“Fuck you,” Antonio spat. “You know nothing.” “I know him.” He smiled. “I know the way he sleeps, with one eye open. I know how much he loves chorizo and eggs with coffee sweet enough to put you in a coma in the mornings. I know when he’s tired or sad just by his touch. I know he can’t sing for shit, but I watched him sing to your mother as she died in his arms. He’s fucking mine.” He pounded his chest. “You think I’ll let you get away with this shit? With betraying him when he’s done nothing but love his family to his own detriment?”
