Page 302 of Ricardo

This is my home.

I feel myself start to drift off to sleep, my body heavy and replete.

"Julia?" he whispers.

"Hmm?" I murmur, half asleep. My mind is floating, and I'm too relaxed to open my eyes.

He doesn't answer.

I feel his hand move from my hair to my stomach. He traces my still-flat stomach with a finger.

My own hand covers his, lacing our fingers together.

Then I'm drifting away, my mind finally at peace. I barely hear the words. The words he whispers to my stomach. The words he whispers to our child.

"I will always protect you," he whispers. "All of you."

I fall asleep with my heart full.

Chapter Forty

Ricardo

Dante’s room is quiet now.

Earlier, everyone came through in pairs because the ICU nurse allowed nothing more, and no one dared argue with the terrifying woman.

Mario and Victoria first. Victoria tenderly touched Dante’s hair and told him she expected him to keep improving because she was running out of patience. Diego came in with Lorenzo and tried to make some comment about Dante using a gunshot wound to avoid work, but his voice failed him halfway through, and Lorenzo just rested one hand on my son’s shoulder.

Matteo and Tomasso stood at the foot of the bed like sentinels who had been charged with guard duty. Edoardo said little, not unusual for him. Alessio said even less, definitely unusual for him.

They all looked at Dante too long before leaving.

I understood it.

It is difficult to make yourself walk out of a room when someone you love is lying in it with tubes in his arm and monitors broadcasting his heartbeat. Even when every doctor tells you he is stable. Stable is a word meant for charts.

It does nothing for a father.

Now the room is empty but for the three of us.

Dante sleeps in the bed, pale still but better than he looked last night. The bruised shadows beneath his eyes are still there. So is the oxygen tube beneath his nose, the IV line in his arm, the dressing hidden beneath his gown where a bullet opened him and a surgeon put him back together.

A few hours ago, Dr. Kessler lowered his medication.

So far, nothing has changed.

At least, nothing I can see.

Julia sits beside me on the small couch beneath the window, curled into my side in one of the soft sweaters Victoria brought her. I make a note to check with Lorenzo on getting Julia her things. I'm certain she doesn't want to go back to that apartment, but having her own clothes would be a comfort to her.

She fought sleep for nearly an hour, insisting she was only resting her eyes, but eventually exhaustion won. Her head is against my shoulder, one hand tucked between us, the other resting near her stomach as if, even asleep, some part of her is aware.

Our child is there.

Too small and too new yet.

And still, every time my eyes fall to her hand, something in me shifts.