Page 115 of The Deadly Candies

“Hi,” she said.

He startled, gaze snapping up. She tightened her robe sash. A beat passed. Then he looked back at his magazine, jaw clenched.

“Can we talk?”

“No.”

“You’re angry.”

He exhaled through his nose. “What do you care?”

The words were a slap. She flinched.

“Itoldyou your father could die. Did you care? Told you Bumpy and those Mafia vultures are watching. Did you care? Told you your family was finally healing—” His voice cracked. “Did youcare?”

Tears burned her eyes, but she held them back.

“See?” He flung the magazine aside. “I showed you another way. But this is what you want? Fine.Go.Just leave me out of it.”

She stood frozen, rejection like a knife between her ribs. But she wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t beg.

“I didn’t plan it,” she said.

Ely ignored her. He picked up another magazine and reclined again to read it.

“But I’m glad I saw him.”

A page turned. Sharp. Deliberate.

“And you’re going to help me see him again.”

Ely barked a laugh. “ThehellI will.”

“Here’s why you will.” She waited until his glare met hers, fury simmering in his eyes. “We agreed to end it. I’ll go back to Mississippi. No running, no fighting. But Ineedto see him one last time.”

“Why?”

“That’smybusiness. But you’ll help because I need to close doors in my heart—doors only Carmelo can shut. And if you refuse?” She leaned in. “I’ll go upstairs right now and tell Daddyeverythingabout the letters, the phone calls, and your help. You won’t be his little hero anymore. And he won’t be so willing to marry me off to you either.”

Ely shot upright. “Youthreateningme?”

“Yes.” The word was a gunshot. “I’m done tiptoeing around your feelings—everyone’sfeelings but mine. Done being treated like some scarlet woman, likeI’mthe one poisoning the world.”

“Kathy—”

“No.Stop pretending. Stop acting like my friend, my savior. This was never aboutme. It was aboutyou—your rules, yourlessons, your desires. I never asked to be a teacher. Never asked to be dragged out of the fields to the washroom. I just wanted afriend. If you were one, you’d spend less time judging me and more time understanding.”

She turned and left, her pulse roaring in her ears. Upstairs, she paused by her father, mouth open, snoring loud enough to shake the walls. She kissed his forehead, smiling when he didn’t stir.

In the kitchen, she poured water with steady hands. Then she went upstairs, slid into bed beside her mother, curling close, breathing in the safety of home.

Life wasn’t perfect.Shewasn’t perfect. Neither was Carmelo. Or Ely.

But for the first time since climbing that attic ladder and changing her world forever, she felt like she owned her own choices—herlife,herheart. Not Carmelo’s. Not Ely’s. Not her parents’. Andcertainlynot Don Cosimo Ricci’s.

Janey had taught her that.

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