Chapter 10 Gabriel
Gabriel
Laughter is a warning. Not because it’s funny, but because men laugh when they think something is theirs.
I hear it in the hallway outside her door, low, soft, familiar. The kind of laugh men use when they think they’re untouchable. The stone under my boots is cold and the lights overhead hum faintly.
Four men. Not my top men. Not the ones who would challenge me in a room. These are the ones who challenge you when you’re turned away, the ones who test limits in the dark because they don’t have the spine to test them in daylight.
They don’t notice me at first, because I’m quiet when I want to be, because power doesn’t need noise.
One of them says something in Spanish, a joke about Italian blood.
Another says something about what she’ll look like in the dark.
A third laughs again, soft, pleased, hungry.
The fourth lets out a low laugh, amused.
My jaw tightens. Not rage. I’m keeping myself in check. Rage makes you sloppy. Control keeps you sharp.
I step forward and my boots sound once on the stone floor. The laughter dies instantly. Their bodies do that thing men do when they realize the rooms not safe anymore. Spines go straighter. Shoulders lift. Faces rearrange into respect like it’s a mask they can pull on in time.
Too late.
They lower their eyes. Good.
I stop a foot away. I don’t shout. I don’t threaten yet. I just look at them, slow and patient, like I have all the time in the world to decide how much pain they deserve. The air smells like cologne sprayed on over sweat, clean clothes, dirty intentions.
“What’s funny,” I ask.
Silence.
One of them swallows. “Nothing, Jefe.”
I tilt my head slightly. “You were laughing.”
He shakes his head too fast, fear. “We were… just talking.”
“Talking,” I repeat, my voice even. That makes their fear worse, because even means I am not losing control. It means I’m choosing restraint.
I take one step closer and their bodies stiffen. I don’t stop until I’m close enough to smell the panic on them, that sour edge under the fragrance, that truth men can’t hide.
“You will not speak about my wife,” I say softly.
One of them whispers, “Yes, Jefe.”
I let that hang, then I ask, “Do you know why.”
Silence again. They don’t answer because they don’t want to guess wrong. They know guessing wrong is how you end up kneeling on concrete with blood pouring from your body.
So I answer for them. “Because you are not the type of man who gets to touch what belongs to me.”
Belongs. That word lands exactly where it should. These men understand possession more than they understand love.
I look at the one who made the dirty comment. His eyes are down, his hands clenched at his sides. I reach out and lift his chin with two fingers. A slight pressure. Just enough to make him understand he has no choice. His eyes meet mine, wide and fearful.
Good.
“If you look at her like that again,” I tell him quietly, “I will remove your eyes.”
His breath catches like it hurts. His throat works. He nods fast.
I release his chin and step back, letting them breathe again. Then I give them the part they need most. “She is here because of a treaty,” I say. “A treaty that keeps you alive.”
They nod too quickly. Fear nods. Not loyalty.
I’m fine with fear. Fear lasts.
“So you will not break it with your stupidity,” I add.
One of them whispers, “We wouldn’t.”
I stare at him until his skin tightens and his shoulders tense. “Men always think they wouldn’t,” I say. “Until they do.”
I turn away and walk down the hall. They don’t move until I’m gone. Good. Fear learned.
* * *
My office is warmer, but it still smells like my world, stone, gun oil, and metal. Maps on the wall. Routes marked like veins. Everything has a place. Everything has a consequence.
Juan is already there, arms crossed, eyes sharp, jaw tight like he’s been biting down on anger instead of letting it speak. “You heard them,” he says.
“I did,” I answer.
Juan’s jaw flexes. “They’ll keep testing.”
“They can test,” I say. “They just won’t survive it.”
He watches me for a moment, then asks what he’s been holding back. “You’re really going to marry her.”
I lean on the desk and look at the map, territory lines, routes, Bratva fingerprints on everything like grease you can’t scrub out. “Yes,” I say.
Juan’s voice drops lower. “Your men will see it as weakness.”
I glance at him. “Then I’ll teach them what weakness looks like.”
Juan exhales slowly. “And her.”
Her. Savannah.
She didn’t ask for any of this, but that doesn’t change reality. Reality is blood and consequences.
“She will learn,” I say.
Juan’s eyes narrow. “Learn what.”
I pick up a pen and tap the map once. The sound is small, but it feels loud. “Where the power is,” I answer.
Juan studies me, then quieter: “She’s scared.”
I don’t respond. Fear is obvious. Fear doesn’t impress me. What impressed me was that she didn’t beg. What impressed me was that she kept her chin lifted while she signed her own freedom away. That tells me she has steel under the quiet.
Juan shifts his weight. “The Italians are sending escorts tomorrow.”
“I know,” I say.
His gaze sharpens. “You letting them into the compound.”
I look at him. “Only to the outer hall,” I answer. “Only under my rules.”
Juan nods once, then hesitates like he doesn’t want to say the next part. I wait. He finally speaks. “We got a message.”
I hold my hand out. Juan passes me his phone. The screen glow cuts across my knuckles. The message is from an unknown number, no name, no signature. Just words.
The wedding won’t happen.
My jaw tightens. Because a threat like that is either bluff, or a plan already moving. I type back with one hand.
Try.
Then I hand the phone back.
Juan watches me. “Could be Bratva.”
“Could be cartel,” I answer.
Juan’s eyes narrow. “Inside.”
“Yes.”
He exhales. “So what do we do.”
I walk to the window and look out at the compound, guards rotating, lights sweeping. “Double the wedding perimeter,” I say. “Switch the location last minute. No one knows the final route until we move.”
Juan nods. “And her.”
Somewhere in the house, Savannah breathes. And I can’t let that change.
My gaze holds on him for one beat. “She stays close,” I say. “Always.”
* * *
Juan studies my face. “Close like protection.”
I don’t blink. “Close like my possession,” I correct.
Juan nods once, because he understands. The safest place for her is near me, not because I’m kind, but because no one in this house is stupid enough to touch my wife while I’m watching. The problem is what happens when I’m not watching.
I step out of the office and walk back down the hall. Her door is closed. Quiet. I stand outside it for one second and listen. No movement. No sound. I imagine her inside, shaking in silence, swallowing fear because she thinks fear is weakness.
I knock once.
A pause. Then her voice, soft and tight. “Yes.”
I open the door slowly. I don’t step fully in. I keep my body in the doorway like I’m giving her space. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed like she doesn’t trust it. Her long black hair is down. Her face is pale. Her hazel eyes are too alert. She looks like prey trying to pretend she’s not.
I hold her gaze. “We got a message,” I say.
Her body stiffens instantly. “What message,” she asks.
I watch her carefully. I want to see panic. I want to see lies. “The wedding won’t happen,” I tell her.
Her breath catches. Her eyes widen for half a second. Hope flickers, then fear crushes it, because her mind knows what won’t happen means in our world. It means blood.
I watch her swallow. She whispers, “From who.”
“I don’t know,” I answer. I step one inch closer, not enough to crowd her, enough to make sure she hears me. “But listen to me. If something happens, you stay with me.”
She stares at me. Her throat works. I can see the war inside her face, trust versus survival, hope versus habit, telling versus silence. Finally she whispers, “Okay.”
The word is small, but it’s something. I nod once. “You don’t die for this treaty,” I tell her. “Do you understand me.”
Her lips part slightly, confusion, like she expected me to say the opposite, like she expected me to demand sacrifice.
I don’t wait for an answer. I turn to leave, then pause at the doorway and look back at her. “Sleep,” I say. “Because tomorrow we start making them fear us.”
Her eyes hold mine, and for one second I see it. Not softness. Steel. Buried deep, but there.
Good.
Because the wedding is coming, and someone is already trying to ruin it. And when they try, I will show them exactly what happens when you threaten what is mine.