Chapter 31
31
B rooklyn, New York - 1949
Carmelo paced the floor. Across the room, Matteo leaned against the wall, the telephone receiver pressed to his ear, his knuckles whitening around the black Bakelite.
When Matteo finally hung up, the click of the cradle sounded like a gunshot in the heavy silence. Carmelo froze mid-step, his chest tight with anticipation.
“Kathy?”
Matteo wiped a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose. “ She’s here. José confirmed it. He spoke to Debbie before they left to go meet them at Kathy’s house. They’re all at her house now—her, that grandmother, the whole damn family. Celebrating.”
Carmelo’s breath left him in a rush. For a moment, the world tilted— she was here. After months of stolen letters, whispered phone calls in the dead of night, after all the times he’d traced her name on single sheets of paper like a prayer— she was really here. His feet moved before his mind could catch up, carrying him toward the door like a man possessed.
Matteo caught his arm, fingers digging in. “Tell me you ain’t that crazy. Tell me.”
Carmelo’s pulse roared in his ears. “ I just gotta see her. Even if it’s just from the damn sidewalk.”
Matteo shook him, hard. “Unless you got X-ray vision like Superman, you ain’t seeing through her daddy’s walls. And Henry? He’ll have every corner from here to Harlem watched for Italians. Think, Melo.”
Carmelo dragged in a shuddering breath. Then, sudden and fierce, he yanked Matteo into a crushing hug, his face buried in his brother’s shoulder. Matteo stiffened—physical affection wasn’t their way—but Carmelo didn’t care.
“Grazie, fratello,” he muttered, voice thick with emotion.
Matteo shoved him off. “We don’t have time for this lovey shit Melo. Did you not hear DeMarco? We ain’t won a damn thing.”He ran his hand back through his hair. “Ma and Nino still at Ms. Romero’s?”
Carmelo nodded. “Gladys said yes. Slim’s here, so Pa’s meeting is underway while Gladys cooks and starts serving them food. The whole crew’s coming.”
“Perfetto.”Matteo started toward the hall where his father’s ‘sitdowns’ typically happened at a long table that could seat twenty-two. Determination hardened his jaw. “Then let’s do it.”
Carmelo blocked his path. “We just walk in? No plan?”
“We’re his sons. We don’t need a fucking invitation,” said Matteo.
“ Wait—”Carmelo grabbed his wrist. “Pa ain’t stupid. If we both come in hot, he’ll smell the setup. We gotta ease into this. Make ithisidea.”He lowered his voice.“You go to the meeting. Be the golden boy. Promise him you’ll reel me in, get me back in line.’ That’ll play right into his ego.”
Matteo studied him, then nodded slowly.“Smart. And you?”
Carmelo forced a grin, rolling his shoulders like he hadn’t a care in the world.“Gonna check in with Caesar at Sal’s Gym. Get my leg back in shape before my first fight.”
Matteo tossed him the car keys. “Stop by Romero’s after. See if Ma needs a ride home.”
“Got it.”Carmelo snatched his cap off the hook—then, on impulse, grabbed Matteo’s leather jacket instead of his own wool coat. The buttery hide smelled of his brother’s cologne and gun oil.
Matteo raised an eyebrow.“My jacket?”
Carmelo winked.“Luckier than mine.”He didn’t miss the way Matteo’s eyes narrowed, but his brother let it slide, already striding toward their father’s meeting.
The second the door shut, Carmelo bolted.
Outside, the Brooklyn night was clear. He slid behind the wheel of Matteo’s DeSoto, the engine growling to life. The gym? Caesar?Fuck that.He had one destination.
Harlem.
Kathy.
He didn’t care about turf wars, his father’s schemes, or the blood that might spill if he was caught on the wrong side of 125th Street.
He had to see her.
Even if it killed him.
* * *
"I guess I'll go get ready for bed," she said, lingering in the kitchen doorway.
Her mother's knowing grin made her feel twelve again. "Don't you dare climb in that bed 'ready to roll.' Shower properly—I put fresh towels in there. Claudia and I are gonna stay up cooking Big Mama's favorites,” said her mama.
She crossed the kitchen to press a kiss to her mother's cheek, then Aunt Claudia's. The women were tickled to have her back. Kathy couldn’t remember seeing Aunt Claudia smile so much. The simple domesticity of it all—her mother's chiding, the promised comfort of Big Mama's sweet potato pie when she got in the kitchen and started cooking—made her throat tighten. After months in Mississippi's cotton-scented darkness, these ordinary moments felt like miracles.
Upstairs, Kathy found her room transformed into a shrine of love. The same lavender sachets still nestled in her dresser drawers. Her Billy Holiday records stood neatly stacked by the phonograph. And on the bed—she gasped—lay a set of pale pink night dresses from Bergdorf's, the silk gleaming under the lamplight. Her fingers trembled as she touched the delicate straps. How good had the business been at the bakery since she’d been gone?
The shower steam carried the floral scent of Yardley's lavender soap, the luxury of hot water unending after months of tin tub baths. As she lathered the rich cream over her body. The memory sent heat pooling low in her belly. She toweled off quickly, the ache for him sharper now that she knew only a few miles separated them.
Pin-curling her hair before the vanity mirror, she caught her reflection—the Mississippi sun had darkened her complexion, brought out golden flecks in her brown eyes. She pressed a curl to her cheek, imagining Carmelo’s whispered praise: "Like chocolate silk, Kat. Just like I remembered."
Down the hall, Debbie lay curled like a child in Big Mama's arms, both breathing deep in sleep. Kathy smiled, easing the door shut. Her own bedroom welcomed her like an old friend—the faded floral wallpaper, the slight dip in the mattress where she'd spent countless nights dreaming of him.
She crossed to the window, throwing the curtains wide without care for modesty. Let all of Harlem see her homecoming. The night air carried jazz from the Theresa Hotel three blocks over, the syncopated rhythms mingling with distant laughter. She pressed her palms to the cool glass, drinking in the familiar skyline—the silhouette of St. Mark's steeple cutting the indigo sky.
* * *
Carmelo's knuckles had gone white on the steering wheel. Twenty minutes idling in this shadowed spot near Striver's Row, and he'd nearly given up hope. Then, like the Blessed Virgin answering his desperate prayers, her bedroom light flipped on.
He slouched lower in the seat, heart hammering as Kathy's silhouette moved behind the curtains. Matteo's leather jacket creaked as he leaned forward, every sense heightened. When she finally drew back the drapes, the streetlamp caught her like a spotlight—her hair pinned up, robe slipping off one shoulder. Carmelo's mouth went dry. She was more beautiful than his memories, more radiant than all the drawings he had done of her.
"Christ," he breathed. Not daring to blink. If Henry Freeman’s men spotted him now, they'd leave his body in the East River. But seeing her smile at the Harlem night—unaware he was watching from the darkness—was worth every risk.
Then instinct took over. His hand found the headlight switch before his brain caught up. One flash. Two. The Cadillac's beams cut through the night like a signal flare.
Kathy froze mid-stretch. Carmelo watched her slender fingers clutch the windowsill, her body going taut as a bowstring—three more flashes.
When recognition dawned, her whole face transformed. One hand fluttered to her chest, the other pressing fingers to those perfect lips. The kiss she blew shattered him. It took every ounce of willpower not to leap from the car, scale the fire escape, and?—
No. Not yet.
He flashed the lights once more in promise— I'm here, I've waited, I'll keep waiting —before easing the DeSoto away from the curb. In the rearview mirror, Kathy leaned perilously far out the window, her robe billowing like a ghost in the Harlem night.
The steering wheel vibrated under his grip as he turned the corner. How had he known she'd come to the window? In the same way, he knew the exact curve of her smile when surprised. The same way his soul had ached these past months, sure as sunrise that she'd return to him.
Some loves were written in the stars before birth—no fathers, no wars, no color lines could change that.
* * *
"Morning, sleepy head!"
Kathy rolled over, expecting to find her mother curled beside her, but instead came face-to-face with Debbie’s grinning visage. Without hesitation, she pulled her cousin into a fierce hug, the two dissolving into giggles that shook the mattress for a full three minutes.
Morning light poured through the thin curtains, painting the room in gold. Kathy stretched, the featherbed beneath her like a cloud—so different from the lumpy cot in Mississippi. For the first time since boarding that Greyhound south, she felt safe .
"I couldn’t wait to see you, Kat. Got so much to tell you,"Debbie whispered, propping herself up on one elbow.
"You were too busy clinging to Big Mama last night for us to talk!"Kathy teased, poking Debbie’s shoulder.
Debbie’s eyes began to water. Kathy hugged her. “Hey, I’m sorry. Don’t get upset.”
"I know, I know. But I missed her so much. She still lets me talk all night in her arms, just like when I was little."A tear slipped free, and she swiped at it roughly with the back of her hand.
Kathy sobered. " Big Mama’s tough as nails, but all she talked about was getting to her ‘baby Debbie.’ Trust me, she suffered something awful on the trip up here just to see you and was glad to do it. We gotta take real good care of her before she heads back. The thought of us losing her, to her sugar, makes me shake sometimes.”
“Me too,” Debbie’s face crumpled. The tears came fast then, silent and heavy. Kathy pulled her close, the scent of Dixie Peach hair grease and Debbie’s familiar lavender soap filling her nose."Hey now, don’t cry,"she murmured into her cousin’s braids.
"It’s just—”Debbie hiccuped,“everything’s so mixed up, Kat. It’s okay, I’m okay. I just… It’s been so hard with you gone. I’ve been so confused. I don’t know why this is my life now. No college, no future, just protecting this baby from everyone. Can’t tell anyone the truth. What’s going to happen to us if Matteo…. if he decides he doesn’t want me? What if José decides he don’t want to do this with me? Then what? Maybe I should have just told the truth and went back to Mississippi to be with you and Big Mama. Maybe a hard truth is better than a convenient lie."
Kathy gripped Debbie’s hand under the covers.“Listen to me. Wefamily. You and me—sisters. Ain’t nobody letting anything happen to you and the baby. Whether Matteo or Melo stay or go, we got each other. This our child.”
Debbie nodded, sniffling, then abruptly changed the subject."Carmelo’s been real excited ‘bout you coming home."
The girls lay nose-to-nose on the pillow. Kathy bit her lip before confessing in a hushed tone,"I saw him last night."
"What?How?"Debbie’s eyes went round as saucers.
"Melo’s crazy, that boy is really crazyandbrave,"Kathy sighed, the memory making her toes curl under the quilt."Came right to Harlem, parked outside my window where any of Daddy’s men could’ve spotted him. And he waited in the car, where he could have gotten caught, just to see me. I came out of the shower, and for some reason, I went to the window, and there he was. Flashing the car lights. Sending me a signal.”
"Yousureit was him?"
"Positive." Kathy’s fingertips tingled, remembering how she’d pressed them to the cold glass, then opened the window before he drove off as if she could reach across the street to touch him."Had Matteo’s car and everything."
Debbie clutched the blanket. " That was brave as hell and stupid as sin. Your daddy’s got eyes all over Harlem now, he’s tight with Bumpy. You gotta becareful, Kathy. Really careful.”
"I know,"Kathy promised. Then, nudging Debbie:"Now tell me how this Matteo and José business really happened."
Debbie rolled onto her back, staring at the water-stained ceiling.
"Magdalena," she finally said.
"Who?"
"They call her Magdalia. The woman who...fixesgirls. Remember when Suga got in trouble and told us about her?"Debbie’s hand drifted to her stomach."I went to see her. Asked José to take me. He told Matteo, and they stopped me before—"Her voice broke."They saved me. Saved the baby from the worst sin."
Kathy clapped a hand over her mouth.
The story tumbled out then—Matteo’s promises, José’s secret love affair with an older white judge ("Awhat?"Kathy gasped), the elaborate plan to fake a marriage so they could all be free.
"Matteo’s even got some secret surprise for when you get home,"Debbie finished, wiping her nose on the sheet. " Ain’t that something? All this mess—me pregnant, you exiled, José in love with some powerful white man—we sure made life complicated."
Kathy stared at the cracks in the plaster above them. " Maybe it’s Harlem magic. Down in the delta, everything’s heavy, like wearing a coat made of lead. But here? " She flexed her work-roughened hands, the broken nails and scraped knuckles a map of her labor."Here I can breathe differently.Feeldifferent, not put upon.”
Debbie caught her hand, tracing the calluses. " It was tough on you down there, huh?"
"It was,"Kathy admitted. Then, pushing thoughts of Aunt Janey away for later:"But having family there kept me sane. Especially when Auntie came. Felt like having you with me."
"Well, today you’rehere,"Debbie said, squeezing her fingers."Got my final wedding dress fitting at Mrs. Sexton’s. Can’t wait much longer."Her palm curved over the slight swell beneath her nightgown.
Kathy hugged her again. They lay tangled together until Big Mama’s raspy laugh floated up the stairs, mingling with the men’s deeper voices and the sizzle of frying ham from the kitchen. The sweet, greasy scent made Kathy’s stomach growl.
"I need to see Melo,"she whispered into Debbie’s hair.
"I know,"Debbie whispered back."We’ll figure it out. Welcome home, sister."
As Debbie launched into the story of how Matteo had won her heart, Kathy let the words wash over her. She was happy for her cousin—truly—but a bitter seed took root in her chest.Why wasn’t it her and Carmelo? They deserved the happily ever after. Why not us, Lord? Weren’t we faithful?
Somewhere downstairs, a record started playing—Billie Holiday’s "I’ll Be Seeing You," the trumpet line curling through the house like smoke. Kathy closed her eyes. Life wasn’t fair. But maybe, just maybe, Harlem magic wasn’t done with them yet.
* * *
“Come here,” Brenda said, taking her husband’s hand. Henry had been laughing with his brother while Pete playfully gave Big Mama a hard time, but now he looked up in surprise as Brenda gently pulled him out of his chair and toward the stairs. Without a word, she led him swiftly into the upstairs bathroom, closing the door firmly behind them.
“What I do now?” he asked.
Before Henry could ask the second question, Brenda was already upon him, kissing him deeply, her fingers eagerly undoing his belt. Her passion was hot and fast, catching him off guard, but he couldn’t help but respond.
“Wait a second, woman—have you lost your mind?” Henry asked, a shy, blushing smile spread across his face, his open-face gold tooth gleaming.
“You don’t want it?” Brenda teased, stepping back with a mischievous smirk. Slowly, deliberately, she reached beneath her dress, sliding her panties down and stepping out of them.
Henry always wanted it. In fact, it had been nearly two weeks since she'd last let him roll on top of her in bed, and the thought alone set him on fire. He didn’t hesitate another second; he grasped her hips, hoisting her effortlessly onto the sink. Brenda hiked her skirt to hr waist then quickly unzipped his trousers while Henry held her throat gently with one hand, pulling her into a deep, urgent kiss.
As she guided his manhood toward her, he hooked her left leg over his arm, pushing it back firmly, giving him leverage to plunge deep inside her.
Henry shuddered, pleasure overtaking him. Loving Brenda physically was nearly as intoxicating as loving her spiritually. Brenda Freeman was the most beautiful woman in Harlem. He saw how the other men in church gazes lingered and took care of a few that he felt insulted him with their over friendliness.
If there was one thing he did in his life that made him worth a shit was being worthy of her. Saving her and Janey that night had saved him. Now they were in Harlem, and he had more money than he’d ever been able to make on the Plantation.
He was truly the luckiest man alive. A beautiful wife and daughter. He had the world.
Brenda let her head fall back, exposing the delicate curve of her neck, and he traced it slowly with his tongue, savoring the salty taste. His dick plunging in and out of her now with ease, as his balls tightened and he fought the urge to burst inside of her. Even now, she was of childbearing years, and he wouldn’t risk another pregnancy with her. But damn him he couldn’t pull out.
He made love to his wife eagerly—first hard and fast, then slow and gentle—as Brenda pressed her hand softly against his mouth to muffle the sound of his pleasure.
“Calm down, baby,” she whispered tenderly. “I’m yours.”
* * *
The girls stepped out of the room, giggling as they headed toward the stairs. Kathy suddenly paused, grabbing Debbie’s arm. “Wait—you hear that?”
Debbie glanced toward the bathroom door. Their eyes widened in confusion, then curiosity drew them quietly closer. As they approached, the unmistakable sounds of Brenda and Henry came through—her parents’ muffled grunts, Brenda softly urging Henry to quiet down.
Kathy scrunched up her face in horror. “Yuck!”
Debbie quickly covered her mouth, stifling her laughter. Exchanging a knowing, embarrassed look, the two of them bolted for the stairs, their laughter bubbling out freely as if they were children again.