"Exhausted, but managing," Lupo replied, his voice softening. "Little Marco finally settled just before I left.Mio nipotehas lungs on him, that's for sure. Thank you for thinking of us and our safety."
"I have also arranged for them to be watched by a third party. Not to bring attention to them, but close enough to help if needed," Rodrigo said gruffly.
"So tell me how the lovely Giana is suddenly back at the villa," Lupo said after a moment of companionable silence.
Rodrigo rubbed his tired eyes. "Trouble's fucking boiled over."
The profanity slipped out, raw and unvarnished. He rarely swore around Lupo, a holdover from childhood respect, but thetension, the sleepless nights, the lingering aftershock of Giana had left his control in tatters.
"Today started before dawn with a call from Sicily," he began, and gave Lupo the details in a quick summary.
The priest listened in silence, his expression growing increasingly grave. When Rodrigo finished, the old priest let out a long, slow breath, the sound heavy in the confined space. He shook his head, a mixture of sorrow and weary exasperation.
"Dio mio, Rodrigo. I swear, I can't leave you boys alone for five minutes without you starting a war or getting tangled in one." He rubbed a hand over his face. "Giana, endured all that okay? The kidnapping?"
Rodrigo flinched inwardly at the thought of Giana in that fucking dog crate, missing nails, damaged teeth. The rage surged again, hot and feral.
"She's recovering, and I'm making sure that she can protect herself."
"And you?" Lupo asked gently, his gaze sharp. "Where are you in all this mess, Rodrigo? Beyond the retaliation, I mean. I want to know whereyourheart is in this."
Rodrigo kept his eyes fixed on the road. His heart? His heart was a battleground, scarred and smoking. How could he explain the tempest inside him? The possessive fury warring with a terrifying tenderness? The way Giana's sharp tongue and her fierce intelligence ignited something in him that went far beyond any emotion he knew?
He had built her a safe space in the madness and fucked her against its wall. That's how he dealt with everything he was feeling. Verbalizing it was too much of a struggle.
"Complicated doesn't begin to cover what I feel for Giana," he finally ground out, the words scraping his throat.
"Complicated," Lupo echoed softly. Then, with a directness that belied his gentle demeanor, he asked, "How is Giana? Truly?"
"She's…" Rodrigo struggled for words. "She's strong. Fiercely strong. Defiant. She demanded a seat beside me. Refuses to be a pawn. She's painting again in the studio I had built for her."
Lupo nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Painting. That's good. A lifeline back to herself, perhaps. When all this is over, what do you want from her? Do you know?"
Rodrigo couldn't lie. Not about this. The damning confession clawed its way out.
"I love her, Lupo. I have from the moment she spat in Gabriella's face after the massacre." He gripped the wheel tighter, the leather creaking.
"This thing inside me… It's not just about protection or possession. It's…" He faltered, the enormity of it choking him. "It's final. Absolute. Like my father used to say, it's the kind of love that ruins you for anything else."
He risked a glance at Lupo. The old priest's expression was grave, but not surprised. There was only deep understanding in his eyes.
"And she knows this?" Lupo asked softly.
Rodrigo barked a humorless laugh, and then the words tumbled out, a torrent of fear and longing. "How do you tell the woman whose family you helped destroy, and whose freedom you stole, that you love her? How can I be what she needs, not just the monster who cages her or the man who wants to fuck her? I want her to be safe and whole again. To paint and not have to worry about any of this dark shit. Every instinct I have screams to lock her away where nothing can touch her, including me.Especiallyme."
He fell silent again, the only sound the low thrum of the engine and his own ragged breathing.
Lupo was quiet for a long moment, absorbing Rodrigo's raw confession. The gentle lines of his face deepened with compassion.
"Oh, my boy," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "That is the hardest part, isn't it? Loving someone fiercely, yet knowing your very nature, your history, your world feels like a threat to them."
Rodrigo stared straight ahead at the bare autumn fields. "Iama threat to her. I always have been."
"That isn't entirely true, is it?" Lupo said gently. "You are the man who defied his own mother, risked everything, to keep her alive. The man who built her a sanctuary for her art. The man who confesses his love to an old priest in a car."
He placed a warm hand on Rodrigo's forearm.
"Rodrigo, listen to me. You cannot love Giana Sorrentino as a possession. Not if you want that love to be anything but another chain. Gabriella taught you possession. Your world demands it. But true partnership, true love, requires surrender. Not of her to you, but of your fear to her."
