Page 284 of Ricardo

Dante does not move.

I sit there anyway, holding his hand with both of mine now, letting the room fall quiet around us.

Then his fingers twitch.

So lightly I think I imagine it.

I freeze.

“Ricardo.”

He looks at Dante’s hand.

It happens again.

A small movement beneath my fingers.

Ricardo is around the bed in an instant, one hand braced near Dante’s shoulder.

“Dante,” he says.

Dante’s eyelids flutter.

My breath stops.

He drifts for a second, somewhere between sleep and whatever heavy medication they have given him. Then his eyes open just enough to find the room.

Find Ricardo.

Then me.

His mouth moves.

No sound comes out.

I lean closer. “Don’t try to talk.”

He ignores me because of course he does.

His voice is barely there, hoarse.

“Safe.”

The sob that breaks out of me is impossible to stop.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m safe.”

His eyes shift toward Ricardo.

Ricardo bends closer, his hand in Dante’s hair again.

“You did well,” he says. His voice breaks on the last word. “Riposa adesso, figlio mio.”

Dante’s eyes close again.

A nurse steps in a moment later, checks the monitor, checks Dante, says it is a good sign, that brief waking can happen, that he still needs rest. I nod through all of it because my heart is still pounding hard.

When the nurse leaves, I sit back down beside him.