Page 239 of Ricardo

His face registers confusion.

“It’s my fault he got shot.”

“No,” Ricardo says immediately.

I shake my head, tears spilling before I can stop them. “It is. It's my fault.”

“Cuore mio, what are you talking about?”

The endearment breaks me.

“Harrison used to send me white roses.”

I can practically feel everyone in the waiting room freeze at my words.

I keep looking at Ricardo because if I look anywhere else, I may come apart completely.

“He sent them when we first started going out,” I say. “Then after fights. After he made me cry. After he said something horrible. White roses. Always white roses. Expensive. Perfect. Never a real apology. Just those fucking roses.”

Ricardo’s expression empties of softness.

“I saw them when we first walked in,” I say quietly. “I saw them, and I knew. I knew, but then Dante was pushing me behind the counter, and everything happened, and I forgot. I forgot until now.”

My voice breaks.

“Those men,” I say. “They must have been Harrison’s.”

Chapter Thirty Two

Ricardo

The private room is quiet in a different way than the waiting room.

We can still hear sounds like footsteps in the hall, a cart rolling past, the sounds of the hospital moving around us, but it’s more muted. It feels more private.

Someone brought clothes for Julia.

I do not know or care who. I just know she can finally get out of that bloody dress. And I can finally stop looking at it.

Julia stands near the hospital bed, still in the green dress.

Dante’s blood has dried into the silk.

It is almost brown in places. Stiff at her hip, across her lap, along the skirt, where she must have pressed the fabric against him and held on.

Her eyes are swollen from crying. Her face is too pale. Her hair has come loose around her shoulders, no longer arranged for the gala, no longer smooth and shiny.

She looks so painfully young right now.

Too far away from me.

“Julia,” I say gently.

She blinks.

“I need you to change.”

She looks down at herself as if she has forgotten what she is wearing.