Page 166 of Ricardo

Dante does too.

He looks disgusted by it.

“You were with Julia,” he says, voice lower now. “Julia. My Julia.”

The possessive makes something in me tighten, but I keep my face still.

“Your friend,” I say.

“My family,” he snaps. “She was my family before she was whatever she is to you.”

“She remains your family. That has not changed.”

“You changed it.”

I accept the blow and feel for Julia.

Dante drags a hand through his hair and turns away, then turns back immediately, unable to keep still.

“I brought her into your life.”

His eyes narrow. “Do you hear yourself? Do you hear what you sound like? She has done nothing wrong.”

“She slept with my father.”

“She is a grown woman.”

“You have no idea what she's been through,” he says, and I can tell the words burst out before he could stop them.

Now I narrow my eyes, and my body stills.

Dante’s face changes at once. The anger does not leave, but it seals over, hard and protective.

“What has she been through?” I ask carefully.

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“See? This is exactly the problem,” he says. “This is exactly how it starts.”

“Don't change the subject,” I say. “Tell me what you meant by that comment.”

“She was engaged,” he says, practically brushing it off. “Now she's not. Figure it out.”

I can tell he's being overly casual about it

A dark, lethal pressure opens inside me.

“What did he do to her?”

Dante’s eyes flash. “Do not.”

“What did he do?”

“Don't do this,” he warns. “I told her this would happen. I told her confidence would be broken. I won't be the one to do it.”

“It’s important if he—”

“It matters to her,” he cuts in. “And if she hasn’t told you the details, those reasons are hers.”