Page 161 of Ricardo

“You chose him,” he says again, but this time it sounds less like an accusation and more like he is forcing himself to understand it.

“I care about him.”

His eyes close.

I hate myself for saying it.

I hate myself more because it is true.

“Do you have any idea what that does to me?” he asks.

“I’m trying to.”

“No, you’re not. You’re sitting there hoping if you’re sorry enough, I’ll be noble about it.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“Then what do you want?” he demands. “Permission? Forgiveness? Do you want me to say it’s fine because I love you and I love him and that means I should swallow whatever this is?”

“No.”

“Good, because I can’t.”

My hands are shaking in my lap.

He looks at them, then away, like seeing my fear makes him even angrier.

“I told you things about him,” he says, jaw clenched.

A cold feeling spreads through my chest.

“Nothing I would ever use.” I stand now and take a step toward him.

His head snaps back toward me. “Bullshit.”

I freeze in place.

The accusation hurts worse than his anger.

“Dante, I would never—"

“I told you things because you were separate,” he says, voice rough. “You were mine. My friend. My family. The person I could talk to when everyone else was Conti first.”

My throat burns.

“I still am,” I say, hoarse.

“No.” He shakes his head hard. “You don’t get to say that now. It’s not true anymore.”

The words hit me so hard I can barely breathe.

He takes another step back from me and slices me in two.

“You know what the worst part is?” he asks.

I cannot answer.

“I can see it now.” His mouth twists. “Little things. The way he asked about you. The way you got quiet when his name came up. The way you both probably thought you were being subtle.”