Chapter 5
5
A Dream – Queens, New York 1949
The sea whispered outside the cottage, its salt-kissed breeze fluttering through the open windows like a benediction. Sicily stretched before them—a patchwork of sun-bleached cliffs and olive groves, the Tyrrhenian Sea a molten sapphire under the September sun.
The cottage, perched on the edge of a nameless village near Palermo, was a relic of another time: limestone walls weathered to the color of cream, terracotta tiles cracked but stubborn, and a garden overrun with rosemary and wild jasmine. Carmelo had chosen it for its solitude, for the way the light pooled in the courtyard like liquid gold at dusk. Here, far from his father’s shadow, the world felt reborn.
It was a dream world that he created for them.
Kathy stood in the center of the room, her wedding dress glowing like moonlight spun into fabric. It was simple, yet to Carmelo, it was a masterpiece—a cascade of ivory lace that clung to her waist before drifting in soft folds to the floor. The neckline framed her collarbones, delicate as bird wings, and the sleeves ended in scalloped edges that fluttered when she moved. Her hair, freed from its pins, was a crown of midnight curls, each coil defiant and alive, catching the sun like filaments of black silk. She was a paradox: a Harlem rose blooming in Sicilian soil, her skin the rich brown of cinnamon bark, her eyes the warm amber of aged whisky. To Carmelo, she was Persephone unchained, a goddess who had chosenhim, a sinner’s son, as her mortal consort.
“I do,” she said.
“I do,” he said.
And then they were married.
“Carmelo! Don’t drop me!” Kathy squealed as he carried her across the threshold, her laughter mingled with the distant cry of gulls.
“Stop wiggling,” he teased, setting her down gently. She spun away, the dress flaring around her like a white rose turned upside down and blooming. For a moment, he forgot to breathe. The dress slipped off one shoulder, revealing a scar—a pale crescent near her clavicle, a relic of a childhood fall she’d once confessed to him in the attic of the bakery. He ached to trace it with his lips, to map every flaw and secret she carried.
“This place is perfect, Melo,” she said, her voice softer now. The cottage was spare—a wrought-iron bed, a washbasin cracked with age, a wooden table scarred by generations of knives. But Kathy’s presence transformed it. She drifted to the window, the sea wind tousling her thick hair, and Carmelo’s chest tightened. How could something so fragile like their love hold so much light?
“It’s not much,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ll build you a villa in Spain. Then Africa—a castle in the trees, like you read about in those Tarzan books.”
She turned, her smile bittersweet. “I don’t want castles. You kept the promise that matters.” Her fingers grazed his cheek. “ We’re here . You saved us.”
He felt supercharged as she leaned in, her lips brushing his—a feather’s touch, yet it seared him. Her scent enveloped him: roses from the chapel bouquet, sugar from the cannoli they’d shared after the vows, and beneath it, something uniquely her —warm, earthy, alive.
“The buttons, Melo,” she whispered against his mouth. “They’re at the back.”
His hands shook as he fumbled with the lace. Each button undone felt like a sacrament. The dress sighed open, pooling at her feet like a fallen cloud. Beneath it, she wore a slip of ivory silk, thin as a secret. Carmelo’s throat closed. He had seen women’s bodies before—glimpses in Brooklyn brothels, his father’s cruel conquests—but Kathy was different. Her beauty was not for consumption; it was a language, a psalm.
“Sei così bella,” he choked out. You are so beautiful.
Her fingers found his suspenders, sliding them down with a practicality that belied her nervousness. “Your turn,” she said, unbuttoning his shirt. Her palms skated over his chest, tracing the scar along his ribs—a gift from his father’s belt. He closed. his eyes.
Memory lashed him:
The office door ajar. His father’s grunts, the woman’s sobs muffled against the mahogany desk. Her fingers clawing at nothing. Carmelo, frozen in the hallway, the taste of bile on his tongue. In this memory as opposed to the reality his father saw him peeking.
“Look away, boy,” his father had snarled afterward. “This is what power tastes like when you deal with women.”
“I can’t—” Carmelo turned his face, shame scalding him. “I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you.”
Kathy cupped his jaw, her touch anchoring him. “Open your eyes.”
He obeyed. Her gaze held his, unflinching. “We’re not them,” she said, her voice steady as tide. “What we have—it’s ours . They can’t touch it. Not here. This place is safe for us.”
Her lips found his again, slow and sure. This time, he let himself fall into the darkness that he believed sex was.
The bed was narrow, the sheets rough against his back. Kathy straddled him, her slip riding up to reveal the curve of her thighs. Her hands, gentle but insistent, guided his. “Like this,” she murmured, showing him how to touch her—not as a conqueror, but a pilgrim. Her breath exhaled when his fingers found the dip of her waist, the swell of her hip.
He was clumsy, his movements halting. But Kathy met each fumble with patience, her whispers a balm: “Sì, amore… così… ” Her skin tasted of salt and sunlight. When she sank onto him, her eyes never left his. There was pain—a sharp gasp, a tear she blinked back—but also joy, a defiance that mirrored his own.
This was not his father’s violence.
This was surrender.
This was sanctuary.
Afterward, they lay tangled in the sheets, the sea murmuring its approval. Kathy traced the crucifix around his neck—the one she’d given him the night they fled New York. “Tell me about Africa again,” she said, her head on his chest.
He painted a vision for her with his words: baobab trees towering like cathedrals, sunsets over the Serengeti, a house on stilts where they’d sleep to the rhythm of lions. “No one will find us there,” he promised.
But even in the dream, the truth gnawed at the edges. Somewhere, in the void between sleep and death, was a bitter truth he refused to accept. Yet here, now, in this stolen moment, Kathy’s heartbeat thrummed against his. Her body stuck to his damp skin. The world was reduced to her breath, her warmth, the way she said “ti amo” like it was the first and last truth.
He clung to it.
He clung to her .
* * *
“ Svegliati, dormiglione! (Wake up, sleepy head)” Carmelo’s mother called, her voice warm but firm. “Wake up, sleepy head.”
Carmelo stirred, blinking groggily at the grinning face of his brother, Matteo. “See, Mama? He’s okay,” Matteo said, laughing as he stepped back to let their mother through. Carmelo’s mother approached; her arms full of flowers that he had smelled in his dream. She set them on the side table by the bed, and adjusted the vase compulsively. Matteo grabbed Nino’s hand, pulling their shy oldest brother closer to the bed. If Carmelo could smile, he would. Nino always made him smile.
“ Vedi , Nino? Just like I told you, he’s fine,” Matteo said, ruffling Nino’s hair.
Nino, taller and broader than Carmelo and Matteo, charged toward the bed, his face lighting up joyfully. He lunged to hug Carmelo, but Matteo caught him just in time. “Whoa… whoa! Easy, big guy! He’s not ready for one of your hugs.”
Carmelo’s mother laughed, the sound like music in the sterile hospital room. He glanced at her, his heart swelling at the joy on her face. How could he have ever thought of leaving them behind? He loved Kathy, but he loved his family, too. He should be able to have them both.
Kathy.
It had been a dream. She was gone. There was no marriage. No hope. No future.
“The doctors said you broke your jaw,” his mother mumbled, her voice tinged with both worry and reproach. She ran her hand over his chest, as if he’d done this to himself. But they all knew the truth—his father had hit him in the face with his fist at first, then with a hammer.
“Right now, you’re on liquids, so I’m bringing soup for you, mio bambino ,” she said, her Italian accent softening the words. “They say in three more weeks; you can have soft food. I’ll mash some potatoes for you. Then, when the wires are out in three or four months, you’ll have surgery for your teeth and talk and eat like anyone. Good as new.” She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his brow.
Matteo looked away; his jaw tightened as he fought to hide his emotions.
“I’m going to stay here until you come home with me,” his mother continued, her voice steady. “Your father will have his men here to watch over us. But I will make them stay outside. This is your room. I’ll take care of my boy better than any nurse or nun can. So don’t you worry.”
Carmelo moved a finger outside the cast on his hand, a small but deliberate gesture. What he needed more than anything was their love and presence. And he welcomed it.
A plan began to form in his mind, sharp and unyielding. He would heal. He would get stronger. And then, he would kill his father. After that, he would go get his wife. Because Kathy was his wife, and no one—not his father, not the world—would change that fact. He’d escape to the life of a husband and protector of Kathy in the real world, not just his mind. That’s what God had shown him.
Butts, Mississippi - Last Stop (1948)
“Butts!”the driver barked; his voice cut through the hum of conversation on the bus.
Kathy looked up from her diary, her heart skipping a beat. This was it.
“This you,”Buddy said, easing out of his seat. He tipped his hat, a faint smile tugging at his lips.“Nice meeting you, Ms. Kathy.”
“Thank you, Buddy,”she replied, returning his grin as he helped her gather her things.“Safe travels to Tupelo.”
“Yes, ma’am,”he said, his voice warm. “You be good, ya hear!”
“Yes, sir,” she smiled.
Kathy made her way down the aisle, her satchel slung over her shoulder. The driver handed her suitcases from beneath the bus, and she stepped onto the dusty ground of Butts, Mississippi.
“Good day, ma’am,”the driver said, tipping his cap.
“Thank you,”Kathy murmured, her eyes scanning the station.
Her mother had said Big Mama would send someone, but Kathy hadn’t thought to ask who. She gripped her suitcase, assuming it would be a cousin or someone familiar. The door swung open as she headed toward the station, and a tall, handsome young man stepped out.
Kathy froze. Her mouth fell open.
His eyes lifted and locked onto hers.
“Kathy?”he said, his voice a mix of disbelief and joy.
“Ely!”she cried, her voice breaking over a sob of relief.
She dropped her suitcases and ran to him as if he were a lifeline in a sea of sharks. He caught her mid-leap, his arms wrapping around her in a tight embrace. For a moment, the world fell away. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of home, hopscotch, and red rover games with him, Debbie, and José when they were kids. The comfort of their shared childhood and the familiarity of broken dreams.
“Big Mama sent me to come get you,”he said softly, his voice steadying her.
“Oh, Ely, so much has happened,”was all she could manage, her words muffled against his chest.
He held her tighter, his grip firm and reassuring.“It’s okay, Kathy. You’re here with me now.”