Page 93 of The Deadly Candies

“I love youso much.” Her thumb brushed his cheekbone. “You’ve been in my heart so long, I can’t even remember life before you. Idoloveyou.”

“I love you too,” he rasped, the words raw with relief.

“But I’m notinlove with you. And that’s not your fault. Or mine.” She held his gaze, unwavering. “Maybe this dream with Carmeloisjust a fantasy?—”

Ely tried to interrupt, but she pressed a finger to his lips.

“—And if it is, then I’ll learn that lesson. But you have tolet me. No more anger, or spite. No more trying to give me doubt about my future. No more trying to control me with kindness and then rejection. Just… be myfriend.”

Ely exhaled hard, her eyes squeezing shut. When he opened them, he pulled her into another embrace as she pulled away, his lips grazing her forehead and temple and then drifting toward her mouth. She turned her face away at the last second. His sigh was heavy against her skin, where his lips connected with her cheek instead.

“I’ll help you,” he muttered. “But if he hurts you—if thisbreaksyou—I’m done playing. I’ll fight for you, Kathy. I’llshowyou love doesn’t have to hurt. You hear me?”

His determination sent a shiver through her. Before she could reply, he kissed her—hard, possessive,not what she wanted—but she let him. A small price to pay for his surrender. When he pulled back, satisfaction darkened his gaze. Kathy forced a smile, swallowing the bitterness, and what her heart felt was a betrayal.

Ely took her hand, leading her to the truck. As she climbed inside, she said a silent prayer:Let Carmelo have a plan. Let this work. Please, Lord, give us a chance.

Because loving him wasn’t about pain.

It was herdestiny.

Queens, New York – 1955

The moment Carmelo set the phone down, he felt the weight of his mother’s stare burning into him. He turned slowly, meeting her gaze—dark eyes glistening with a mix of fury and devastation.

Lucia Riccistood rigid, her knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the counter. The crucifix around her neck caught the light as she exhaled sharply through her nose.

“Madre? I?—”

“Stai ancora parlando con lei?”You’re still talking to her?Her voice was low, quivering—not with surprise, but with the quiet horror of a woman who already knew the answer.“Dopo tutto,Melo?Dopo che sei quasi morto?”After everything? After almost dying?

Carmelo’s throat tightened. Sheknew. Not just about the call, but more. Maybe everything. The way her lips pressed into a thin line told him she’d been holding this in, waiting.

The hurt in her eyes cut deeper than any blade. He and Matteo had sworn an unspoken oath:Protect her. Shield her from the blood, the deals, the lies—even the good ones.But this? This betrayal was personal.

“Posso spiegare—I can explain,” he said.

She didn’t let him finish.“Tuo padre…”Her voice cracked.“Non è un uomo che perdona due volte.”Your father isn’t a man who forgives twice.A single tear escaped, tracing the lines of her worn face.“I’ve done all I could to protect you. Maybe it’s my fault. For giving you Cosimo Ricci as a father.”

Carmelo’s chest ached.“Ma, per favore…”He reached for her, but she was already moving, slipping past him like a ghost, her dark green mourning dress whispering against the floor as she retreated toward the basement—her sanctuary, where the rosary beads and Nino’s quiet devotion offered some semblance of peace.

Before he could follow, the front door groaned open.

“Eccolo! Il mio ragazzo!”There he is! My boy!

Don Cosimo Ricci’s voice boomed through the house. Carmelo turned just as his father andConsigliere DeMarco—a gaunt, hawk-faced man with a smile like a straight razor—closed in on him.

Cosimo seized Carmelo’s face in his calloused hands, patting his cheek with a force just shy of a slap before planting a wet kiss on his forehead.“Look, DeMarco! Ricci blood doesn’t bend!”

Carmelo stiffened, fighting the urge to shove him away. His father only laughed, throwing him into a headlock like he was still a child. The scent of cigars and expensive cologne choked him.

“His mother wept for months,”Cosimo crowed, switching to English for show.“Thought he’d never walk again. But look at him! Took the bullets, took the pain—just like I did in the old country.”

DeMarco’s smirk widened.“Havi ’i cugghiuni!”He’s got brains and balls.“È vero sangue. Più disciplinato di Matteo.”True blood. More disciplined than Matteo.

Cosimo’s grin turned wolfish.“Ah, Matteo…”He lit a cigarette inside Carmelo’s mother’s house, knowing she hated him smoking outside of his office. He exhaled slowly with defiance in his stare.“Tell me, Melo—how’s your brother’s little plan to steal my family out from under me? He still thinks Don Lucciano will back him because of your mother’s Siciliansangu?”

Carmelo’s jaw clenched.He knows.Of course, he knew. Matteo’s secret meetings, the money he’d been stashing—even the way he’d been buttering up Debbie with gifts. All of it laid bare.

---