Page 65 of The Killer Cupcake (Poison Cherry #3)

The door slammed with enough force to rattle the windows. Debbie stood frozen, feeling gutted, as if Carmelo had reached inside and torn something vital from her chest. Her hand found her belly as her knees gave way, dropping her into the nearest chair.

Her heart was shattered—that much would never heal.

But as she sat there, breathing through the pain, something hardened inside her.

This would be her last collapse. Her final tears.

If Matteo could find the strength to walk away from everything he loved to keep them safe, then she could find the strength to build a life for her kids and him worth returning to.

And that life would have nothing to do with the Ricci name.

1978 Staten Island - Ricci Estate

Debbie hated how the past could ambush her.

Standing there, it all rushed back—every wound, every regret, every irreversible choice.

This day was supposed to be about new beginnings, but her mind kept circling back to old pain.

Only José's death had cut deeper than the day Matteo walked into that recruitment office.

She pressed her fingertips to her eyes, catching the tears before they could fall.

Through the estate's massive picture window, she had seen the spectacle arranged for Don Matteo Ricci's wedding reception. Matteo didn’t want anyone there but family.

So, the celebration was limited to top-ranking associates and their families.

Outside pristine lawns, laughing guests, the facade of family unity was on display.

Her children moved through it all like actors in different plays.

Junior stood rigid beside Sandy, watching the festivities as if calculating threats.

Matteo’s oldest son could do no wrong in Matteo’s eyes.

Countless times, Debbie would complain of Junior’s rebellion, and Matteo would chuckle over the prison phone call and say to let him be.

Cars, and any prizes Junior wanted, Matteo insisted Carmelo gave to him.

Spoiling Junior made him even harder for her to raise alone.

And even now, Junior blamed him for José’s death and wouldn’t let Matteo close.

But Junior was here. And he was playing his part. That was progress.

Being jaded wasn’t his fault. He'd inherited his father's wariness and her wounds. Daphne and Christopher, floated through the crowd with eagerness, desperate to belong in this glittering new world their father had built.

Were the Ricci cousins genuinely welcoming, or simply well-trained in the politics of blood? Debbie suspected the latter.

"There you are." His voice wrapped around her like memory—deep, smooth, unchanged despite everything.

She looked back and time folded. Beneath the hardness sat the same beautiful roughneck who'd once feared nothing and no one. War had etched new lines, prison had stolen softness, but her Matteo remained. She'd spend their marriage rediscovering every tender place the world had tried to destroy.

His expression shifted. "Why are you looking at me like that? What's wrong?"

She crossed to him in three steps, burrowing into his embrace. This house—being here openly, wearing his ring—it awakened every sleeping grief. The memories crashed down: the empty years, the damaged man who'd finally come home to her.

"I spent so long hating your brother." The words spilled out raw. "Hating him with everything in me. Now he's gone and I just want to say thank you."

"Bella." He lifted her face, reading her tears. "Did someone say something? Who?—"

"I need to thank him," she whimpered through fresh tears.

"For what, baby?"

"For whatever devil's bargain he made to bring you home.

For pulling strings to get you out of prison.

For trying to stitch our family back together.

" She fisted her hands in his shirt. "He sent you away, but he also brought you back. I want to thank him for this chance to remember what we were. What we could be with our children. I saw the Wolf and all the destruction he caused. This is Melo. I feel it. This is him trying to make it right for us.”

His eyes went liquid. "I thanked him for both of us. You were always the only thing I needed, Debs. The only thing that mattered. He knew that. He hugged me in that prison and said he wanted me to be free.”

Something broke free in her chest—not tears but laughter, bright and startling. She pressed closer, laughing against his neck, tasting happiness after so much sorrow.

"We're really going to be okay," he said, wonder in his voice.

"Yes.”

"Come meet the other wives. Let them see who really runs this family,” he said.

"Not yet." She caught his sleeve. "I need to tell you something first."

His brow furrowed. "Tell me what?"

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. gathering courage. "Something happened this morning. I was sick, and when I'm queasy, you know I always smoke to calm my stomach."

“I didn’t know that?” he frowned.

“Yes, you do!” she snapped.

“Sorry, sorry, babe, okay, tell me what’s wrong?”

His expression sharpened with concern.

“Cigarette didn’t help. I threw up more. And then Janey comes, and I got upset and threw up again." Color bloomed in her cheeks.

"You ill now?" His palm found her forehead, checking for fever.

She caught his wrist, moving his hand away. "Not ill. Pregnant."

"What?" He searched her face for the punchline. "Pregnant?"

Her smile was answer enough.

"Bella, you're forty-eight years old!" His laugh was pure shock mixed with amusement.

The joy fled from her face. She pushed against his chest. "I know what I know, Matteo. My body doesn't lie."

"Can women even make babies at forty-eight?"

"Apparently, this one can!" Her stance turned defensive.

He studied her, understanding dawning. "You're serious."

"Dead serious. I’m pregnant. I ain’t seen my period since you been after me when you came back,” she rolled her eyes.

“But how? Explain it to me,” he insisted.

"Explain what? You idiot! Whenever we get back together, I get knocked up. It's how it works!"

"But Debs, we're older now. Is it even possible? Did you go to a doctor?" he asked.

"I don't need a damn doctor. I got common sense. You've been on me since you got out of prison. Sex, Debs, I want it. Sex, Debs. Wake up, Debs. Suck it, Debs! Pussy! Pussy! Pussy!”

He watched her pace and rant. His eyes traveled over her body—her beauty, her spirit. Could it be possible? Could God really be giving him another chance to be a father, a complete father, with his family intact? After all these years, at their age? He couldn't believe it.

"And?" she said, arms folded, glaring at him. "What you got to say to that?"

"Have you seen a doctor?" he said, trying to hide the humor in his voice. Debbie and her crazy ideas always made things fun with her. But he knew not to mock her. She’d punish him good if she felt he was making fun of her.

"Not yet, but I've done this dance before. Three times." Her voice gentled. "Every time you love me, we create life. It's our pattern."

"Debs..." He seemed lost for words. "This is unexpected. If you're right, then?—“

"I am right! I am!”

He summoned the patience for her that he often used when he was unable to deny her wishes, even her most impossible wishes. "Then I'm the luckiest man breathing."

"You mean that?" Her smile lit her entire face.

He lifted her clean off her feet, spinning them both. "Another baby! God, woman, I love how you grow our children!"

She shrieked with laughter, legs dangling, arms wrapped around his neck. When her feet touched ground again, she straightened her expensive suit jacket and fixed her golden hair. She was radiant.

"Now, introduce me to those Mafia bitches. They need to meet the woman who is now in charge."

His hand connected with her bottom in playful possession before he took her hand properly. Leading her through his father's blood-bought mansion, he felt ready for whatever came next.