Page 244 of Ricardo

Her shoulders begin to shake.

“He came all the way to Connecticut that day. He got me out of there. He took me back to Chicago. He helped me find the apartment. He helped me choose things for myself again. Curtains. A couch. Coffee mugs. Stupid things that felt impossible because Harrison had made every choice feel like a test I could fail.”

She covers her mouth for a second, fighting for control.

“And now Dante is in the hospital because of me,” she says.

“No.”

She flinches at the force of it.

I take her face in both hands, carefully, but firm enough that she has to keep her eyes on me.

“No, Julia.”

Tears spill over her lashes.

“He was there for me then, and he was there for me tonight, and now—”

“He is in the hospital because of Harrison.”

Her mouth trembles.

I hold her gaze.

“Listen to me. Dante made his choices tonight because he loves you. Because he is brave. Because he is my son. But the bullets came from Harrison. The men came from Harrison. That blood belongs at Harrison’s feet, not yours.”

She shakes her head once, barely.

I do not let go.

“No,” I say again, lower now. “Not yours.”

She breaks.

The sound that comes out of her is like a small wail, as if she is still trying to contain it. Then her shoulders fold inward, and the next sob tears through her whole body.

I pull her into my arms.

She comes to me without resistance, hands fisting in my shirt, face pressed to my chest. She is shaking so hard I can feel it through both of us. I hold the back of her head with one hand and wrap my other arm around her, drawing her in until there is no space left between her and me.

“I’m sorry,” she says into my shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

“No.”

“He came because of me.”

“No.”

“He always comes when I call, and now he—”

Her voice breaks before she can finish.

I close my eyes.

Dante.

My son.