Chapter 34
The hot water hit Rodrigo's skin like a thousand tiny needles, a welcome agony after the grit and dried blood caking him. He braced his hands against the cool marble shower wall, head bowed, letting the steam and the pounding spray wash away the stink of smoke and blood.
His left arm throbbed where the bullet had grazed him, a fiery line etched just below his shoulder. It wasn't deep or life-threatening, but it was enough to sting like a bitch every time the water hit it.
Rodrigo cranked the water to cold, gasping as the icy shock slammed into him, chasing the last dregs of exhausted fog from his brain. The day had started too early, too much had happened, and he was disoriented when he needed to be sharp and ready.
Vincenzo and 'the Old Man' had made their move, a direct, brazen attempt to erase him from the board.
A fatal error, Rodrigo thought grimly, water dripping from his beard onto his chest. He would make damn sure they regretted it.
Shutting off the water, he grabbed a thick black towel, scrubbing roughly at his hair and body. He caught his reflection in the fogged mirror. Shadows like bruises smudged under his eyes, the angry red line of the bullet graze stark against his skin. He looked like hell and felt worse.
He rummaged in the cabinet beneath the sink, finding the well-stocked first-aid kit.
Sitting on the closed toilet lid, towel wrapped around his hips, Rodrigo methodically cleaned the graze with antiseptic, smeared on a thick layer of antibiotic cream, and expertly wrapped it in a sterile bandage, securing it with medical tape.
The adrenaline was well and truly gone now, leaving a bone-deep weariness and a low hum of pain behind his eyes.
He pulled on some pajama pants but didn't bother with a shirt.
He needed sleep. He needed a stiff drink.
He needed to look at Giana for a bit to remind himself why he was doing all of this.
Pushing the door open, he expected the room to be empty. Instead, he found Giana standing by the lit fireplace.
She had changed out of her paint-smeared clothes into dark leggings and an oversized, soft-looking sweater that swallowed her. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, shoulders rigid. Even from across the room, he could feel the tension radiating off her, a coiled spring ready to snap.
Rodrigo stopped dead. The sight of her, waiting in his space, sent a jolt through him that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with the chaotic mess of feelings he had been trying to compartmentalize.
His voice came out rougher than intended. "Giana."
She whirled around. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and blazing with an emotion that stopped him cold. It was fury. Pure, incandescent rage.
"You," she spat, the single word dripping with venom. She stalked toward him, stopping a few feet away, her gaze raking over him, taking in the bandage on his arm. "You absolute fucking idiot."
Rodrigo blinked, momentarily thrown. He had braced for concern, maybe tears, the kind of soft worry he instinctively recoiled from. This volcanic anger was unexpected… and disturbingly attractive.
"Excuse me?" he asked.
"Leaving!" she exploded, throwing her hands up.
"During a fucking lockdown! After you basically declared war on Sicily before breakfast!
What were you thinking, Rodrigo? Were you thinking at all?
Or is that thick skull of yours just filled with decorative rocks?
" Her voice rose, sharp and brittle. "You could have been killed or dragged off by Vincenzo's goons to be tortured in some fucking basement. God, I should kill you myself."
He stared at her, the aches in his body momentarily eclipsed by the sheer force of her tirade. The fear beneath the rage was palpable, a raw edge that scraped against his own frayed nerves. He took a step toward her, his own temper starting to simmer. "Lupo needed help. It was a calculated risk."
"Calculated risk?" She let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "It was suicidal stupidity. You have people who could have gotten Lupo. Dario! Fred! Kon! Literally anyone else whose death wouldn't…"
She choked on the words, her chest heaving, the fury momentarily faltering, revealing the stark terror beneath. "Wouldn't leave a fucking crater the size of Tuscany!"
Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, the sheen of unshed tears making her dark eyes look impossibly huge and vulnerable.
Rodrigo closed the distance between them in two strides, ignoring the protest from his grazed arm and the sway of the room. He took her by the shoulders, his hands moving to rest on her collarbones.
"Giana, look at me."
She glared up at him, defiance warring with the panic in her eyes. "Why? So you can give me some bullshit line about duty and family and calculated fucking risks? So you can tell me it's none of my business?"
"No." He held her gaze, his own dark eyes searching hers, seeing past the anger to the terrified girl beneath. A wild, impossible suspicion began to take root. "Why are you really so angry, anima mia?"
"Because you're an arrogant, reckless, controlling bastard who thinks the rules don't apply to him," she shot back, but the fire was fading, replaced by a shaky desperation. "Because you walked out of here like you were invincible and came back looking like… like…" Her voice broke.
Giana swallowed hard, trying to wrestle the emotion back under control, but it was spilling over.
"You could have died out there, Rodrigo.
Do you understand that? You could have bled out on some godforsaken roadside, or been taken, and I…
I would have… I would have lost you when I only just…
" She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening as if she'd said too much, a flush creeping up her neck.
Rodrigo's heart slammed against his ribs. His hands moved to cup her cheeks, tilting her head up.
"When you only just what, Giana?" He leaned closer, his breath against her lips. "Say it."
She tried to pull back, but he held her fast. "Let me go," she whispered, but there was no real force behind it.
"No." His thumb brushed the frantic pulse point under her jaw. "Say it. Why does the thought of losing me scare you so much? Is it just the protection? The strategic alliance?"
He saw the flash of hurt in her eyes at that, the way her lips pressed into a thin line. His voice softened. "Or is it something else? Tell me."
Tears finally spilled over, tracing hot paths down Giana's cheeks. She stopped struggling, her body going still in his grasp, her gaze locked on his with utter helplessness.
"How dare you?" she breathed, her voice thick with tears and fury. "How dare you make me feel this way about you? I was meant to hate you forever. It was the only thing that kept me sane all these years."
Each word was a lash, but he barely felt them. He was focused on the raw confession trembling beneath the rage.
"And now?" he prompted, his own voice barely a rasp. His heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest.
"And now… Now I just…" She squeezed her eyes shut, as if the admission was physically painful. "Now I only just realized I fucking love you, you impossible, infuriating bastard! How dare you make me love you when you could have gotten yourself killed over something so stupid?"
Hearing the furious admission spill from her lips was like being hit by a truck all over again, but this time, the impact was pure, blinding light.
All the carefully constructed walls, the years of enforced control, the monstrous persona he wore like a second skin crumbled in an instant.
The pain, the exhaustion, the looming war… None of it mattered. Only her. Only this furious, broken, breathtaking woman who loved him despite it all. Loved him.
A sound escaped him, something between a gasp and a groan. He didn't think. His hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck and kissed her.
He poured everything into it that he had locked away for years—the obsessive watchfulness, the fierce protectiveness, the bone-deep terror of losing her, the soul-crushing weight of his own monstrosity, and the fragile, impossible hope that had flickered to life the moment she had demanded a seat beside him.
He kissed her to try and express all the words he couldn't say into the fierce pressure of his lips, the demanding sweep of his tongue.
He tasted the salt of her tears, felt the tremor that ran through her body, the initial stiff surprise melting into a shuddering response as her hands came up, not to push him away, but to dig her nails into his chest, and hold on.
Rodrigo finally broke the kiss, gasping for breath, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling in ragged pants.
"Giana," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion, his thumb brushing away a stray tear track on her cheek. "I love you too. Always have. From the moment you spat at my mother. Always."
He saw the shock register in her eyes, followed by a wave of hope breaking through the remnants of anger.
"Good. Otherwise, I would have just made a complete ass of myself," she whispered, and he laughed softly.
"Now what are we going to do?" he asked, his arms wrapping around her.
Giana's eyes glinted with heat and mischief. "Actually, I have one or two ideas."