Page 7 of The Killer Cupcake (Poison Cherry #3)
JANEY’S PLACE NEW ORLEANS
" W ow," Carmelo breathed as a primly dressed older Black man—clearly the butler—took his bag with practiced efficiency and glided away with silent dignity.
"That's Elmer," Kathy explained in a low voice, "and over there is Pinkie, his daughter.
" She gestured toward a young woman in a crisp white apron who was arranging fresh magnolia blossoms in a crystal vase.
"His wife Pearl works in the kitchen. They're the family of servants who tend to Janey's place with a few others.
They live in a cottage behind the mansion in the courtyard. Really good people."
Carmelo frowned, confusion flickered across his features, but he gave Pinkie a respectful nod when she glanced their way.
He'd never heard of Negroes employing Negro servants before—not even in all the books he'd devoured about different worlds and cultures.
The social dynamics were more complex than anything he'd encountered.
Kathy caught his unspoken question and nodded knowingly. "I was thinking the exact same thing. It's... different here."
"There he is!" a melodious voice sang from above, floating down like honey poured over silk.
Carmelo reluctantly tore his gaze from Kathy's beautiful face and looked up toward the grand staircase. His smile faded completely, replaced by a look of stunned recognition.
At the top of the sweeping mahogany stairs stood the most breathtakingly beautiful woman he'd once before laid eyes on. The woman he met that terrible night, his mother died.
And she was looking directly at him with eyes that seemed to hold secrets darker than his.
“Not drinking, ragazzo ?” came a soft voice like chimes. Livia materialized beside him, gardenias in her hair and a sharp almond note under her perfume. “ Che ti tormenta, campione? What troubles you, champion?”
“Oh—no, I—” Carmelo stammered, staring at his glass. “It tastes… kind of fizzy. Like gasoline bubbles.” He managed a crooked smile. She was beautiful—different from Kathy, but in a strange way, familiar.
She smiled back. “You’re Carmelo, right? The prizefighter. Don Ricci’s youngest son.” Her gaze lifted to a banner above them, his face in boxing gloves.
“That’s me,” he said.
“A tough guy,” she teased.
“I’m just a fighter.”
She bit her nail, eyes dancing. “Seems your father doesn’t like you making new friends.”
He glanced across the room at the table, where his father and DeMarco both watched Livia with intent expressions.
Two dangerous men were transfixed by her presence.
Yet she remained cool, focused on him alone—those melting honey-brown eyes framed by dark lashes. Suddenly, they reminded him of Kathy.
“He’s not staring at me,” Carmelo said quietly. “He’s staring at you. And that’s not a good thing, sweetheart.”
Livia’s brow rose. “Is that so?”
“Be careful,” Carmelo warned. “He’s not someone to tease. And DeMarco’s worse. If that’s possible.”
“Do you always speak so fondly of la famiglia? ” She laughed, a clear bell that drew glances from nearby guests.
Unfazed, she leaned close, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered, “Don’t worry—I’m the deadliest candy in the room.
” Then, softer still: “Kill ’em in the ring, kid. Leave the monsters for Aunt Janey.”
Janey began her descent down the sweeping stairs, her eyes locked onto Carmelo with predatory focus.
Carmine accepted a drink from Pinkie, and Carmelo could feel the man's penetrating gaze burning into him as well.
What could he say? What could he do? It was her—the mysterious woman from that terrible night.
And she was Kathy's aunt? An Elliot woman?
A million times he'd heard Kathy lovingly speak the name Janey, but the trauma of his mother's death had washed both her face and that whispered identity from his memory like blood down a drain.
How could he have forgotten the woman who'd called herself "the deadliest candy in the room"?
What did it mean that she'd been masquerading as someone named Livia, moving through DeMarco's world like she owned it?
Then the pieces slammed together with sickening clarity. DeMarco's death. How José had said he was poisoned just like King Redmond—slow, agonizing, deliberate. His heart hammered against his ribs like a caged bird desperate to escape.
"Carmelo, you okay? You look like—" Kathy squeezed his hand, concern flooding her voice.
"Like he's seen a ghost," Janey finished smoothly as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "Am I your ghost, Carmelo?"
She approached him dressed in beauty that made her look like a vision of royalty, reminding him painfully of his mother when she'd dressed up for one of Matteo's special shopping trips—elegant, untouchable, and heartbreakingly lovely.
He felt the room tilt dangerously toward his long-suppressed madness, which he kept caged inside, only to unleash in the boxing ring.
Janey walked directly to him with grace, placed her soft hands on his shoulders.
She kissed his left cheek, then his right, in the Continental fashion.
When she stepped back, Carmelo caught sight of Carmine, who now looked like a coiled rattlesnake ready to strike.
Even this innocent greeting sparked a dangerous flare of rage or jealousy in the Capo's pale eyes.
"Hi, uh, sorry. I just wasn't expecting you to be..." Carmelo stammered.
"To look like a white woman? Or Sicilian, maybe?” Janey laughed, the sound like silver bells.
She turned and eased over to Carmine with feline grace.
He set his glass down but kept his hand firmly gripped on his cane's silver top.
She touched his face tenderly and leaned in to kiss him.
Janey closed her eyes and gave him a full, passionate kiss right in front of Carmelo and Kathy, then giggled softly and wiped the crimson lipstick from his mouth with her thumb.
She whispered something naughty to him—not in Italian, but French, Carmelo was certain.
Carmine's deadly gaze shifted from her to Carmelo, lingered with obvious threat, then he nodded curtly.
He kissed her again, deeper this time, before he walked away without a word.
"Don't worry about him, children. He's a bit overprotective and jealous, but he's harmless enough. I'll take care of him later. If he’s up to it,” Her smile was sharp as broken glass. "Now come with me. Lunch is already prepared."
"Where is Willa?" Kathy asked.
"She needed a bit more work than I could accomplish here. I had my girls come for her. She'll be back this evening, transformed."
"Aunt Janey, I'm not supposed to let her out of my sight. Willa frightens easily. You should have come and told me first." Kathy's protest carried a hint of panic.
"Nonsense, darling. She's perfectly fine. We take care of our own." Janey dismissed the concern with a wave of her manicured hand and walked ahead of them.
"Why are you being so strange?" Kathy whispered urgently to Carmelo.
"We need to talk about your aunt. I met her before—the night my Ma died," he whispered back, his voice tight with barely controlled tension.
Kathy's eyes went wide as saucers. Janey cast a sly, knowing smile back at them both over her shoulder. They were certain she'd heard every word, but she didn't acknowledge it. She simply let them both stew in the uncomfortable knowledge, like a cat playing with trapped mice.
The dining room spread before them was a vision of Southern abundance.
The food was something to behold—aromatic and inviting, from perfectly seasoned red beans and rice to rich, dark gumbo and exotic Creole dishes Carmelo couldn't begin to name.
Then came the desserts: pralines gleaming like amber jewels, delicate beignets dusted with powdered sugar, and an array of petit fours that looked almost too beautiful to eat.
Kathy stood transfixed, unable to speak at the lavish display.
Carmelo found his voice first. "This looks incredible. I'm absolutely starving."
"It's all for you two lovebirds." Janey's smile was warm but somehow predatory. "I'm going to settle whatever's bothering my dear Carmine about your arrival Carmelo. Leave you alone to catch up properly. But I won't be far, so do behave yourselves." She winked at Carmelo.
He nodded, throat suddenly dry. They watched her aunt walk out. Pinkie gave them a meaningful warning look and quietly closed the French doors to grant them privacy.
"What do you mean you met her in Brooklyn? Why didn't you tell me!" Kathy whispered the moment they were alone.
Carmelo ran a hand through his dark hair. "She didn't say she was your aunt. She had a different name—called herself Livia. She was with DeMarco, the consigliere who caught us at Mama Stewarts."
"And?" Kathy pressed, her voice tight with dread.
"And now he's dead," Carmelo said quietly. "Poisoned, according to José. He said DeMarco died exactly like King Redmond." His dark eyes searched her face. "Kathy, what does that mean?"
Kathy turned away from him abruptly and walked to the window. She pressed one hand to her forehead and the other to her chest, which was rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. Carmelo watched in growing confusion and alarm.
"Talk to me," he said softly, moving closer. "Did she... could she have killed DeMarco?"
"Hush!" Kathy spun around, eyes blazing. "Don't ever say that again. And for God's sake, don't say it to her husband. Do you understand me?"
He nodded, chastened. "Then tell me—who are the Elliott women?"
"Who told you that name?" Kathy's voice was barely a whisper.
"Carmine. He said to beware of Elliott women. Told me never to eat any candies from Janey's hands, never to cross her. Kathy, what's going on? Are you in trouble? Are you in danger here?"