Page 191 of Ricardo

“Happy to prevent civic warfare whenever possible,” I say.

The trustee laughs again and excuses himself when someone near the hospital table waves him over.

Mario’s gaze returns to me.

“Good work,” he says quietly.

It is only two words, but they mean a lot.

Then his attention shifts toward the entrance, and something in his posture changes.

I follow his gaze.

Dante has arrived.

For a moment, all the sound in the ballroom seems to drop away.

He is in a black tuxedo, looking so much like his father that the sight almost hurts. Same dark hair. Same formal ease. Same ability to walk into a room and look as if he belongs there, whether it’s a gala or a casual setting.

But his face is colder than Ricardo’s ever is with me. Colder than I've ever seen it.

He greets Mario first. Mario says something I cannot hear. Dante answers with a nod, formal and precise. Victoria touches his arm. His expression softens for her, just slightly, but it disappears again almost as soon as it arrives.

Then Lorenzo catches him. Matteo and Tomasso are near the bar. Dante greets them, accepts a brief clap on the shoulder from Tomasso, says something to Matteo that makes Matteo’s expression tighten.

Then his gaze finds me.

Finds us.

Ricardo is beside me before I realize he has moved.

He does not touch me this time.

He waits.

Dante crosses the room with polite restraint you wouldn't know he was practicing unless you knew him very well.

My heartbeat feels too loud.

“Papà,” he says.

“Dante.”

The words are even. Formal.

Awful.

Then Dante looks at me.

“Julia.”

No Jules.

No warmth.

Just my name, stripped down to something polite enough to be a basic formality.

It hurts more than I could have imagined.