Chapter 12 Gabriel
Gabriel
The second she says Bratva, the treaty stops being paperwork and terms we agreed to.
It stops being something we can argue over in a room that smells like cologne and stale coffee.
It becomes real. Violence that demands an answer.
Retaliation. Blood for blood. Something I can’t shrug off, and I can’t ignore.
Personal is dangerous. Personal makes men sloppy, and I don’t allow sloppy. Not when she’s shaking in my arms like her body still can’t tell the difference between a husband and a captor.
I hold her anyway. Her breathing’s uneven, little catches in her chest I can feel against mine. Her fingers twist into my shirt and don’t let go, clutching the fabric like it’s the only thing stopping her from falling back into that time.
She flinches at the small stuff. A floorboard creaking in the hall.
A voice outside the suite door. A soft knock two rooms down.
She tries to cover it, but she can’t. It’s always there for a second, like her breath snags and her muscles brace before her mind catches up.
Her body’s trained. Not for love. Not for comfort.
For survival. And I hate it more than I should.
I pull back just enough to see her face. Her lashes are clumped together from tears she’s pissed about. Her jaw’s tight. Her mouth’s pressed into a hard line, like she’s punishing herself for falling apart for a second.
Good. Anger’s life. I can feel it coming off her in little sharp waves, like heat under her skin, like she’s forcing air back into her lungs. Her hands shake, but they’re not limp. Her eyes still hold fire. Anger means she’s here with me, in this room, not somewhere else.
“Listen,” I say, and I keep my voice low because I have to. If I get loud, her body’s going to read it as danger. Her eyes lift to mine, wet and furious, and I don’t flinch. I don’t crowd her. I don’t move too fast. I stay right where I am. I let her see I’m not the threat.
“You will sleep,” I tell her. “Even if it’s just an hour.
Even if you fight it the whole time.” I keep my voice low.
“You will eat. Something small. A few bites.” My thumb brushes her knuckles where she’s still gripping my shirt.
“And you will breathe. In and out. Right now. You’re not back there. You’re here with me.”
Her throat moves like she’s forcing it to cooperate, and she nods once. Small, barely there, but it’s something.
I turn my head toward the door. “Juan.” I call out.
I can feel him outside. Juan doesn’t stand guard like a normal man.
He turns into a shadow the second he’s told to protect something.
The hall goes too quiet, like the air knows better than to move.
No shifting feet. No throat clearing. Just that faint, quiet presence on the other side of the door.
The kind of man who doesn’t make noise unless the noise is necessary.
And if you ever hear him, it’s already too late for you.
The door cracks open and his eyes flick to Savannah.
The hallway light spills in, and for a second I hear the soft scrape of his boot against the floor like he’s braced to move, but he won’t do a damn thing until I say so.
Something shifts in his face, barely there.
Like he’s seen this before and he knows exactly what it is.
He has. Every man in this world has.
Women like her.
The ones who survive don’t talk about them. They learn to keep it locked down, to swallow it, to move on like nothing happened because that’s the only way they get to keep breathing. The ones who did it don’t admit it. They call it a misunderstanding. A lesson. Anything except what it is.
“Jefe,” Juan says.
“Two things,” I tell him. My voice stays low, but it doesn’t soften. It fills the doorway anyway. “First, no one comes down this hall.”
Juan’s already still, but I see the shift in him. The way his shoulders set. The way his hand flexes once at his side. He nods once.
“And no one says Bratva around her again unless it’s necessary,” I add. “No stupid comments from men who want to feel important.”
His eyes harden in agreement.
“Second,” I say, “get Luca. Now.”
Juan doesn’t waste a word. He turns and moves, fast, and the door eases shut behind him with a soft click that sounds too loud in this silence.
The click makes Savannah stiffen. I notice. I don’t comment. Commenting makes it real, and she’s already drowning.
* * *
I step away from her slowly, and I don’t turn my back. Not because I fear her, because her instincts treat movement like an attack. I keep my hands visible, my pace slow, and I walk to the small table to pour water again
The glass clinks softly and her shoulders tighten.
I set the water down where she can see it, then pick up the phone Cassio gave me. The direct line. I stare at the screen for one second, then I call.
It rings once, twice. Cassio answers on the third.
“Gabriel.”
No greeting. No warmth. Just business. No wasted words.
I keep my voice even. “Your sister told me.”
Silence.
Cassio goes quiet on the line, then, “What,” he says.
“She was held,” I continue. “As a child. Bratva.”
Now every clause in this treaty won’t be a debate or a warning. It will be immediate retribution.
The silence grows heavier.
Cassio’s voice drops. “She said that.”
“Yes.”
“And.”
“And now I understand why she flinches when a door shuts.”
His breathing steadies again. He learned how to bury rage long ago. You don’t lead an empire without learning to bleed in silence.
“What do you want,” Cassio asks.
I don’t smile. I don’t play. “I want the truth,” I say. “How long.”
He pauses, then answers like it hurts him to say it out loud. “A year.”
A year. A child. A year is a lifetime in hell.
My jaw tightens. “She didn’t say his name,” I say slowly. “But she said his men.”
Cassio’s voice becomes steel. “Yes.”
I exhale once, keep my tone level. “You should have told me.”
Cassio laughs once. Short. Bitter. “Would it have changed your decision.”
I don’t answer, because the truth is no. The treaty would still happen. The war would still happen. But I would have approached her differently.
Cassio speaks again. “You’ll keep her safe.”
Not a question. A demand.
I hold the phone tighter. “I already told you the consequence,” I say. “If she dies, your world burns.”
Cassio’s voice turns sharp. “Not if. When your men test her.”
“They won’t,” I cut in.
Cassio pauses, then says low and lethal, “They already do.”
I stare at the wall because he’s right. Men don’t need permission to be cruel. They just need opportunity, and in a house like mine, opportunity is always circling.
“I’m handling it,” I say.
Cassio’s voice stays cold. “You better.”
I end the call. No goodbye. Goodbyes are for people who expect peace.
I set the phone down and look back at Savannah. She’s standing by the bed, hands clasped like she doesn’t know what to do with them now that she spoke, like she’s waiting for punishment.
I hate that.
I step closer again, slower. “I’m not angry,” I tell her.
Her eyes flicker with disbelief.
“Not at you,” I add.
Her throat works. “Then what happens,” she asks, and the question is small, but it feels like she’s bracing for a blow.
I hold her gaze. “The Bratva doesn’t get to breathe around you,” I say.
Her shoulders tense. I can see her trying to decide if that’s a comfort or threat.
It’s both.
A knock comes.
Juan’s voice through the door. “Luca’s here.”
I glance at Savannah. “You can sit,” I tell her.
She doesn’t. Sitting means trusting.
I open the door.
* * *
Luca stands there composed, but his eyes are sharp.
They cut past me into the room and land on Savannah.
He takes it in fast. The tears she tried to hide.
The way she’s holding herself stiff, like relaxing is not an option.
My jacket off. The bed still made, untouched, like nobody even tried to pretend this is normal.
He doesn’t ask questions. Smart.
“Jefe,” he says quietly.
I step into the hall and close the door behind me.
Luca leans in. “We have movement.”
My face stays blank. “Talk.”
“Two trucks hit,” Luca says. “In the last hour.”
That’s not random. That’s timing. They’re not testing the treaty. They’re testing me.
My jaw tightens. “Where.”
“Border route,” he replies. “The one we marked as safe under the treaty terms.”
Safe. There is no safe.
“How.”
Luca’s voice drops. “Inside information.”
Of course. Traitor. Leak. Intercept. Maybe one of them. Maybe all of it stacked together, like they planned it that way. A mouth that talked. A phone that got tapped. A message that never stayed private.
Juan steps closer behind Luca, his face hard. “One driver is alive,” Juan says.
I turn my head. “Bring him.”
Juan nods and disappears.
Luca continues, “Also, there’s online chatter. It’s quiet. Someone’s pushing a rumor.”
“What rumor.”
Luca’s eyes narrow. “That you married outside blood because you’re weak. That the Italians own you now.”
Owned again. The poison word. It spreads fast. It’s designed to ignite my men, isolate Savannah, split the treaty from the inside.
I nod once. “Good.”
Luca blinks. “Good?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Because whoever pushing that rumor wants a reaction.” I step closer. “And they’re not going to get a public scene. They’re going to get their men dragged into the dark where no one can hear them scream.”
Luca’s mouth tightens. “What do you want me to do.”
“Find the source,” I say. “Follow the rumor. Who said it first. Who repeated it. Who benefits.”
Luca nods. “And Cassio,” he adds. “I’ll handle Cassio,” I say.
Luca hesitates. “He’ll think it’s your side.”
I tilt my head slightly. “Let him.”
Luca leaves.
* * *
I turn back to the door, open it, and step into the room again.
Savannah hasn’t moved. Still standing. Still braced. Still waiting like she expects the world to hit her again because she dared to speak.
I walk closer and stop two feet away. “There was an attack,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen. “Here?”
“Not here,” I answer. “On a route.”
She swallows and guilt slips into her voice like it was trained into her. “Because of me.”
I stare at her. That guilt is a wound. Women like her were trained to carry men’s violence like it’s their fault.
“No,” I say firmly. “Because of war.”
Her eyes drop.
I step closer and lower my voice. “But they’ll use you,” I add. “They’ll try.”
Her breath stutters.
I reach out slowly and take her hand. She flinches, small this time, but she doesn’t pull away.
I lift her hand and look at the ring. My ring on her finger. Proof the whole world can spot. A reason for enemies to circle.
“A lot of men will want to see you bleed,” I say, and her eyes lift to mine, wide and glossy. “If your blood spills, the ceasefire dies with it.”
Her throat works as fear rises, but under it there’s steel.
“Then don’t let me bleed,” she whispers.
Something shifts in my chest. It’s small, but I feel it anyway, like a muscle tightening for the first time in a long time.
The words hit like a spark. A line in the sand. A woman who’s been silent for years just claimed something like she has the right to claim it.
I stare at her for a long moment. The room is too quiet. I can hear the air vent kick on and the soft rustle of fabric when she breathes. Her eyes don’t look away, even though her throat keeps working like she’s fighting herself.
Then I give her the truth. “I won’t.”
And that shift in my chest turns into something heavier. Not soft. Just real. Like a decision locking into place.
Savannah swallows. “They’ll hate me.”
I tilt my head. “Let them.”
Her eyes flicker.
I step closer again, keep my voice low. “You don’t make yourself smaller,” I tell her. “Not in my house.”
Her lips part, and I can see her fighting the instinct to disappear. To go quiet. To survive by being nothing.
I lift my hand and touch her cheek with the back of my fingers.
Her body tenses, then eases by half a fraction.
I watch her reaction. “Tell me yes,” I say quietly.
Her eyes widen. “Yes to what?”
“To me touching you,” I answer, and the room goes still.
She looks terrified, not of me, of the idea that she can choose. Choice is a weapon. Choice is also a risk.
Her throat works, then she whispers, “Yes.”
I slide my hand into her hair gently and guide her closer. My mouth brushes her temple first.
She trembles.
I stop immediately and pull back half an inch. “You’re here,” I tell her. “Breathe.”
She inhales, shaky, thin, real.
Then I kiss her cheek. Softly.
Her eyes close and a tiny sound escapes her throat like she’s trying not to make noise, and rage rises hot and molten inside me. Not at her. At the men who taught her to silence herself. At the world that took a child and turned her into a woman who asks permission just to breathe.
I press my forehead to hers. “You don’t have to be quiet with me,” I murmur.
Her breath stutters.
I don’t push. Her body isn’t ready and I can feel it, so I do the one thing that proves I mean what I said.
I step back. I release her.
I pour more water and place it in her hand, then point to the bed. “Sleep,” I tell her.
Her eyes flicker, confused. “You’re not…”
“Not tonight,” I cut in.
Relief hits her so fast it scares her.
I move to the couch in the sitting room, pick up a blanket, and lie down like it’s normal, like I’m not a man who takes what he wants.
I look at her over the back of the couch. “Lock your door,” I tell her.
Her brows knit. “You said you have the key.”
“I do,” I say. “But you’ll sleep better hearing the click.”
Her throat works and she nods once.
She moves toward the bedroom door slow, cautious, like she expects this to become a trick. She steps inside and pauses, looks back at me, and her voice is barely a whisper.
“Why.”
One word, but it means everything.
My answer is ugly. My answer is real.
“Because you’re mine,” I say quietly. “And I don’t break what belongs to me.”
Her eyes widen. Fear, and something else. A crack in her armor. A fragile, dangerous curiosity.
She closes the door. I hear the lock click.
* * *
The compound hums outside this suite. Guards rotating and radios whispering and gates clinking.
War hums too, and somewhere beyond these walls someone is smiling because the first hit landed after the wedding.
They think it’s working. They think the pressure will split us. They think Savannah will crack. They think I’ll react loudly.
They don’t understand what they just did.
They didn’t weaken me. They gave me a reason.
Now I will hunt whoever is trying to destroy the treaty, and I will make them regret choosing my wife as the battlefield.
They wanted her to be the weak spot. I’m going to make her the reason it holds.
And if they try to take her, if they try to touch her, they won’t just die. They’ll beg for a quick death they won’t get.
Because that’s what happens when you threaten what belongs to me.