His tone wasn't exactly sincere. There was something underneath it, something that sounded less like remorse and more like a man who'd been told to do this and resented the instruction. Once everyone was seated, Rocco poured me a drink, announced he'd take a shot to make up for his mistakes, and raised his glass. He drained it in one swallow, set it down with a deliberate clink, and began.
"Well, I don't usually think before I speak, so don't take it to heart." He cracked the knuckle of his right index finger. A single, sharp pop. "Honestly, I never thought you were good enough for my brother. But he wants to be with you, so I'm here to support him."
"Thanks," I said. "I guess."
He poured another glass and said he'd take a second shot for what he'd said that day. He drank it, and the apology sat between us like a stone neither of us wanted to pick up.
Right after that, the others jumped in. Dario ran a hand through his hair and glanced at Simone before offering his own version of contrition. Luca tilted his chin up slightly before mumbling something about not meaning any disrespect. The words came quickly, rehearsed, a chorus of men who'd been told to perform and were performing.