Page 34 of The Deadly Candies

“Your thing looks smaller than it felt,” she frowned.

“It’s bigger when it’s in you,” he said, touching it. She saw it getting longer, and she smiled.

“Okay, maybe we can do it one more time before I go,” she teased. She came to the bed, kissed him quickly, and he rolled her beneath him. The next time stung even more. But he was so happy, grinning throughout it, she didn’t care. For the first time, she felt like the curse was broken. They were as good as married. She’d have to write Kathy again to see if she did it with Carmelo. Her cousin said they didn’t, but Debbie now had to question that fact. When you are in love it’s what you do.

Queen’s New York, (One Week Later) September 1949

There was a knock at the door. Carmelo didn’t look up. He was hunched over his desk, pencil in hand, shading the curve of Kathy’s cheek in his latest drawing. The knock came again, sharper this time.

“Entra,” he muttered, though he knew it didn’t matter. In this house, privacy was a luxury he wasn’t afforded.

The door creaked open, and Matteo stepped inside. He paused, taking in the scene: Carmelo bent over his sketchpad, the room dim except for the pool of light from the desk lamp. The walls were covered in drawings—Kathy’s face, her hands, her smile, rendered in painstaking detail.

“Che fai?” Matteo asked, his voice tight. “What are you doing? When did you hang all of these?”

Carmelo didn’t answer. He picked up another pencil, his fingers trembling slightly as he added depth to Kathy’s hair. Matteo went around the room, taking them down. “Ma could be in this room and see them! First, the journals, now this? Are you nuts?”

Carmelo kept with his scrubbing. Matteo looked around. He saw the old school bag that Carmelo had before he was forced to stop going. He went over and put the drawings inside with his textbooks. “Cut the shit. Ma is very sensitive, Carmelo.Per favore. Don’t distress her.”

Carmelo did not respond.

Matteo sighed. He wiped his hand down his face and decided to try another approach. Matteo circled the desk, his shadow falling over the drawing. He leaned in, studying the lines and shading. “Mamma mia, your hands are working good. Guess you got your strength back in your fingers. That looks just like her.”

“What do you want?” Carmelo mumbled; his voice flat.

Matteo reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He dropped it onto the desk, and the sharp sound in the quiet room was like a little bomb. Carmelo froze, his pencil hovering above the paper. He stared at the envelope, Debbie’s name scrawled in familiar handwriting.

“Open it,” Matteo said, his tone firm but not unkind.

Carmelo’s heart stuttered. He set the pencil down and picked up the envelope, his fingers clumsy as they fumbled with the seal. Inside were two pages, filled with Kathy’s looping script. He glanced up at Matteo, his eyes wide with appreciation and gratitude.

“How?”

“Can’t tell you,” Matteo said, crossing his arms. “Just know this: you read it, burn it, and give me your response. That’s the deal.”

Carmelo shook his head, clutching the letter to his chest. “I have to keep it.”

Matteo rolled his eyes. “Stronzo, you act like you don’t know how dangerous that is! Ma doesn’t agree with Pa on much, but she’s dead set on keeping you away from Kathy. She’s like a bloodhound—she’ll find it. So cut the shit. And don’t let her see these drawings either.”

“Can you get out?” Carmelo snapped, his eyes already scanning the first page.

Matteo blinked, stung. He’d risked everything to bring this letter—Debbie had begged him, her eyes pleading, her kisses so addictive he’d caved. But Carmelo? He was different now. Cold. Distant. He spoke in clipped tones, his words laced with bitterness, and the only person he seemed to tolerate was Nino.

“You do what I say,fratellino, or you’ll get no more letters,” Matteo said, his voice hardening.

That got Carmelo’s attention. He looked up, his gaze sharp and accusing. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” Matteo shot back.

For a moment, they stared at each other, the tension thick enough to cut. Then Carmelo’s shoulders slumped, and he looked back at the letter, his fingers tracing Kathy’s words.

“Fanculo,” Matteo muttered under his breath. He turned on his heel and headed for the door. “Keep the damn letter. It’s the last one I’ll bring.”

“Wait!” Carmelo’s voice stopped him.

Matteo paused, his hand on the doorknob.

“How did you get this?” Carmelo asked, his voice softer now. “Have you spoken to Debbie? Do you see her?”

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