Page 65 of The Deadly Candies

Debbie’s voice broke. “Noooo,I can’t.” She clenched her fists. “José, Matteo’s Catholic. He’ll go crazy—saying we should raise the baby and be together. And then the war will start all over again.” She wiped at her face. “And this time? It’ll be even worse. I could get my uncle Henry killed. Kathy’s gone, José. What do you think will happen if people find out we’re still messing with the Italians?Bumpy won’t protect us from this one. My pa—he’ll get the worst of it.”

José dragged a hand down his face.

“Okay, okay, okay.” His voice was hoarse.

Debbie sniffled. “We’re going Saturday. Two days.” She swallowed hard. “She said she’d take the bracelet as payment. I showed it to her.”

José sighed deeply. He wanted to tell her to run. To go far, far away from this mess. Instead, he said: “I’ll be there.”

Debbie nodded, turning to leave, but José grabbed her hand.

“Debs,” he murmured. “No matter what happens.I’ll be there.”

Her eyes filled with tears again, and in an instant, she rushed into his arms.

José held her tight as she sobbed into his chest.

“I love you, José,” she whispered. “Thank you.Thank you so much.”

He closed his eyes, pressing his chin against the top of her head.

But deep down, he knew—Debbie’s life would never be the same.

20

East Harlem, New York – October 1949

"Snake eyes!"

The chorus of groans filled the alley, thick with sweat, cigar smoke, and the acrid sting of cheap whiskey. The dice had tumbled to a stop on the grimy pavement, and the man who rolled them cursed under his breath, slapping a crumpled bill into another’s palm.

Matteo stood against the brick wall, dragging deep on his cigarette, exhaling through his nose as he watched with disinterest. The game no longer gave him a thrill. Not much did these days. Since his fight with Carmelo, he’d been running on empty, going through the motions, his body here but his mind elsewhere. His sweetDebbie-Cakeswas gone.

Debbie had disappeared from his world, knowing he could never enter hers, and Matteo didn’t know how to process the loss but through violence and anger.

Had Kathy convinced her? Had she gotten caught lying about working for Esposito? Or had she simply never cared?

Maybe she was just a bitch.

The thought burned bitterly over his frontal lobe. He flicked ash onto the pavement, jaw tight. It didn’t matter. None of it did. First love—what a joke. He was an idiot for believing in that shit.

The shouting pulled him from his daze.

"Déjame ir! Let me go, coño!"

Matteo’s head snapped to the left.

Through the thick September heat, his boys were dragging someone into the alley, kicking up dust as they shoved him forward. The struggling man was young, wiry, and twisting against their hold.

Matteo’s hand instinctively went for his knife.

They didn’t grab someone unless it was necessary. This had to be one of Carlito’s boys, a snitch, a thief, maybe a problem needing fixing. The weight of the blade in his pocket was comforting, and his blood hummed with purpose for the first time in days. Maybe he’d finally get to cut someone open and let this anger bleed out of him.

Then the struggling man’s face tilted up, and Matteofroze.

"Che cosa?" he muttered.

It wasn’t Carlito’s, man. It was José.

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