Page 175 of Ricardo

“It was one punch,” he says.

“That does not make it acceptable.”

“I did not say it was acceptable.”

“It seems like you did nothing.”

“What was I supposed to do? Hit him back?”

I lower the ice.

“That's not what I mean. And there's a lot more you can do aside from that.”

“What would you have had me do?”

“I don’t know.” My voice rises before I can stop it. “Say something. Stop him. Tell him he crossed a line.”

There is a flicker in his expression.

There is more to it than just that.

I feel it without him saying a word.

“What?” I ask.

He looks toward the window.

“Dante has had a great deal taken from him.”

My anger pauses in the wake of his words.

“I know that.”

“No,” Ricardo says softly. “You don't know all.”

I wait, but he does not continue.

Of course he does not.

Ricardo Conti can tell a man he will die with less hesitation than he can speak honestly about pain.

“Then tell me the rest.”

His gaze returns to mine. “It is not time for that now.”

“I am not asking for details you have no right to give, Ricardo,” I say exasperated. “I am asking why you think you deserve this.”

He does not answer.

My chest tightens again, but this time with frustration.

“Ricardo.”

“He was born into circumstances he did not choose,” he says at last. “He paid for decisions I made. He grew up with absences I could not explain to him.”

I stare at him.

Dante’s mother.