Page 73 of The Deadly Candies

“I love you, Debbie.” His voice was gravelly. “Don’t ever hit me. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

He kissed her and she smiled. He got all rough and urgent, wanting to undress her, but she slowed him down. She pulled back, tears glistening. “I know. Now tell the baby.”

“Tell the baby?” he panted.

“That you love it, silly,” she chuckled.

Matteo’s cheek still flamed red where she’d struck him. She brushed her thumb over it, soothing, before guiding his hand to her belly.

“Tell the baby,” she urged, smiling with joy.

Matteo sank to his knees. His palms framed the swell of her stomach that hadn’t risen yet as if he could already feel the life beneath. “Ti amo, bambino,” he murmured, voice thick. “I’m your father. I love you. I will protect you.Always.”

22

Manhattan – New York, 1978

The cigar burned low between Matteo’s fingers, its ember pulsing like a dying star. From his penthouse terrace, the city sprawled beneath him—a glittering beast he’d conquered, though it had cost him everything. The smoke curled around his face, a shroud for the storm in his chest.

“Uh, Matteo."

Junior’s voice scraped against his nerves. Matteo closed his eyes.Just once—just once, let him call me Dad.He exhaled his disappointment out slow, and turned.

Junior stood in the open doorway, shoulders tense. "Mama’s on her way. Bringing Daphne and Chris. Said she and Chris are moving in tonight. So they packed bags.”

Matteo nodded.

Silence stretched, thick as the humidity clinging to the night. Junior stalked onto the terrace, hands jammed in his pockets. "So. You’re ourPops."

"You knew I was.Am,” Matteo muttered.

Junior’s laugh was sharp, brittle. "And when I pulled up here at your fancy penthouse, ready to put a gun to your head? Were you my Pops, then? Huh? Caesar and his boys beat my ass. All that time, youknew. And let them? That’s some bullshit, man!”

Matteo set the cigar down, the ash crumbling. "You livedbecauseit was true. C’mon, son. You know how this works. You don’t pull a gun on me. Ever. Not even my blood gets that pass without consequence. Your mom did once, though.”

Junior’s eyes stretched. “Mom? Bullshit!”

Matteo nodded. “Oh, she did. Thought I was cheating on her. Got all pretty, dolled up, and cooked me the best dinner of my life. Put me to sleep, she loved on me so hard. Called it my last supper.” Matteo closed his eyes and relished the memory of his Debbie’s fire. His wife took no shit. Not even from him. He opened his eyes to see Junior staring at him as if he were weird. Matteo shrugged. “Woke up to a gun in my face. She told me I had ten minutes to convince her not to pull the trigger. I never talked so fast in my life. Somehow, I did it. Cause my bambina was not playing that night. Had to buy her a trunkload of jewelry to calm her pretty ass down. But she believed me. Because I’m the Butcher, I’m an evil bastard, but I am loyal to her, to you, to our family.”

“That’s a sick story, man,” Junior huffed.

“It’s a love story,” Matteo countered. “You’re my son. Mine.”

“Caesar said I was to stay away as if I weren’t. Now I’m son, and I get a piece of the Ricci pie?”Junior whirled, eyes burning. "I waseightwhen you killed my Dad. Eight years old, listening to Mama sob into her pillow every night while everyone lied—said he ran off to California with some man. Put dirt on his name. Forced his family to believe a lie! I picked up that gun and came here when you were released because I knew. Even after all of that shit you did to my Mama. All those fucking trips she took to that prison even when she said she would stop, even when she wanted to stop. She went, you know? I heard her tell Aunt Kathy that she couldn’t take any more. After all of it, she would still come back here to you. I brought that gun toprotect her." His voice cracked. "From you."

The words hung between them, a blade sunk deep into Matteo’s chest. Deeper than any knife he’d ever used on an enemy.

Matteo stood, whiskey glass abandoned. He stepped into Junior’s space, taller, stronger, meaner. He was now close enough to see the tremor in his son’s jaw—the same feature he’d had as a boy, trying not to cry. “I can’t change the past,” he said. I wanted to be better than my father. Ifailed."

"No shit."

A muscle jumped in Matteo’s cheek. "But Iamyour father, young blood. I’m Dad. You don’t have to call me that. But youwillrespect me." His hand shot out, gripping Junior’s chin, forcing his gaze up. "Look at me, boy. I said it once. This is the last time. You’remine. And you’ll never call José your Dad again in my face. I know you loved him. I know it. He loved you. Not trying to compete with what you shared. But I’m Dad.Capisce?"

Junior’s jaw tightened.

“Answer me,” Matteo said.

---