Page 138 of The Deadly Candies

“Who?”Debbie’s tear-streaked face twisted.“Wait, it’s that bastard. The one who found you guys at Mama Stewart’s, the one who Mateo stopped from killing Kathy? That bastard... the consultant?”

“Yes. The consigliere.”Carmelo’s laugh was hollow.“The day after Ma died, after everything... he got sick. Blood everywhere—from his mouth, his nose, his damn ass.”Carmelo dragged a hand down his face.“They took him to the hospital screaming that Ma poisoned him before she... before she—”His voice cracked.“That fucking cock-sucker. They heard him all the way to Mulberry Street.”

José went very still.“Poison? Bleeding... like King Redmond?”

Debbie froze.“Why would you say that?”

“It’s what people said, Redmond was doing, shouting.”José’s throat bobbed.“Bleeding from every hole. Screaming Italians poisoned him. That your father?—”

“THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY?!”

Carmelo moved like a lightning strike—one second across the room, the next with his hands locked around José’s throat, slamming him into the wall hard enough to crack plaster. Debbie’s scream was drowned by Carmelo’s roar:

“YOU CALLING MY MA A KILLER?! THAT SHE TOOK OUT REDMOND?! I’LL RIP YOUR GODDAMN THROAT OUT?—”

Debbie’s fists pounded Carmelo’s back, her rings splitting her skin. José’s face purpled, his legs buckling.

A right hook to Carmelo’s temple finally broke his grip. José collapsed, wheezing, as Debbie dropped to her knees and crawled to be beside him.

“You son of a bitch! You could’ve killed him!”she shrieked.

Carmelo stumbled back, hands clawing at his own hair.“I’m sorry... I don’t know what... forgive me, José, please...”

“Stay away from us!” Debbie shouted.

“I need your help. I have to find my brother. He can help get things under control. Tell me what to do. I have Nino, and Pa is… worse than ever, and I need him. Debbie, he will listen to you. I’ve been at his place in East Harlem and…”

“Get out!”Debbie spat, cradling José’s head.“You’re just like your fucking father! A coward! Matteo always has to clean up the mess while you cry like a kid! He loved your mother more than me, more than you, and all you care about is using him to fix your shit!—GO STOP THAT MONSTER WHO REALLY KILLED HER. STOP HIM YOURSELF! BE A FUCKING MAN FOR ONCE!”

Mama Stewart’s Diner – 2 Minutes Later

The bell above Mama Stewart’s diner door hadn’t stopped ringing when her thick arms caught Carmelo mid-collapse. He folded into her like a child, his sobs muffled against her shoulder, his fingers leaving damp streaks on the checkered fabric.

"I don’t… I can’t…" he stammered.

She didn’t let him finish. With a grip that had wrangled drunken longshoremen and mob enforcers alike, she hauled him into the back office, waving off the assistance offered by diners and her staff.

“Keep eating, folks. Be right back,” she promised. They passed the kitchen and headed to her office. The scent of simmering collards and frying meat clung to the walls. The framed photo of Joe Louis watched as she pushed open the door and put him inside in a chair. She grabbed his face, forcing his bloodshot eyes to meet hers.

"Listen good,"she demanded.“I know all about it. Got men out looking for Matteo right now. When we find him, we’ll stash him someplace safe. Get Debbie to him—she’s the only one who can talk him off the ledge. But you?"Her thumb wiped at his tears with rough tenderness.“You don’t have your Kathy or your poor, sweet Mama. It’s just you. You gotta walk back into that house and face your father. Protect what’s left of your family. Be. The. Man."

Carmelo blinked, his breath hitching."What? Where am I?”

"BE THE MAN!"Her slap cracked across his cheek, sharp as a pistol shot. Something shifted behind his eyes. The tears stopped. His spine straightened.

"Be the man,"he repeated, his voice hollow.

Mama Stewart nodded, adjusting his crooked collar with calloused hands."Now wipe your face. Walk out like you own these streets. And don’t you dare let them see you bleed. Get the respect your mother died to give you.”

Carmelo left the diner. He drove home at the speed limit. He parked on the street in perfect precision, with the other cars all lined up outside of his house. He walked the sidewalk and ignored the neighbors’ calls of condolence. He climbed the steps to his door without missing a beat. He went inside.

Alice Romero’s"Sweetheart, you hungry?"dissolved into the background noise of shouting men and a ringing telephone. He took the stairs two at a time. Matteo’s room still smelled of his bay rum cologne and the faint metallic tang of the gun oil he used to clean his Colt .38.

The pistol was under the bed. Carmelo reached it with ease. With the cold metal in his hand, he pulled it out. He stood. He tucked the weapon into his waistband, the steel biting into his skin through his thin dress shirt.

Downstairs, the young, beautiful Maria Romero reached for him, her fingers brushing his sleeve."Let me fix you a plate—Melo.”

He shoved past her without breaking stride.

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