You started talking in pieces. A story about a song, a broken memory tied to a smell, a passing comment about a scar.

Rossi listened like it was scripture. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t pry. Just handed you wine and nodded when you needed silence.

"You don’t have to give it to me all at once," he said gently. "Little by little’s enough."

Your voice cracked.

"I don’t know how to trust someone like this."

He smiled.

"You don’t have to. I’ll earn it."