Page 238 of Ricardo

I had stopped.

I pull in air and taste hospital disinfectant.

“What about Judge O’Brien?” Diego asks. “Prominent judge. Long career. I'm sure he's made plenty of enemies.”

My father’s name drags my attention back to them.

Mario’s gaze shifts toward me briefly, then away. “Possible.”

“Okay, I think that's enough,” Ricardo says to me. He raises his voice to be heard. “I think maybe this conversation should be continued somewhere else.”

I don't hear a response because I'm somewhere else in my mind. I'm back in my apartment. Walking through the door, just seconds before everything went wrong.

But no, something was wrong before that.

Before Dante shoved me behind the counter. Before any shots rang out.

My apartment door opens.

I see the lamp, the console table, the rug, the bowl.

The flowers.

White roses in a crystal vase.

My lips part.

“Roses.”

Ricardo turns to me at once. “What?”

The men stop talking.

All of them.

I look down at my hands, clean now, though I can still see red in every line of my skin, one of them clutched in Ricardo’s.

“White roses,” I say, stronger this time.

Ricardo's thumb strokes my hand.

“What do you mean?” he asks gently.

My eyes lift to his.

They are already full of tears again.

“There were white roses in the apartment when we got back.”

His voice stays soft, despite me not making any sense. “You bought white roses?”

“No. I hate white roses.”

Ricardo’s eyes search mine. “Julia.”

My hands begin to shake, making him tighten his grip on them.

“It’s me,” I whisper.