Behind him, Emma was trying to help her mother sit up, whispering small reassurances that didn’t fix anything but still mattered.
Rocco turned back, his expression unreadable, but his voice was different now, softer, but heavier.
“You won’t need to sell anything else,” he said.
The woman looked at him, uncertain, because promises from men like him were rarely simple.
“Why?” she asked.
It was a fair question.
And for a moment, Rocco didn’t answer, because he wasn’t entirely sure himself.
Then he said, “Because this shouldn’t have happened.”
Not the strongest reason.
Not the most convincing.
But it was honest.
He took out his phone, stepping outside briefly, the rain hitting his face as he made a call.
