Chapter 19
19
Q ueens, New York – 1949
Matteo paced the garden behind the family home. He crushed a cigarette under his heel, the ash smearing into the dirt. Debbie had missed their meetups for three weeks now.
“Che succede?” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. He’d warned her not to quit working for the Espositos cold turkey, but stubborn as she was, she must’ve done it anyway.
When he went to the diner, Mama Stewart handed him a letter. Her eyes were soft with pity. “Baby, sometimes good things don’t last.”
Confused by her words, his hands had shaken as he took it, hoping for an explanation for why Debbie had vanished. But it was just another of Kathy’s letters from Mississippi to be given to Carmelo. Apparently, Debbie had delivered it and nothing else. He had given it to his brother all the while; it felt like someone was twisting a knife in an open wound.
Now, the garden felt too small, the air too thick to breathe. Matteo lit another cigarette, the smoke curling out of his nostrils. He didn’t hear the footsteps behind him.
“Matteo!”
The punch came out of nowhere—a right hook to the jaw as he turned, sent him sprawling into the hydrangeas. Pain exploded across his face, and he tasted blood. “Madonna!” he spat, staring up at Carmelo, who stood over him, fists clenched, his bad leg trembling without the crutch.
“Get up!”Carmelo roared, tears streaming down his face. “Faccia a faccia, fratello! Fight me like a man !”
Matteo scrambled to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.“What the hell’s wrong with you? You lost your mind or somethin’?”
Carmelo’s laugh was bitter, broken.“You and Debbie. Sneakin’ around to Mama Stewart’s. You’re having sex with Kathy’s cousin. And you— ” He jabbed a finger at Matteo’s chest, his voice cracking.“You had the nerve to call me a disgrace?”
Matteo’s stomach dropped.“Lower your voice, damn it. Ma’s in the house?—”
“Why, Matteo?!”Carmelo shoved him, his hands shaking with rage.“For months, I begged you— please, Matteo, help me —when Kathy and I…” he paused. “I wanted to be with her. I wanted to marry her. But you said I was crazy. I told you that there was nothing wrong with loving a negro girl. You laughed. Said I’d get her killed. Now she’s gone, but you —” His voice broke again on the ball of emotion lodged in his throat. He turned away, shoulders heaving.
Matteo reached for him, but Carmelo jerked back.“You hypocrite. Punched me in the chest. Told me to get over it. That it could never happen, now Kathy’s gone, but you are with Debbie? You think this is a game? You use her, throw her away, and her family ends up in the river—you fuckin racist!”
“Basta!” Matteo grabbed his brother’s collar, shaking him.“You think I’d risk Debbie’s life just to spite you? I swear on Ma’s life, I love her.”
Carmelo froze, his eyes searching Matteo’s face.“Love?”he whispered, the word in a brittle manner.“You don’t know what that means. I do. I found love in a bakery. Kathy’s gone , Matteo. I’m dead inside. I lost her. You don’t know this pain. And you…”He gestured to the house, where their father’s shadow loomed behind the lace curtains.“When he finds out? You’ll let him break her? Like he broke me? Because you’re like him. Fuck you.”
Matteo’s grip slackened.“I ain’t him, Melo. I saved Kathy’s life. I did my best for you both.”
“You’re a racist, a prick, a selfish jerk to every girl I’ve ever seen you use and throw away. You’re using her for sex!”
“That’s not true! I’m not a racist, and I’m not Pa! I don’t do that to women. Debbie was my first and only. I talk shit. I make shit up. I never… never… I love her and am entitled to love someone of my own. So, fuck ya!”
“Oh, yea?”Carmelo smirked, limping backward.“Then prove it. Suffer for her. Like I do. Give her up and suffer. Leave her alone. Before it’s too late.”
“I can’t. No, that’s not true. I can do it, because I’m no pussy like ya! But I won’t! Cause I’m not you, you little ungrateful shit! I’m me. Matteo Ricci! And she’s mine.”
Carmelo stared at him, his face hollow, like a man sentenced to death.“Then you’re worse than Pa.”He turned, his bad leg dragging as he walked away. “At least he doesn’t pretend to be a good guy.”
“Wait!”Matteo reached for him, but his brother moved faster and returned inside. Alone, Matteo sank to the dirt, his fists pressed to his eyes.
South Street Seaport, Manhattan – August 1949
The humidity was the worst. The smell of saltwater, fish, and sweat lingered in the air, mixing with the sharp tang of gasoline from docked ships. Seagulls circled overhead, their cries lost in the noise of men shouting orders, crates slamming onto wooden planks, and the deep, guttural blasts of ship horns as vessels prepared to depart.
José wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm, rolling his aching shoulders. He had been working since four in the morning, hauling cargo, stacking crates, and dodging the sharp tongues of overseers who didn’t like seeing a Puerto Rican with any kind of authority.
“?Oye, José!”
He turned at the sound of Javier’s voice. His father’s friend, a man who had taken him under his wing since he started at the docks, nodded toward the edge of the loading area.
“ Tienes visita, chamaco. Take a break,” Javier said, motioning toward the side of the dock. “You been workin’ like a damn mule. Go see who it is.”
José exhaled. A break was well-earned. He nodded. “ ?Quién? ”
Javier tilted his chin toward the left. “Over there.”
José turned—and froze.
Debbie stood off to the side, small and uncertain. Her purse was clutched tight to her body as she comfortably waited under the weight of passing glances.
The men moving crates and rolling barrels noticed her, their eyes fixed her way with idle curiosity. A young Black woman standing alone on the docks wasn’t something you saw every day, and José could see the way she shrunk under their stares, her gaze darting nervously between them.
Something was wrong.
“Debbie?” José murmured, his brows knitted in concern. Without hesitation, he ran to her, weaving past stacks of crates and workers barking orders.
Before he could say a word, she threw her arms around him.
José stumbled back from the force of her embrace, but when he felt her shaking, he knew—she was crying.
Several workers slowed their movements to stare. A few of the older ones muttered, but José didn’t give a damn about them right now.
“ Debbie, cálmate, cálmate, ” he said on the verge of tears. He wrapped an arm around her and gently pulled her aside, away from the heavy foot traffic of the docks. They stopped near a wooden post where the breeze from the East River offered little relief from the heat.
José tilted her chin up, his dark eyes scanning her face. “ ?Qué pasó? What happened? Talk to me. Tell me!”
Debbie’s voice seemed clogged in her throat. Then it escaped. Small and barely clear, it carried over the sound of the harbor. She whispered, “I’m pregnant.”
José stilled.
A hard gust of wind blew in from the water, kicking up the scent of salt and diesel, but José couldn’t move—couldn’t even breathe.
Debbie lowered her gaze, staring at the dusty ground. “I ain’t had my period in two months,” she confessed.
His chest tightened. “Are you sure?” He swallowed hard. “From who? Chester? ”
Debbie flinched.
“Did you tell him? You having sex with that cabrón ?”
Her lips pressed into a line, and no matter how many times he tried to lift her chin, she wouldn’t look at him.
“I’ll kill Chester for this,” José said. He hated the way the boys prowled good girls and left them with problems they were too young to solve. His hands curled into tight fists at his sides.
Debbie shook her head rapidly. “It ain’t Chester,” she whispered. “I don’t talk to him no more.”
José blinked, his confusion deepening. “Then… who? ”
Debbie inhaled sharply; her fingers twisted the strap of her purse.
“Matteo,” she said.
The name hit José like a hammer to the gut. José took a full step back, his breath catching in his throat. The distant shouts of dockworkers, the lapping of waves against the piers, the clatter of crates being unloaded—all of it faded.
His stomach churned.
Debbie stood there, her hands clasped in front of her, her body small and trembling.
“Did he rape you?” José’s voice was low, dangerously so.
Debbie’s head snapped up; her eyes wide with shock. “No!” she blurted. “He’s… he’s my boyfriend .”
“ ?Carajo! ” José shouted, startling a few nearby workers. His chest heaved with anger. Debbie’s shoulders shook as she wept, silent and ashamed.
“I don’t know what to do,” she sobbed. “If my pa doesn’t kill me, my ma will. And if I live, they’ll take the baby—or worse, they’ll make me go south and take the baby—” She broke off, lifting her watery gaze to José. “I’m scared.”
José ran a shaky hand through his hair, pacing. “Does he know?”
Debbie shook her head quickly. “No, I ran away from him,” she admitted. “I told him I had to quit the job at Esposito’s—that was a lie, but he still wanted us to be together. I took letters to Mama Stewart from Kathy and left before he got there. I just… I just ran.”
José’s anger boiled over.
“And Kathy?” he hissed. “Are you both insane? She’s still writing to Carmelo? After everything that happened to her?” He threw up his hands. “And you—why Matteo ? Why him ? He’s a thug! A creep!”
Debbie’s teary eyes flashed with anger. “No, he isn’t,” she argued. “He’s a good person. You just have to know him.”
José laughed bitterly. “Right. A good person? Matteo Ricci? The same Matteo who walks around with a gang and is known for cutting people up with knives?”
Debbie flinched again, but this time in shock.
“No. No, that’s not true.” She shook her head frantically. “It’s all lies. I’m telling you, José, they lie on Matteo. Blame him for everything. He’s a good man. A Christian.”
José exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples.
“ Dios mío , Debbie, what do you want me to say?” he groaned. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t?—”
She cut him off.
“There’s a lady,” she said quickly. “Magdalena. They call her Magdalia. She’s Spanish. Doesn’t speak good English. She helps girls with… problems.”
José’s stomach dropped.
“You’re talking about a bruja ,” he said darkly.
Debbie didn’t deny it.
“She’s in East Harlem,” she continued. “She said she can… fix me. I just have to bring payment.”
José’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of payment?”
Debbie lifted her wrist, and under the golden glow of the noonday sun, her diamond and sapphire bracelet sparkled.
José’s jaw tensed.
“He gave you that?” he asked.
Debbie nodded sadly and touched her belly. “He gave me a lot of things I can’t keep.”
José’s chest ached at the sorrow in her voice.
She took a shaky breath. “I need someone to go with me, who can translate,” she whispered. “Because… some girls get hurt. That’s what Suga told me.”
José’s blood ran cold.
“You told Suga ?” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “So now the whole damn school is gonna find out?”
“No! She kept my secret.” Debbie looked away. “She had to use her too.”
José felt like the ground beneath him had tilted.
He began pacing again, muttering in Spanish, shaking his head.
“So, you’re not gonna tell him?” he asked, stopping abruptly.
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.