Page 227 of Ricardo

The dress that made every man in that room look at least twice.

Now the silk is stained.

It takes a moment for the confusion to clear or for me to realize that it's blood. Blood across her skirt. Blood smeared along her side. Blood drying on her hands, beneath her nails, in the creases of her fingers.

My son’s blood.

Her face crumples the second she sees me.

“Ricardo.”

I reach her in three strides.

My hands go to her shoulders first, careful because I do not know where she is hurt, then to her face, then back to her arms.

“Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head, tears already falling. “No.”

“Julia.” My voice is too rough. “Are you hurt?”

“No. No, I’m not. It’s Dante’s. It’s all Dante’s.”

Something inside me tears and keeps tearing.

I pull her against me.

She folds into my chest with a sound that will live in me for the rest of my life. Her hands hover for a second before they grip my shirt, leaving rust stains on the fabric.

I do not care.

I do not care about anything but the fact that she is standing and my son is somewhere behind closed doors with surgeons cutting into him.

“What happened?” I ask.

She shakes against me.

“We got inside. Everything happened so fast.” Her voice breaks. She tries to swallow it down and fails. “He knew. I don’t even know how he knew, but he knew something was wrong before I did. He pushed me down behind the kitchen counter, and then there were shots.”

Lorenzo, had walked in after me, listens intently.

I keep my hands on her because if I let go, I may lose my mind.

“How many?” I ask.

“Two men.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “There were two men in the apartment. Dante shot them. He got them both, but one of them—” Her breath catches hard enough that she bends forward slightly.

I hold her tighter.

“One of them hit him.”

“Where?” Lorenzo asks.

“His side. There was so much blood.” She looks down at her hands as if she has only just remembered they exist. “I tried to stop it. I pressed as hard as I could. He told me to stay down first. He was bleeding, and he still told me to stay down.”

That is my boy.

Christ.