Page 163 of Ricardo

I step forward before I can stop myself. “You are my family.”

He turns on me.

“So was he!”

The shout echoes through the apartment.

I freeze.

Dante’s chest rises and falls. His eyes are wet now, and he looks enraged by it.

“He was my father,” he says, voice shaking. “You were my best friend. Those were different places in my life. Different loyalties. Different conversations. Different versions of me.” He points at himself once, hard. “And now what am I supposed to do? Edit myself around both of you? Wonder what you tell him? Wonder what he tells you? Wonder if every time I speak to one of you, it becomes something the other person knows?”

“No,” I say, desperately. “I would never betray your confidence.”

“You already changed the rules without telling me.”

That shuts me up.

He breathes hard, staring at me.

“And what happens if this goes badly?” he asks. “Tell me. What happens when he hurts you? Or you hurt him? What happens when Sunday dinner turns into a battlefield I didn’t ask to stand in? What happens when I have to watch my father look at you like that, knowing you used to sit in this apartment with me and tell me things you were too scared to tell anyone else?”

I press a hand to my stomach.

He sees it and looks away.

“I can’t,” he says.

“Dante.”

“I can’t be happy for you.”

“I’m not asking you to be.”

“I can’t even look at you.”

The tears spill over before I can stop them.

His face tightens with pain, but he does not come closer.

That hurts most of all.

“I need time,” he says.

I nod, unable to speak.

He walks to the door.

Every step feels final.

“Please don’t leave like this,” I whisper.

His hand pauses on the knob.

For a second, I think he might turn around.

He does, but only halfway.