Chapter 23 - ROCCO’S APOLOGY TO ME
Rocco apologized to me properly when we were both old enough to stop pretending brothers do not need that.
We sat in the former library at Villa Mancini.
I was sixty-five.
He was sixty.
Camille had gone upstairs.
Elodie and Daniel were visiting with Sofia.
Luca was in college.
Rocco poured whiskey.
I declined.
He drank mine too.
Then:
“I wanted Mom to choose me over you.”
“I know.”
“No. I mean for years.”
“I know that too.”
He shook his head.
“I thought if she called me heir, it meant I finally beat you at something.”
“Congratulations.”
He laughed.
Then turned serious.
“I helped make Elodie feel disposable because I was competing with a brother who wasn’t even competing.”
That was true.
“I competed in other ways.”
“Not for Mom.”
“No.”
Then:
“I’m sorry.”
I nodded.
“I accept.”
He looked surprised.
“That easy?”
“It took twenty years.”
Fair.
Then I said:
“I’m sorry I treated you like every mistake proved you were unserious.”
He blinked.
That one belonged to me.
“I made it easy for Mom to tell you I’d never respect you.”
Rocco looked down.
“You respected me?”
“Sometimes.”
“Bastard.”
We laughed.
No hug.
Brothers.
Then he asked:
“Do you think Dad knew?”
“Knew what?”
“That Mom would do all this.”
“Enough to write rules.”
“Not enough to stop it.”
“No document stops people.”
There.
Trusts create friction.
Courts create boundaries.
Governance creates process.
None substitute for behavior.
Then Sofia ran into the library.
“Grandpa Vit!”
I hated that name.
Elodie taught it deliberately.
Rocco laughed.
She asked:
“Which room is mine?”
I looked at Elodie.
She shrugged.
“Pick one.”
Sofia gasped.
“All?”
“No,” we said together.
Family progress has limits.
She chose a small room overlooking the garden.
Not North Suite.
May you like
No symbolism.
Just better view.
