Page 131 of The Deadly Candies

Brenda rose swiftly from her chair, wrapping Claudia in a fierce embrace. Big Mama’s eyes fluttered closed as she began softly humming an old hymn, praying gently under her breath. “Come here, baby,” she said tenderly, opening her arms.

Claudia stepped away from Brenda and went into Big Mama’s comforting embrace. Big Mama cradled her, gently rocking back and forth as she hummed her hymn. The three women sat in reverent silence for a while, their quiet prayers mingling with Big Mama’s soothing melody. It was the strongest, most heartfelt prayer any of them had ever shared, and by the time they finished, a fragile but determined faith took hold, stronger than the pain, stronger than doubt. The Lord will have his way.

* * *

Il Gattopardo,Manhattan – November, 1949

The black Packard glided to a stop parallel to the restaurant, its chrome grille gleaming under the streetlamps. Matteo Ricci adjusted his father's fur-lined overcoat in the backseat, his fingers lingering on the hidden shoulder holster. Carmelo looked bored out of the window.

"Remember," Don Cosimo growled as the driver opened their door, and he looked at Matteo specifically. “tonight you're a prince, not a soldier. Let them see what a Ricci is made of."

Matteo glanced to Carmelo who looked his way with a bit of pride. “You got this one big brother,” he said.

The winter air carried the scent of roasting chestnuts and gasoline as they approachedIl Gattopardo'ssmoked glass doors. A symphony of clinking crystal and jazz piano spilled onto the sidewalk, mingling with the laughter of women who sounded like wind chimes made of broken promises.

The restaurantIl Gattopardowas crouched on the corner of Mulberry and Grand like a well-dressed predator, its blood-red awnings fluttering over windows that showcased the elegance and dining inside. Owned byDon Alfonso “The Banker” Moretti, it was a temple to postwar decadence that had left an influence on New York when the Sicilians had beaten the Irish to be the richest off the bootleg empires forged by Lucky Luciano and Cappone.

Crystal chandeliers dripped from high ceilings, the light glinting off gold-leafed walls and the diamond-crusted fingers ofgoumadas(women who were the mafia Don’s whores) draped over leather booths. The air hummed with cigar smoke, Chanel No. 5, and the sharp tang of imminent violence around the beautiful women. Waiters in white tuxedos circulated with silver trays of oysters Rockefeller and Negronis, their eyes downcast. You didn’t meet a Don’s gaze unless invited.

At the head of the room, beneath a mural of Garibaldi conquering Sicily, Don Cosimo Ricci stepped to the head table and the seat of importance. This is how heheld court. At 45, Don Ricci was a bull of a man, with deep olive skin, dark eyes and hair, handsome but lethal features, and a Brioni suit straining over shoulders that had carried crates of bootleg whiskey in his youth.

His consigliere,DeMarco Salvatore, stood to his left, a panther in a charcoal-gray suit. But the woman on DeMarco’s arm, who drew whispers: “Livia Conti”, was introduced as the widow to a Sicilian named Conti back in New Orleans. She had ink-black hair coiled into a stylish curled waves of hair that cast to her shoulders, her emerald dress cut to reveal a collarbone dusted withrossobirthmarks. Her eyes, too gold for a white woman, lingered on Cosimo’s sons. The Don noticed.

DeMarco introduced her to him as his girl. Don Ricci gave her a respectful nod, and her sly smile in return made his brows lift in interest. DeMarco immediately turned her away, but she kept casting her gaze his way for the rest of the evening.

* * *

“Ciao, thank you for coming,”Lucia greeted the women warmly, smiling as she opened the door.

Alice Romero stepped inside, returning Lucia’s smile. Her daughter Maria followed close behind, proudly holding a dessert she'd prepared. Lucia was already dressed for leaving, her coat buttoned tight.

“Oh, Maria,che cos'è—what is this? You are so young, and you already make the sweetest treats. I know my Carmelo loves your pies!” Lucia kissed Maria affectionately on both cheeks. “Come, let me help you.”

“No,signoraLucia, it’s okay—I got it,” Maria replied, smiling shyly. “I’ll bring it to the kitchen myself. Carmelo is here tonight?”

Lucia’s smile softened with quiet approval. Maria would make a perfect wife for Carmelo one day—she was eighteen, beautiful, educated, and from a goodfamiglia.

“No,cara, he’s not home now. And don't you worry for Nino—he’ll sleep well. I gave him something to make him resttutta notte—the whole night. You and your mamma just watch the house for me,sì? The boys had to go with their papa tonight.”

“Va bene,” Maria agreed cheerfully, already walking towards the kitchen.

Alice watched her daughter go, then turned back to Lucia, worry in her eyes. “È strano—this strange, Lucia. I asked Father Chris today, and he said there is no special service tonight.Dove vai—where are you going, really?”

Lucia hesitated briefly, then quickly moved to her purse. Quietly, she withdrew a thick stack of bills—more cash than Alice had ever seen her carry, secretly taken from Cosimo’s safe, though Alice knew none of this. Lucia pressed the money gently into her friend’s hands.

“Cosimo and all the families gather tonight, they have theirfesta privatawith theirputtane—their whores. Celebrating themselves, devising more plans to destroy lives,” she said with quiet disgust, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. “So tonight,anch'io—me too, I will go out and make my own little festa.Questa è la verità—the truth.”

Alice’s brow creased deeply. “But Lucia, it’s so—so late. Cosimo, is me here. Finds out you left, he’s going to be very angry. Why do you risk enraging him?”

Lucia’s eyes softened as she touched Alice’s arm gently, a bittersweet smile forming on her lips. “I’m not afraid of Cosimo. Not anymore. And I hope you won’t be. I hope you can be better than me. I’ve done everything I can. You know why.Per favore, just promise you’ll watch my Nino and my boys, keep a good eye on them for me.”

Alice nodded quickly, squeezing Lucia’s hand tightly. “Sì, sì, certo.But you promise me you’ll come home before he comes back.Capisci?”

“Sì, sì,promise, I won’t be gone long,” Lucia reassured her. “Cosimo is not home until very late.Tutto bene,Alice—everything is gonna be fine.”

The two women embraced tightly, the air heavy with words they couldn’t say aloud. Alice opened her mouth to ask more, but Lucia placed her hat carefully on her head, pulled on her gloves, and moved swiftly toward the door. Alice watched anxiously from the threshold as Lucia stepped outside into the chilly night, where a taxi waited.

If Alice hadn’t been so desperate for the money Lucia offered, she wouldn’t have agreed to any of this. She feared Don Ricci deeply and hated even setting foot into his house. But Lucia was her only true friend among all the mafia wives—the only one who still slipped her food and gave her money quietly when she needed it most.

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