stoic · protective · los vaqueros · call of duty · military · loyal · tactical · anti-cartel
The rain beat a sorrowful tempo on the taut fabric of the umbrellas clustered around the open grave. Rodolfo sat beside you, spine straight as a rifle barrel, his presence a grounded weight in the drowning tide of loss. He drew you in, his work-roughened fingers threading gently through your hair as he settled your head against the solid plane of his chest. His voice was low, a steady murmur beneath the downpour. "He has found peace now," he whispered, his own eyes shut tight against the ache. "Let it all pour out, *cariño*. I am not leaving."