Chapter 20
20
E ast 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 sweet Debbie-Cakes was 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, cono!"
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 Matteo froze.
" Che cosa? " he muttered.
It wasn’t Carlito’s, man. It was José.
The Puerto Rican gay-boy Debbie always talked about. The one she protected. The one she missed.
Matteo’s stomach twisted. Why the fuck was he here?
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Matteo asked, voice low, dangerous.
" Lo encontramos, boss. Found him sneaking around, watching you," Angelo said, delivering a swift kick to José’s ribs.
José grunted, folding slightly. He spat blood, glaring up at Angelo before turning his heated gaze to Matteo.
"Said he needed to talk to you. I think he’s lyin’, but we figured you should decide."
Matteo squatted down, face inches from José’s, his blade flicking open with a quiet click. The alley fell silent, save for the distant honk of a taxi and the muffled mambo music from a radio inside a bodega.
" Dónde está Debbie? " Matteo asked, voice like glass. Where is she?
José’s lip curled, but something behind his eyes—something like dread—made Matteo's stomach drop.
"I need to tell you something. It’s an emergency. You don’t want me to say it in front of them. He kicked me again and I will!” José snarled.
The hate in his voice made Matteo uneasy. This wasn’t a man delivering a message—this was a man delivering a burden.
Matteo snapped his knife shut and stood, then offered his hand.
José hesitated before taking it, pulling himself up. His body tensed at the contact, and Matteo felt the rigid fury rolling off him.
Across the alley, Caesar stepped away from the dice game, watching with knowing eyes. Matteo barely nodded, but Caesar understood. They’d been through enough together that they didn’t need words.
This wasn’t for public eyes.
"Come with me," Matteo said under his breath.
The Tenement Above the Fabric Shop
The tiny bell over the fabric shop jangled as Matteo pushed through the door, José close behind. The owner didn’t look up, didn’t care.
They moved swiftly past bolts of cloth and sewing supplies, slipping into the back, up a narrow wooden staircase, the floor creaking beneath them.
Matteo pushed open the door to his flat, stepping inside first. The air was thick with stale tobacco and the distant scent of garlic from the downstairs kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the half-open window, dust swirling in the humid air.
It was a small space—just a bed, a tiny kitchen, and a table littered with baseball comics and matchbooks. The radio sat on the sill, dialed to the Yankees game, though the sound was turned low. The place smelled of rust and sweat. It was a hideout, not a home.
Matteo turned quickly, eyes sharp. "Where is she? Where?!"
José stood by the door, his fists clenched. He was breathing heavily, but it wasn’t from exertion—it was from the sheer weight of his thoughts and how to turn them into words.
Matteo saw it before José even spoke.
Something was wrong.
"What happened to her?" Matteo demanded.
José’s face contorted. His throat worked, hands shaking. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse with betrayal.
"I am betraying her by coming here," José admitted. "But I have to save her life."
Matteo stilled.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
José lifted his haunted eyes.
"She has a plan to see a bruja tomorrow. Magdalena."
Matteo felt like he’d been gut-punched.
His knees buckled. He knew of Magdalena. Even the men under his father sent their whores to her. Every scumbag in Harlem did. When girls got in trouble, they went to Magdalena. Some walked away, and some bled out in a bathtub.
The babies never made it.
José’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "You did this to her! You!" He was shouting now, hands fisted, stepping forward like he might swing. "She is so scared, Matteo, I can’t stop her! Her father will murder her or send her away. And your family—your fucking family just keeps ruining lives!"
Matteo’s eyes burned.
He shook his head violently. "You’re a liar! She wouldn’t… she…" His voice cracked. He wanted to deny it—wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening.
José’s laugh was cold, bitter.
“Why wouldn’t she? Who would help her? You? You! What could you do to stop it? Nothing. You used her. You and your brother used them both. Now, I can’t stop her because she has no choice. Girls like her never have a choice, you punta ! Debbie’s life is ruined.” He shook his head, disgusted. "Tomorrow, she’s going to Magdalena. Last night, my sister had a dream. I heard her tell my mother. My sister’s dreams often come true. She said someone would die in blood and pain, a friend. She thinks she’s talking about one of her girlfriends, but she isn’t. She is talking about Debbie. I feel it. Something is going to go wrong. And I don’t even know why I’m telling you. But I’m desperate. I just wanted to help her. Somehow."
He turned toward the door.
"Wait."
Matteo’s voice was raw, pleading.
He collapsed onto the bed, pressing his hands into his face, fighting the rage, the grief, the helplessness.
He loved her. And now he was going to lose her forever.
Unless.
Slowly, Matteo looked up. His gaze locked on José.
"You want to help her?"
José hesitated. Then—"I’m here, aren’t I?"
Matteo’s lips curled. "Good. Because I know what we’re going to do."
José didn’t speak. He just listened.
By the time Matteo finished with his plan, it was clear to José that his life had officially changed. What Matteo proposed made them all winners or the biggest losers in Harlem. It was just how bargaining with the devil worked.
“You down?” Matteo asked.
José exhaled a deep, long breath. “Debbie won’t agree to this.”
“She’s my girl. She’ll do as I say because she doesn’t want this either. She wants me to protect her, and I’ll do that with my life and yours, José.”
José nodded. “ Si , and mine. I agree.”
Harlem, 1949
“Debbie?”
The voice was soft but carried the weight of a mother’s intuition. Debbie froze, her pencil slipping from her fingers as she shoved the half-written letter and notepad under her pillow. The door creaks open, and her mother, Claudia, peeks inside. Her face was warm but lined with the kind of weariness that came from years of working and doing domestic duties while dreaming bigger dreams for her children.
“Ma’am?” Debbie replied, her voice steady despite the knot in her stomach.
Claudia stepped into the room, her baker’s dress still on, though it was Thursday. She’d come straight from work. “Why you in here all alone? Brother and Pa are eating. I made some red beans and rice. You hungry?”
Debbie shook her head, forcing a weak smile. “Not feelin’ too good, Mama. Thought I’d lay down for a bit. Got my period.”
Claudia’s brow furrowed, and she moved closer, her eyes scanning her daughter’s face. Debbie could feel her mother’s gaze like a spotlight, peeling back the layers of her lie. But Claudia didn’t press. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed and reached for Debbie’s feet, rubbing them gently.
“You know how proud I am of you, right?” Claudia said, her voice low and steady. “Workin’ hard at your studies, holdin’ down that summer job for your books instead of asking your daddy. You’re doin’ what I couldn’t, baby. When I was your age, I already had one child and another on the way. I don’t want that for you, Debbie. This world—it’s changin’. I see it every day. This ain’t Butts, Mississippi, no more. This is Harlem. This is the future. And my baby—my baby’s gonna be somebody important.”
Debbie’s throat tightened. She blinked back tears, but they came anyway, spilling over as she leaned into her mother’s embrace. “I love you, Mama,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You’re my hero. You’re important.”
Claudia chuckled softly, though her own eyes glistened. “Aww, now, stop that. You gone make me cry too.”
Debbie pulled back, her hands trembling as she cupped her mother’s face. She studied the lines around Claudia’s eyes, the way her hair was pulled back in its simple bun, no fancy curls or ribbons like the other women at church. Claudia had sacrificed everything—her youth, her dreams, her vanity—so that Debbie could have more. So that she could be more.
“I got somethin’ to tell you,” Claudia said, her smile widening. She forced Debbie to lower her hands and let her face go.
“What is it?” Debbie asked, her heart pounding.
“We’s goin’ to Mississippi this Christmas. To see Kathy. To spend time at Big Mama’s. We’re gonna make it a family trip—a real good one.”
Debbie forced a grin, though the news felt like a weight pressing down on her chest. “Okay, Mama. That sounds really nice.”
Claudia hugged her again, tighter this time, and kissed her forehead. “I’ll make you a hot water bottle before I go. You rest up now, ya hear?”
When Claudia left, Debbie sat in silence. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in. She pulled the letter from under her pillow, the words she’d written to Matteo blurring as her tears fell.
Dear Matteo,
I can’t see you no more. It’s too dangerous—for you, for me, for my family. Your father… he’d never let us be. And my daddy, my uncle… they’d pay the price. I can’t let that happen. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Deb—
She signed her name, her hand shaking, and pressed a kiss to the paper. But it wasn’t just Matteo she was saying goodbye to. It was the life she’d dreamed of, the future her heart wanted for Matteo and her baby, with her.
Debbie’s hand drifted to her stomach, still flat but hiding a secret that could ruin everything. She thought of Claudia’s words— This ain’t Butts. This is the life. —and felt the weight of them like a stone in her chest.
Saturday . That’s when it would happen. Magdalia could “fix” things for girls like her. It was dangerous, maybe even deadly, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t bring a baby into this mess. She couldn’t let her mother down.
Debbie folded the letter and tucked it into her pillowcase. She lay back, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing. The future her mother dreamed of—the one she’d worked so hard for—felt like it was slipping through her fingers. But Debbie would do whatever it took to hold on to it. Even if it meant risking everything.