Page 305 of Ricardo

I reach for the water cup on the tray beside his bed.

I hold the straw to his lips.

He takes a small sip, then lets his head fall back against the pillow.

For a few seconds, he only breathes.

I set the cup down.

“Pain?” I ask.

His gaze shifts toward me. “Some.”

“I’ll call the nurse.”

“No.”

The word is quiet, but clear.

I stop with my hand halfway to the call button.

“Not yet. I don't want to sleep anymore." He looks over at Julia again. “She’s always here when I wake."

“She hasn't left,” I say. “Aside from when the doctors make her. And even that's been tough."

A faint smile touches his lips. “Of course.”

He looks back at me.

There may be anger there later, when he is stronger. When he is off the medication. When he can hold more than one thought without pain dragging him back under. I will take it if it comes.

But right now, he’s alive and awake, and that’s the only thing that matters.

So painfully alive that my throat tightens.

“You scared me,” I say.

I didn't mean to say that.

Dante blinks slowly.

"The great Ricardo Conti," he says. "Scared?"

His words are laced with humor, but he doesn't have the energy for the joke.

I can't manage a smile.

“I have never been so scared in my life.”

Dante looks away from me, toward the window. The city lights reflect in the dark glass.

“Me either,” he says, so quietly I almost don’t hear him.

My son, who fears nothing, was afraid.

"I thought," he says roughly, "that they would get her before I—"

Before he could stop them.