Page 295 of Ricardo

Roberto exhales. “Vito.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” Adrian says from his post by the wall.

I look from the three of them to Mario. “That's good enough for me.”

Chapter Thirty Nine

Julia

I stand at Ricardo’s bedroom window even though there is nothing to see.

The glass holds more of the room than his backyard. A dark reflection of the room behind me, the lamp on the nightstand. The line of my own body swallowed in one of Ricardo’s shirts, bare legs, damp hair brushed away from my face, hands moving because I cannot seem to make them stop.

The lotion smells faintly of almond. Victoria handed it to me earlier with the kind of practicality that nearly made me cry.

I swear there's nothing she hasn't thought about. Something as simple as moisturizer when I don’t have the comforts of my own stuff can make all the difference

My hands are better now. Still strange to look at, as if the blood should have left some mark soap and water could not remove.

I rub lotion into my knuckles, then along my fingers, then along the backs of my hands again.

Behind me, the bathroom door opens.

I hear Ricardo before I see him in the reflection. The ordinary movements of a bedtime routine. Then the slight pause when he sees me.

He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, drawing me back against him carefully. He’s always careful now. Since the pregnancy entered the picture and changed everything. I remind myself this might as well be the first time for him too.

His experience with Dante’s mother was nothing like this.

His lips brush the side of my head.

“What are you thinking about, cuore mio?”

I look at our reflection in the dark glass. Him behind me, broad and tired and still so impossibly handsome. Me in his oversized shirt, held against him.

“Dante,” I say.

His arms tighten a little.

I keep rubbing lotion into my thumb. “He woke up a couple more times today.”

“Yes.”

“Only for a couple of minutes.”

“Still,” Ricardo says, his voice next to my ear. “A couple of minutes is better than seconds.”

My throat tightens. “It is.”

“He knew where he was the last time.”

A small breath leaves me. “He complained about the IV.”

Ricardo’s chest moves against my back. “It's a good sign that there isn’t any brain damage.”

I nod, unable to speak.