Dante sighed. "I owe you an apology."
That wasn't what Rocco expected. "What for?"
"I thought you were another buyer,” Dante said.
Rocco laughed. "I would've shot me too." That earned the smallest smile from Dante. It disappeared almost immediately.
"I don't know who you people are,” Dante said.
"You know enough,” Rocco insisted.
"I know you're better than Santos."
"Well, that’s a low bar,” Rocco drawled.
Dante nodded. "Fair." Silence settled between them again before Rocco asked the question that had been bothering him since the docks.
"How long have you loved her?"
Dante froze. "I—" He looked away. "I don't know."
"Liar,” Rocco accused.
A tired laugh escaped Dante. "Probably."
"You remember the exact dress she wore three years ago,” Rocco reminded.
Dante rubbed the back of his neck. "I take it you overheard our conversation, then," Dante grumbled.
"You memorized her birthdays."
"Yeah,” Dante agreed.
"You blacked out her bedroom camera."
His head snapped toward Rocco. "How did you know that?"
"I notice details,” Rocco said as he leaned against the wall. "You've loved her for a long time."
Dante stared at the floor. "I wasn't allowed to."
"No one gets to decide that."
"Her father did,” Dante said. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Every day I looked at her—” He closed his eyes. "I reminded myself she deserved better than a man who worked for her father."
Rocco studied him. "I don't think she sees you that way."
"I do,” Dante breathed.
"That's your problem,” Rocco said. Dante looked over at him. "You've spent so long hating yourself that you haven't noticed the way she looks at you."
Confusion crossed Dante's face. "What do you mean?"
"She trusts you." He shook his head.
"No,” Dante said, denying the truth.
"She ran to you." Rocco smiled slightly. "Twice." Dante didn't answer. He couldn't because Rocco was right.
