Page 224 of Ricardo

“Faster,” I tell Alessio.

The car accelerates through the next light.

My phone vibrates.

Unknown number.

I ignore it and try Dante again.

Lorenzo turns to me.

“Ricardo.”

“Not a word.”

He turns back around.

If he tries to calm me down, I may put my fist through the window.

We turn onto her block, and the world becomes red and blue.

Police cars crowd the curb outside her building. Three of them. Four. More beyond the awning. Two ambulances sit near the entrance, back doors open, lights cutting across the brick and glass. Residents stand in clusters on the sidewalk, some in coats thrown over evening clothes, some in slippers, some holding phones up like the fools they are.

My blood goes cold.

Alessio stops too abruptly.

My phone rings with an unknown number, but I ignore it again as I jump out of the car before it is fully stopped.

“Ricardo,” Lorenzo calls behind me.

I ignore him.

The air smells like exhaust, rain on pavement, and fear.

Police tape stretches near the entrance. An officer stands by the door, blocking the path inside. Another speaks into a radio. A woman near the curb is crying into her hand. A man in a robe keeps saying the same thing to anyone who will listen.

“I heard three. No, four. It was four.”

I move toward him before I realize I have chosen him.

“What happened?” I ask.

He turns, startled, and takes one look at my face before stepping back.

“I don’t know. There were gunshots upstairs. Police showed up. Ambulances. They took someone out, maybe two people, I don’t know.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who?” I snap, and Lorenzo’s hand closes around my arm.

The man shakes his head too fast. “I don’t know. I didn’t see. They said some people are dead.”

The words hollow me out.

Some people are dead.