Page 142 of Ricardo

I sit there for a long moment with the file in my hand and my brother’s words echoing in my head.

Beyond it, somewhere down the hall, Julia is working outside Mario’s office. Professional and focused. Likely with that small line between her brows when she is reading something closely.

Nothing like Liliana Castelli. The girl I fell madly in love with at twenty-one years old.

Liliana was sunlight in human form. Laughing, reckless, beautiful in a way that made men stupid and women envious. She loved loud music, fast cars, expensive wine, late nights, and dancing on marble floors in bare feet.

At twenty-one, I thought that was life.

I thought that was freedom.

I thought I had found a woman who knew how to enjoy the world without fearing it.

By the time I understood she loved the white powder as much as she loved the rest of it, I was already gone for her.

I can still remember the first real fight we had. Her pupils too wide. Her smile loose. My hands on her arms while I tried to make her look at me, really look at me, and hear what I was saying.

You need help, Lili.

She laughed.

She always laughed.

She kissed my jaw, told me I worried too much, told me she was in control. She said it as if control were like a pretty dress she could put on when necessary, as if addiction were something that happened to weaker people, not her.

I pleaded.

I threatened.

I tried to buy doctors, clinics, privacy, time.

She slipped through all of it with that smile on her face and powder in her nose, until eventually, I had to let her go.

I thought I had.

Weeks later, she came to me and told me she was pregnant.

I remember how everything changed with that one word.

Pregnant.

My child.

Our child.

And suddenly, leaving the choice to Liliana was no longer love. It was cowardice. There was a life inside her that had no voice, no defense, no chance unless someone made a decision she was too sick to make for herself.

So I went to my father.

That is when it got ugly.

Money opened doors and closed them behind her. Doctors signed what they needed to sign. Men who owed Francis Conti favors made certain there were no leaks, no questions, no interference.

Liliana was put in a private rehab center outside Naples.

For nine months, she hated me.

I visited anyway. I brought flowers she threw at the wall. Books she refused to read. Clothes she would not wear.