Page 53 of The Killer Cupcake (Poison Cherry #3)

P resent. The cemetery stretched endlessly beyond the tinted windows. Junior broke the silence first: "This is insane. Who gets married in a fucking graveyard?"

Sandy watched Daphne's reflection in the glass as Matteo's driver steered them deeper into Calvary's sprawling grounds. The city skyline loomed in the distance, a jarring contrast to the sea of headstones.

"She killed herself," Daphne said. "His mother. The Church wouldn't give her sacred ground, so she's out here, in the forgotten section. That's where he wants to pledge himself to Mama—in front of the woman who couldn't watch him get married or meet his children. Us.”

The strangeness of it all settled over them. Even Christopher looked up from his comic and stared at the graves.

“Daddy is going to make it special for Mama. That’s what he said,” Daphne smiled.

“Already calling him Daddy," Junior observed, his tone softer than usual.

Daphne's jaw tightened. "He's earned it."

“Whatever,” Junior mumbled.

Daphne shot him the middle finger.

"Sandy." Junior's eyes found hers. "Why the security? I heard him barking orders about you specifically."

She wanted to tell them everything—about the diaries, about Carmelo being her father, about the danger closing in. Instead, she shrugged. "Probably just being careful."

"Those diaries revealing anything interesting?" Daphne probed.

Everything , Sandy thought. They revealed everything. But the words lodged in her throat. Not here. Not yet. The car rolled to a stop among weathered headstones and overgrown grass.

"Awesome!" Christopher declared, oblivious to the tension. "A spooky wedding!"

Junior held the door, his expression grim. "Let's go watch them make it official—again."

Sandy emerged from the limo and reached for Christopher's hand. Though he was only fourteen, he looked much younger—he'd inherited the petite build of his mother rather than the Ricci height, his thin frame making him appear barely ten.

Together they approached the priest, where Aunt Debbie stood radiant as a movie star.

Her white Chanel suit was impeccable; the tailored jacket and pencil skirt highlighted a figure that defied her forty-eight years.

Her platinum blonde hair, swept into Marilyn Monroe waves, caught the light like spun silk.

Every step in her white heels spoke of refinement.

She was so beautiful that Sandy couldn’t look away from her. And neither could Matteo.

Beside her, Matteo was pure controlled power—six feet of hardened Sicilian muscle, his deep Mediterranean tan making his dark sunglasses seem even more impenetrable.

The black suit couldn't disguise what fourteen years in the penitentiary had carved into him: the tattoos snaking up from his collar, wrapping around his neck, spreading across his hands like a roadmap of survival.

But it was the two figures at the graveside that made Sandy's breath catch: Nicolas and Nina Ricci.

The twins were from the funeral, and she had suspicions about their shared past, thanks to the diary.

The ones whose existence had sent her pregnant mother running from her father, Carmelo, straight into her father Ely's arms. Looking at them now, Sandy felt the crushing weight of three generations of deception at Matteo’s mother’s gravesite.

Nicolas Ricci stared at her. She could feel his eyes through his dark sunglasses. She tried not to notice.

"The sun's brutal, baby. Let's do this," Debbie murmured against Matteo's shoulder.

But he was lost in communion with his mother's spirit; the obsidian rosary beads, sliding through his scarred fingers, soothed him.

The prayer ended with a kiss to the cross—tender, final—before he buried it deep in his pocket alongside his other secrets.

She caught Father Angelo's furtive glances and read the disapproval in his rigid posture. A priest blessing a mobster's union to a Black woman violated everything except the one law that mattered in their world: Matteo Ricci's word.

The church bowed to the famiglia, just as everyone else did.

Debbie threaded her arm through Matteo’s, her white Chanel against his black suit, creating their own language of defiance.

She led him from the grave with practiced ease, and Father Angelo, trapped between heaven and the Ricci family’s earthly power, began the ceremony his conscience protested, but his survival demanded.

In one smooth motion, Matteo scooped under Debbie’s legs to bring her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest as if they were newlyweds leaving a chapel instead of a cemetery.

Daphne and Christopher fell into step behind them, their faces bright with genuine happiness for their mother.

But Junior stayed where he was, watching his family walk away without him.

Sandy noticed Nicolas Ricci approach Junior before she turned away and paused. The two fell into an immediate, intense conversation. And Nicolas kept glancing Sandy’s way.

“Sandy. Hey? Remember me?” Nina asked.

When she turned, Sandy found herself face-to-face with Nina's striking beauty.

Ink-black hair poured like silk from a razor-sharp center part, creating a dramatic frame for her porcelain features.

Her eyes were the most transparent green Sandy had ever seen, like sea glass, and her smile had the calculated perfection of someone who'd learned to weaponize charm.

The tailored blue suit she wore transformed her into something between a fashion model and a femme fatale. Both twins had dressed in dark colors—a choice that seemed deliberate, as if acknowledging the morbid setting of their uncle's wedding in a cemetery.

“I don’t really remember. But I suppose I do, to some extent. Nice to see you again. Thank you for coming to my mother’s funeral,” Sandy said.

Nina nodded. “We all loved Aunt Kathy. Can’t believe she and Pops are gone. Strange coincidence, huh?”

Sandy frowned. “It’s not a coincidence. Your father was murdered and my Mama.. She had a car accident.”

“But the timing, it’s just weird. Even the feds think so. It’s on the news. And Uncle Nino is gone too. Pretty odd, huh?”

“I’m more concerned about losing her than any strange coincidences,” Sandy said in a flat tone.

“Of course, that’s what I meant. Weird coincidence, same thing,” she smiled. “Nicolas said he invited you to our house out in Staten Island. Looks like Uncle Matteo and Aunt Debbie will be moving in with the kiddos, so… uhm, will you come visit?”

Sandy glanced back over to Junior and Nicolas.

It was Junior who walked away from the conversation, his face pinched with anger.

He marched over to Sandy, grabbed her hand, and yanked her to walk with him.

She glanced back at Nina, who stared at her with a sly smirk on her face.

And Nicolas, of course, approached his sister, watching them leave.

“Stop it, Junior! Let my hand go!” she yanked her hand free.

He blinked at her. “Don’t talk to them.”

“Why not? What’s the matter with you?”

“Because I said so, damnit. I have to protect you and Debbie. You both are too stupid to know how to protect yourself,” he stormed ahead of her.

Sandy glanced back at the twins. They stood together side by side, watching her as well.

There was something odd about their interest. And it felt unwavering.

She turned back and joined the family at the limos and got inside the car with her cousin. They all drove away.

"Have your people located Janey yet?" Debbie's fingers drummed against her thigh as they rode toward Staten Island, the children's limo trailing behind them. Her new wedding ring caught the light with each nervous tap.

Matteo's jaw tightened. "She showed up right after we collected Sandy. She's waiting at the house with Coffey."

Debbie twisted in her seat to face him. "And you're just telling me this now?"

His hand found her knee, steadying her hand. "Today was about us, bambina. About giving my mother the peace of seeing her son settled and safe. Introducing my kids and wife to her. Janey could wait."

Debbie softened.

She didn’t stop him when his calloused hand began to run smoothly up and between her thighs.

It soon disappeared under her skirt. Matteo leaned in and kissed her on the neck.

She smiled when his fingers reached her panties and made it past the seat to touch the lips of her sex.

Debbie’s head dropped back as Matteo made sure the divider between them and the driver of the limo remained up.

“Come here,” he said in her ear.

Debbie opened her eyes and let him put her on his lap.

Matteo yanked her expensive Chanel skirt up to her waist so she was able to grind on his thick hardness trapped behind his zipper.

She deep-throated her kiss with him. And Matteo worked to undo his belt and lower his zipper, and she lifted on her knees so he could push his pants all the way down, allowing them to drop to his ankles.

Debbie giggled when she was on him again, taking him all the way in. She removed his sunglasses from his face and licked his nose. Then, she licked his lip, and she moved in ways she knew made him crazy. Matteo groaned.

“You like that, baby?”

He spanked her ass, bouncing on his dick, and she let go of an excited laugh. He hugged her and laughed, too. “We’re married. We’re married!”

She kissed him deeper and remembered the time when she thought her world would be nothing but suffering and pain. And he was the cause.

Harlem 1952

"Ma? Ma, what's wrong?" Debbie said. She entered the tenement with Junior on her hip.

Her mother took her grandson into her arms and kissed the toddler as he kicked and fussed to be put down to explore. Debbie closed the door. All she knew was that her mother called and said to come home immediately.

"Tell me," Debbie urged, setting the baby bag and her purse on the sofa.

"It's your father," Claire said. She looked weak. Since the family diagnosis for her illness, she had spent time in and out of the hospital under treatments that seemed to age and drain her. Her state terrified Debbie.

"What's wrong with Pa?" Debbie asked.

"He's been missing. After Bumpy Johnson's arrest, they've been taking men who worked under him off the streets. Jimmy said he saw cops put him in the back of a police car. Brother and his friends are looking, but we haven't found him yet."

"What? No. What are you talking about? Why didn't you call me? Tell me! Ma c’mon!” Debbie raced to the phone.

"With everyone down in Butts for the wedding, and you so upset you couldn't go, I just didn't want to upset anybody if he’s fine. Who are you calling?"

"Quiet, Ma!" Debbie said.

" Ciao? ”

"Gino? I'm looking for Matteo. Is he there? It's Debbie. It's an emergency."

"Hold on, Debbie," Gino said.

Debbie let go of the deep breath she was holding. She kept her hand to her heart as she waited. Her mother had found something of interest for Junior and was entertaining him while keeping a close eye on her and listening.

“Debs? What’s wrong, cara ?” Matteo said.

“It’s daddy. He’s missing Matteo. Ma said Jimmy saw cops force him into a car. Did you know Bumpy Johnson was arrested? Matteo? If the cops have my father, my uncle is not here to help. He’s down in Mississippi. You’ve got to help us. Please,” she said.

“Okay, bambina . Where are you?”

“I’m staying with Ma. Brother is out looking for him.” Debbie started hyperventilating. “Daddy never stays away from Ma too long. Not with her being sick. I got a bad feeling, Matteo.”

“Debs, calm down. I got it. I’ll find him. Stay there. I’ll call you there.”

“Okay, okay,” she sighed.

She hung up.

“Who is Matteo?” her mom asked.

“Huh?” Debbie turned and saw her mother standing staring at her with Junior in her arms.

“Matteo. Who did you call?” Claire asked.

“Oh, him. Yeah, he’s, he’s, uhm, a friend… of José,” she breathed.

“Can he help us?” her Mom asked. Debbie melted. She went to her mother and hugged her and Junior.

“Yes, Ma. He can help. You know how those cops are. They got Daddy down in some cell, locked away. But we’ll get him out. He’ll be home soon. I promise.”

Claire handed the baby off to Debbie.

“I need to lie down. Wake me when Brother comes back, or if there is news. Okay?”

“Can I fix you something to eat?” Debbie asked.

“Warm up some stew in the fridge for me,” Claire said, and Debbie gave her a weak smile and nodded.

She watched her mama walk stiffly to the room.

The moment she disappeared she wanted to cry.

She needed help. She needed someone to talk to.

Debbie looked over at the phone. She picked it up. She had to tell Uncle Henry.

She dialed Big Mama’s number and heaved Junior up on her hip.

“Hello?”

“Kat? Kathy?” Debbie asked.

The line went silent.

“Kathy, it’s me. Please. I need help,” Debbie burst into tears. Just hearing her cousin’s voice broke something inside of her. She couldn’t even get her thoughts together.

“Hello? Debbie? It’s Aunt Brenda. What’s wrong, baby?”

Debbie closed her eyes. Kathy must have passed the phone to her mother. “It’s Pa. I mean, Daddy. He’s missing. Brother is trying to find him. Ma said Bumpy Johnson was taken to jail, and they’ve been snatching Bumpy’s men off the streets.”

“Oh lord, okay, baby, okay. Let me get Henry. Where are you?” Brenda asked.

“Is Kathy there, Auntie? Can you tell her I’m sorry? I’m scared. I need her. Please?” Debbie sobbed.

“Yes, baby, she’s with her husband. They just got married today, but she will call you back. I promise. Where are you? Home?”

“No. I’m at Ma’s. I’m with her. Brother is out searching. I’m not leaving until we hear something.”

“Okay. Stay by he phone. We will call back,” said Brenda, and the line went dead. Debbie held on tight to Junior and prayed.