Page 170 of Ricardo

The punch catches me across the mouth.

Pain explodes through my jaw. My head snaps to the side. The force sends me back a step, and I taste blood immediately, hot and metallic against my tongue.

For a second, neither of us moves.

Dante stands in front of me, fist still clenched, chest heaving. Shock flashes across his face.

Then horror.

Then it vanishes beneath the hurt again.

I straighten slowly.

I do not touch my mouth. I do not raise a hand.

I only look at him.

His eyes widen, almost pleading now, as if he wants me to be angry. As if he needs me to give him something easier than my silence.

I cannot.

He is my son.

He hit me because I hurt him.

I will carry the mark.

His breathing turns ragged.

A drop of blood slips from the corner of my mouth. I feel it reach my chin and leave it there.

Dante looks at it.

For one terrible moment, he looks so damn young.

The baby I held through the night. The boy who clung to my neck after nightmares. The teenager who pretended he did not need anyone and always left his bedroom door cracked open anyway.

My son. My heart walking outside my body, standing in front of me with his hand shaking because I have made him feel betrayed in his own family.

But he doesn't need that right now. He needs to be angry at me.

Julia, however, doesn't deserve it.

“Julia cares about you,” I try one more time.

“Do not say her name to me,” he snaps.

I close my mouth.

Dante turns toward the door, then stops.

His reddening hand curls around the frame, gripping it hard.

For a moment, it seems like he's going to say something. Then he just walks out.

A moment later, the front door shuts hard.

Silence follows.