Chapter 5 Savannah
Savannah
The air outside is cold, sharp enough to sting my lungs the second I breathe it in. It hits the back of my throat like a slap and makes my chest tighten. My nose burns. My eyes water a little.
Two guards walk behind me, close enough to grab me and far enough away to keep it respectable, like distance makes this look polite.
It’s a lie of protection, and I don’t bother pretending I believe it.
I keep my eyes forward as we move down the driveway, gravel crunching under my shoes in a slow, steady rhythm.
The black SUV waits with its door open like a mouth.
I don’t ask where we are going. I already know.
Not the address, the direction. Away from my life.
Away from my choices. Toward the thing Cassio decided.
The driver doesn’t speak to me. He nods once like I am a package marked fragile, like my value is in arriving intact and not in how I feel on the way there.
I climb inside and the dark interior swallows me up, leather seats, tinted windows, expensive cologne layered over something metallic.
Gun oil, and violence that doesn’t bother to hide.
The door shuts, and it’s loud in the tight space.
I stare out the window as the gates slide open, the Alliance gate, the one that used to make me feel safe when I was younger, the one that feels like a cage now.
We drive, and the world blurs past in a streak of streetlights, trees, and houses, like normal life is still out there.
Like it doesn’t know what’s happening in the backseat.
My mind doesn’t blur. My mind stays focused on one name, like it’s carved into my chest.
Gabriel Gonzalez.
The name feels like a storm you can see coming, and you can’t stop it.
My stomach knots. My throat goes dry. I press my fingertips into my palm, hard, like pain can anchor me.
It doesn’t work. My heart keeps thudding like it’s trying to break out of my ribs, and I hate that my body is already acting like I am in danger.
Because I am not in danger. Not yet.
I am being delivered. That’s worse.
The SUV turns into a private lot behind a building that looks normal from the street.
Old brick. A small sign. Like it’s just a business with office hours and regular people walking in and out.
From the back, it looks like power. More guards.
More cameras. More locks. I step out and the wind slaps my cheeks hard enough to sting, finding every gap in my coat like it’s searching for skin.
My hair blows across my face like it’s trying to hide me, like my body still believes there’s safety in invisibility.
The guards guide me toward a side door. Guide, not touch, but I feel their presence anyway, the way you feel a hand hovering above your neck.
* * *
Inside, it’s warm, and my skin prickles immediately.
Warm rooms make me nervous. They feel like places where time slows down on purpose, where someone is comfortable hurting you.
The hallway is quiet, thick carpet swallowing sound, no echo, and it reminds me of places where screams don’t travel.
My chest tightens and I force myself into the simplest rhythm I know. One breath. Two.
A woman in a fitted black suit meets me halfway down the corridor.
Hair pulled back. Makeup perfect. A tablet in her hand like it’s a weapon.
“Miss Amato,” she says, not Savannah, Miss Amato.
I nod once because nodding is safe. Nodding doesn’t invite questions.
It doesn’t invite punishments. She turns and I follow, and even the overhead lights feel staged, soft in a way that is meant to calm you while the cameras watch.
Everything is staged and every lens feels like an eye.
* * *
She stops at a door and opens it. “Cassio is waiting,” she says.
I walk in and find him near the window with his back to me, hands clasped behind him like he’s posing for a portrait.
He turns slowly when he hears me and looks unmoved, like he always does.
That’s how he convinces himself he is doing the right thing.
“Savannah,” he says.
I hate the softness because it makes me feel like there’s an option. There isn’t. I stop a few feet away. “Why are we here?” Cassio gestures toward a table where a stack of papers sits neatly arranged. The contract.
“Because you need to understand what you’re agreeing to,” Cassio says.
My mouth goes dry. “I’m not agreeing to anything.”
His eyes sharpen. “don’t do that.”
My voice shakes the smallest amount when I answer. I hate that he hears it. “don’t do what.”
Cassio walks to the table, picks up the top page, and taps it once with one finger. “Pretend you have choices,” he says.
My throat burns. I step closer, and the paper smells like it was freshly printed. The ink is a sharp scent in the air. Security requirements and public behavior expectations. Travel restrictions and communication limitations. Then I hit the line that makes my stomach turn.
It doesn’t say obedience outright. It would never be that honest. It hides behind legal wording and polite phrases. But it means the same thing.
I lift my eyes. “So I’m a prisoner.”
Cassio’s jaw tightens. “You will be protected.”
I laugh once, brokenly. “Protected from what. Living.”
Cassio’s eyes flash and his voice drops lower. “Protected from the Bratva.”
The word hits my nervous system like a spark. My heart beats harder. The air feels thinner. Cassio sees it, and he uses it. “You think Mikhail would hesitate to take you again,” he asks quietly.
Again. The word is a bruise pressed too hard. My throat closes. I stare at the paper because it’s easier than looking at his face.
Cassio steps closer. “This keeps them from reaching you.”
I swallow and the sound is loud in my head. “This keeps everyone from reaching me,” I whisper.
Cassio’s voice is sharp. “This is not about your feelings.”
I lift my eyes. “It’s always about my feelings. I’m just not allowed to have them.”
Silence stretches and Cassio holds my stare like he is waiting for me to fold. Then he says the ugly truth like he is doing me a favor. “You are the payment for this deal.”
I flinch and take a small step back. Payment. The words keep changing, but the meaning stays the same. I exhale slowly and try to breathe through the pressure in my chest, and then I do something reckless, and desperate.
“Let me talk to him,” I say.
Cassio’s eyes narrow. “You will.”
“No,” I press, refusing to look away. “Alone. Without your men. I want to see him before I’m trapped.”
Cassio watches me for a long moment. I force my spine straight, and my hands to unclench. If I am going to be sacrificed, I want to look the monster in the face first.
Cassio speaks slowly. “You think you can negotiate with a cartel boss.”
“I think I can try,” I answer.
He tilts his head slightly. “And if he says no.”
I stare at him and the truth slips out like a confession. “He won’t say no,” I whisper. “Because you’re handing him a prize.”
Cassio’s jaw flexes, “You will meet him tomorrow.”
My heart slams so hard it hurts. Tomorrow. So soon.
Cassio flips to the last page and slides it toward me, and there it is, the signature line, my name already typed above it like I already agreed.
My fingers twitch, not to sign, but to burn it, to destroy the lie that my life can be decided inside a contract. Cassio watches my hands like he knows exactly what I want.
“You will sign,” he says.
I lift my eyes. “No.”
The temperature in the room drops. Cassio steps closer and his voice lowers to the tone he uses on men who disappoint him. “You will sign,” he repeats, “because if you don’t, I will still deliver you. And you will have no safety net and no protection.”
Fear and anger churn in my stomach. And under it, something worse, that part of me knows he’s right.
My lips part and the word slips out before I can stop it. “Please.”
I hate it immediately.
Cassio’s eyes flicker, like the word hits something in him. He swallows and his face hardens again. “I can’t,” he says.
That is the moment I understand. He doesn’t mean he cannot. He means he will not. Because power always comes first.
I look down at the signature line again, my name, typed. My hand lifts and it shakes. I press my palm flat on the paper to steady it. The paper is cool, and smooth. I pick up the pen and it feels heavier than it should, like it’s full of blood.
I hold it over the line and my breath stutters. The room swims for one second, and in that second I smell bleach. I taste metal, and my mind tries to leave.
I squeeze my fist tight and force myself back to the here and now.
I set the pen down. I don’t sign.
Cassio’s gaze narrows. I look at him. “I will sign after I meet him,” I say. “Tomorrow.”
Cassio’s jaw clenches, and the silence stretches until he nods once. It’s not an agreement, it’s his strategy. It’s him deciding that giving me one illusion of control is worth getting the signature later.
“Tomorrow,” he says. “You can meet him.”
My chest tightens again. I swallow and nod once.
Cassio picks up another document and slides it toward me. “We leave at dawn.”
Dawn. The word makes me feel like I’m about to be executed.
Cassio turns toward the door and pauses with his hand on the handle. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks. “Don’t embarrass me,” he says.
I whisper, “I won’t.”
Cassio leaves and the door closes, and the click sounds like a lock.
And I realize what tomorrow really is. Tomorrow I will stand in front of Gabriel Gonzalez, and I will try not to shake. I will try not to disappear. I will try to survive a man who has never needed to be gentle.
* * *
Dear diary
My hands are shaking.
My fingers bruise as I try to pin the fear down.
My name is already written,
sign or not.
A gift or a threat.
A peek at the cage before it locks.
I feel sick. I feel small.
Peace, it tastes like surrender. In my mouth.
When I close my eyes, I smell bleach.
I hate that my body remembers for me.
If I speak, people die.
If I stay silent, I disappear.
Tomorrow I shall smile.
Tomorrow I will not break.