built like a battleship emerged, shotgun cradled like a baby, her men flanking her.

"You got ten seconds to get your narrow asses away from the Douglass or I'm putting holes in you and feeding what's left to my hogs."

"Ma'am, we only want to talk?—"

She swung the gun toward Matteo. Carmine rolled his eyes. The fool would get his head blown off and all of them strung up if someone didn't intervene.

"Point that rifle at me." Carmine leaned heavily on his cane. "I'm in charge here."

Mabel pivoted, leveling the shotgun at his chest. One twitch and he'd be done. Part of him would welcome it. “Well, that ain’t, so mister. You’re on the wrong side of the tracks. This is Mabel’s territory.”

"Name's Carmine Boanno. The woman we carried out is my wife, Janey. She's half Negro, Kathy's aunt. That's what brought trouble to your door. And I’m here to collect her and pay for any damages. With apologies from Don Marcello."

"You one of them Sicilians? Don? From where?"

"New Orleans." Carmine removed his hat.

"Ah, so that's how you marry a mulatto. Not my business." Mabel's grip stayed steady. "Kathy told me she don't want to see you. She's under my protection now. So like I said—six seconds to get gone."

"I understand. Her and her aunt had words. Bad ones. She's got every right to her anger." Carmine kept his voice even. “I’d like to speak with her with your permission before we go. I’m asking you to relay my request—just me, nobody else. You can supervise. Then we leave."

"The hell we will!" Matteo snapped.

“He’s young and stupid, Mabel. Kill him so that we can speak business,” Carmine said without looking back.

Mabel's shotgun swung toward Matteo, and she lifted it high to aim. “Wait! No! Don’t shoot!” Matteo gasped, hands up.

He stumbled backward. She cut Carmine a knowing look.

They had now understood each other. Matteo was still a weakling, especially in the dirty South.

He had no clue about the politics here. Mabel was sure that Boanno was the one in charge.

She lowered the gun, murmured something to the man beside her, and handed it off. Smart woman—killing Sicilians would bring more heat than one scared colored girl was worth.

"Fine. But your time's short. One of them twitches wrong, my boys start shooting."

Carmine glanced at Matteo. "You heard her, tadpole. Keep your fucking mouth shut and your men in the cars. Let me handle this."

"You caused this!" Matteo's control cracked. "You told your wife, she told Kathy, and now we're all dead if Carmelo doesn't fight!"

"Death's coming regardless," Carmine sighed. He settled his hat and climbed the steps, cane clicking against wood.

Matteo ordered his men back to the cars. Watching Carmine disappear inside, he prayed to any saint listening that Kathy would see reason for all their sakes.

Kathy had little to pack. She stood still in the middle of the room.

She held the lilac dress she'd sewn to wear on the night of his big fight.

Even cut the fabric to look more beautiful for him.

Tears fell freely. Last night, he'd painted pretty lies about Vegas, about their perfect life in the desert.

All while his wife and babies waited at home.

What about the baby she'd carried? The shame of being cast out with a child? The endless months toiling in Butts, separated from everyone she loved? All for his fairytale. All lies.

She'd never thought herself capable of hating anyone more than King Redmond. But this betrayal cut to the bone.

She shoved the dress into her bag and pulled on her shoes. The door opened. Mabel entered first, but Carmine Boanno followed, making Kathy take several steps back.

“It’s okay, sweetie. He said he is married to your aunt and wants to speak, and then he is gone.

It’s still your choice. My thinking is that speaking with him may settle the matter and prevent whatever brought you here from following you home.

So you can have that conversation while I stay close. What do you say?”

Kathy’s gaze volleyed between Mabel and Carmine. She was so wound tight with emotion that she could barely summon her voice, so she nodded her agreement, her vision permanently blurred through tears.

“Janey left our bed in the middle of the night. I fell asleep in a chair watching over her after our fight. I need to clear some things up with you, Kathy. Last night, Janey heard me and Carmelo fight. I confronted him about what I saw on my trip to New York.”

Kathy sank onto the bed. She fought the urge to cover her ears and block it out. She was barely holding herself together. To dissect the many levels of Carmelo’s lies and deception may send her straight back into madness.

Carmine spoke with the weariness of a man confessing sins that weren't his own. Mabel leaned forward, her curiosity sharpening with every word.

"I went to New York to meet with his father about business.

" His cane tapped once against the floor.

“Wasn’t long before his wife and his twins walked in.

" He watched the words land like blows. "I was as blindsided as you are now, Kathy.

Standing there, knowing what this would do to my Janey, to you.

But this fight and Carmelo winning it was already written in my blood with the Marcellos.

So I came here with the secret. Something I figured he would share with you after we discussed it. "

Kathy closed her eyes and practiced breathing through the trauma.