Page 179 of Ricardo

I hear my own voice change.

Lower. Harder.

“I went to my father.”

Julia’s reflection blurs slightly as my eyes lose focus.

“He handled it.”

“What does that mean?” she asks, though I suspect she knows enough to dread the answer.

“Francis Conti had ways of handling things that weren’t what you’d call ‘the right way.’ But they got the job done.”

In my mind, I can picture Liliana screaming at me as those doors close behind her. “Liliana was admitted to a private rehab center outside Naples, and she stayed there until Dante was born.”

Julia is silent for a long moment.

“You forced her.”

I don't bother to deny it.

“Yes.”

I turn from the window and face her.

“I will not dress it up for you. I will not make it sound better than it was. She hated me. She screamed at me. She called me names for months and cursed me. There was a point she was kept strapped down because she was on suicide watch. She was watched twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week until she gave birth.”

Julia’s eyes shine.

I continue before she can speak.

“Dante was born healthy. That was all I cared about by then. I have no regrets.” I finish it up. “My father secured full custody for me.”

Her throat moves as she swallows.

I wait for the judgment.

I have earned some of it.

Instead, she asks, “What happened after? Did she ever see him?”

The question cuts.

“Yes,” I say. “Supervised initially.”

Julia’s face tightens.

“She was sober then. Or I thought she was. I wanted...” I stop, irritated by the weakness in the words. “I wanted Dante to have a mother if it was possible. I wanted to believe some part of Liliana could love him enough.”

My hands curl at my sides.

“At my father’s house with people nearby. She cried the first time. She told me she would be better. She told me she would do it for him. For me. For us.”

The lie is old, but it still cuts.

“But she didn’t.” Julia’s voice is sad.

She knows how this story ends.