Chapter 14 Gabriel
Gabriel
The room smells like sweat and gun oil. My men sit straighter now, not because they respect the treaty, but because they respect the way I made them repeat themselves. Respect is easier when fear is attached to it.
Savannah sits beside me, holding herself together with sheer willpower. Her face is blank, but I see the tremor in her fingers when she thinks no one is watching. I see the way she keeps her shoulders tight like she’s bracing for impact.
Good. Bracing keeps you alive.
But it also keeps you trapped.
I speak to the room. “Two trucks hit,” I say. “Not randomly. It was a planned attack.”
No one argues. They know. They just don’t want to be the one accused.
I let my gaze crawl across them, slow. “Which means one of you is stupid,” I continue, “or one of you got paid off.”
A few men shift. Small, but I notice. Fear makes men move.
Savannah’s breath changes beside me. She feels it. She reads it. She’s clocking the exits, because she knows what men do in rooms when they smell weakness.
Juan stands near the wall, silent, arms crossed. Luca sits halfway down the table.
I tap the table once. “Find the leak,” I say. “Now.”
A man at the far end clears his throat. “With respect, Jefe.”
I look at him, and he goes quiet.
Good.
I lean back in my chair and I don’t raise my voice. “If you are loyal,” I say, “you will want the traitor dead as badly as I do.”
Silence, then they nod.
* * *
I stand. The meeting is done, not because we solved it, but because I’m moving to the next battlefield. The political one. The one with suits and smiles and knives hidden behind the word respect.
I look down at Savannah. “Come,” I say.
Her eyes lift, a flicker of panic, but she doesn’t argue.
Good.
She stands slowly like any sudden movement might get her punished, and my jaw tightens.
I hold my hand out.
She hesitates for half a second, then places her hand in mine. Her fingers are cold. My grip closes around her, firm, possessive, a reminder to every man in this room.
She’s mine.
We walk out together. The hallway feels narrower with eyes drilling into her back.
Whispers follow. Not loud, but I hear them anyway.
I don’t turn. I don’t need to. I know exactly who is brave enough to whisper when I’m walking.
* * *
We enter my office and the door shuts.
Savannah’s shoulders tense instantly at the click. I watch the reaction and keep my face neutral.
I go to the bar and pour water, set it in front of her. She stares at it like she’s deciding if it’s safe to accept anything that looks like kindness, and I don’t give her time to spiral.
“We’re meeting the Italians,” I tell her.
Her hand freezes over the glass. “Here,” she whispers.
“Yes,” I answer, and her face goes pale.
“The Alliance,” she says.
I step closer. “Cassio wants a sit down,” I say. “He thinks the hit was us. Or he wants to pretend he thinks it was us.”
Her throat tightens. “He’ll blame me.”
I tilt my head. “He won’t blame you.”
I pause, then give her the truth. “He’ll use you.”
Her eyes flash, a spark. Anger.
Good. Anger means she’s still in there.
Savannah’s voice is tight. “I don’t want to sit in another room like a prop.”
I step into her space, close enough that she feels the weight of what I am. “You are a prop,” I tell her. “Whether you want it or not.”
Her jaw tightens.
“But you will be a prop with a backbone.”
Her breath catches. I see fear, and I also see something trying to wake up behind it.
Pride.
I reach out slowly and touch the back of her neck with two fingers. Her body tenses, then steadies by a fraction.
“Tell me yes,” I say quietly.
She swallows. “Yes.”
I lower my hand. “Good,” I say. “Now listen.”
I lean in just slightly. “No one speaks over you,” I tell her. “No one touches you. No one corners you.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “What if they do,” she whispers, and my mouth tightens.
“Then I show them what happens,” I say.
She holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods once.
She’s trying.
It shouldn’t matter.
But it does.
* * *
A knock hits the door.
Juan steps in. “Guests arrived,” he says.
I nod once. “Bring them to the main room.”
Juan hesitates, his eyes flick to Savannah, reading her tension. He says nothing, but his posture shifts. Subtle.
Protection.
Savannah notices. Her breath changes. She looks at Juan like he’s a threat, then she looks back at me like I’m worse.
I lead her out into the main room, a neutral space inside my compound with a long table. This time the Italians sit on one side, cartel on the other, and Savannah is placed directly beside me.
Cassio sits at the head of the Italian side. His face is stone. His eyes aren’t. His eyes land on Savannah like he’s measuring damage, like he’s asking silently if she’s still her.
Savannah keeps her chin high.
Good girl.
Cassio’s gaze shifts to me. “Gabriel,” he says flatly.
“Cassio,” I answer.
No warmth. No friendliness. Just two men who know exactly how fast peace can turn into blood.
Cassio speaks first. “Two hits,” he says. “On a route flagged under treaty terms.”
I lean back. “Yes.”
Cassio’s jaw tightens. “My people think your people did it.”
I don’t blink. “My people think your people leaked the information.”
Cassio smiles without humor. “Then we agree on one thing,” he says.
“What,” I ask, and his eyes go cold.
“There’s a traitor.”
Finally. Truth.
The room stills. Cartel men shift. Italian men exchange glances. Everyone calculating who to blame first.
Cassio leans forward. “And because the treaty is new,” he continues, “we can’t afford suspicion.”
I nod once. “Agreed.”
Cassio’s eyes slide to Savannah. “And we can’t afford weakness,” he says.
Savannah’s posture stiffens. I feel it through the air. I don’t look at her yet.
Cassio speaks like he’s talking about the weather. “Your men are already talking,” he says to me.
I tilt my head slightly. “Yes.”
Cassio’s eyes narrow. “And her presence is the reason.”
There it is. He’s putting it on her. Not blaming her directly, but close enough.
Savannah’s breath catches.
I turn my head and look at Cassio slowly. “No,” I say.
Cassio’s jaw flexes. He lifts a brow like he’s challenging me, and I lean forward.
“They were talking before,” I say. “They’re using her as an excuse to show their disloyalty.”
Cassio’s eyes sharpen and he glances at Savannah again. “She’s a target,” Cassio says, and Savannah’s fingers curl in her lap.
I see it.
Cassio continues, voice flat. “If she’s hit, the treaty dies. If the treaty dies.”
“War,” I finish.
Cassio nods once, then he does something calculated.
He turns to Savannah directly. “Look at me,” he says.
Savannah freezes, her eyes flick to me. Silent question.
Do I have to.
I squeeze her hand under the table.
She looks at Cassio.
Cassio’s voice is low. “You’re going to speak,” he tells her.
Savannah’s mouth parts. No sound.
Cassio’s tone sharpens. “Tell them you’re fine.”
I see it for what it is. A performance. If she looks shaken, Cassio looks weak for giving her away.
I speak before she can. “She doesn’t perform for you,” I say.
The room goes still. Italian men stiffen. Cartel men go quiet.
Cassio’s eyes flash. “You’re in my war now,” Cassio says, voice tight.
I lean in slightly. “And she’s in my house,” I answer. “So watch your mouth.”
Silence.
Savannah sits rigid beside me, face blank, eyes wide.
* * *
Cassio holds my gaze, then he pushes. He says the thing designed to trigger violence.
“She’s not a virgin,” Cassio says flatly, loud enough for everyone to hear. “And your men will use it.”
The room freezes.
I feel Savannah go stiff like she’s been stabbed. Her breath stops. Her fingers turn icy cold in my hand.
My jaw locks.
Cassio’s eyes stay on mine. He’s testing me. He’s daring me.
Because Cassio knows exactly what that word does to women like her.
He knows, and he used it anyway.
I stand, slowly, and every man in the room goes still. Fear hits the air.
I don’t look at Cassio yet. I look at the Italians, then my men, then back to Cassio.
My voice is quiet, deadly. “If anyone speaks about my wife like she is spoiled goods,” I say, “I will bury them.”
Cassio’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes flicker. Small satisfaction.
He wanted me to say it. He wanted me to claim her publicly.
I turn to Savannah. Her face is pale, her eyes glossy, and she is fighting to breathe.
I keep my voice low enough only she hears. “Look at me,” I say.
She turns her eyes to mine, and I see the panic, the shame, the old wound reopening.
I hate it.
“That shame is not yours,” I say again, quietly.
Her throat works, her lips tremble.
I lift her hand and bring her knuckles to my mouth, kissing them once.
The room stills. Some men shift. Some glare.
Good. Let them choke on it.
Then I look back at Cassio. “We’re done,” I say.
Cassio’s eyes narrow. “We’re not.”
I lean in slightly. “Yes,” I say. “We are.”
* * *
I turn toward the door. “Juan.”
Juan appears instantly.
I speak without looking away from Cassio. “Escort the Italians out,” I say. “Now.”
Cassio stands too fast, his chair scraping. Italian men rise. Cartel men rise. The room becomes heated, a single spark away from blood.
Savannah’s hand grips mine hard, her nails biting my skin.
Fear.
I pull her up and position her behind my shoulder.
Cassio steps forward. His voice is low. “You don’t get to order my men.”
I step closer. “I just did,” I answer.
Cassio’s eyes flash, then he smiles without humor. “This treaty is going to break,” he says.
I hold his gaze. “Then we make the breaker bleed,” I say.
Cassio’s eyes slide past me to Savannah, one last look that says hold, survive, don’t embarrass me, and then he turns and walks out with his men.
The door shuts.
The room exhales, but the tension doesn’t leave, because Cassio didn’t come for peace.
He came to apply pressure.
To see if I’d fold.
To see if Savannah would crack.
And he got his answer.
* * *
I turn to Savannah. Her face is tight, her eyes wet, her breathing shallow like she can’t get enough air.
I step close and drop my voice. “You did good,” I tell her.
Her mouth opens but nothing comes out. Her throat works like she’s trying not to cry. Then she whispers, “He said it on purpose.”
“Yes,” I answer.
She swallows hard. “Why.”
I stare at her. “Because if you break,” I say, “he doesn’t have to admit he broke you.”
Her eyes widen. Truth. Ugly truth.
I lift my hand slowly. “Tell me yes,” I say.
Her lips tremble. “Yes.”
I touch her cheek with the back of my fingers. Gentle. A small reclaim after Cassio’s strike. Her breath shudders. I lean in and whisper against her temple. “I see you.”
Her body trembles, and something inside me tightens. Not just possession. Something deeper. A pull. A need. A line I didn’t expect to cross this fast.
I pull back and look at Juan. “Lock the compound,” I order. “No one in. No one out.”
Juan nods instantly.
I turn back to Savannah. “We’re going to your room,” I say.
Her voice is small. “Am I in trouble.”
That question hits like a punch. A grown woman asking like a kid, like punishment is always next. My jaw tightens. “No,” I say, firm. “You’re not.”
Her eyes search mine like she doesn’t believe it.
I take her hand and lead her down the hall. As we move, I feel eyes on her back again. Men hungry for weakness. I don’t look at them. I don’t need to.
Because now I know what this is. This isn’t only the Bratva hitting routes. This is pressure from every side. Cassio applying pressure. My men applying hate pressure. Bratva applying war pressure. And Savannah is the pressure point.
* * *
I open her door and step inside with her. The moment the door clicks behind us, her body flinches hard again. She’s trying, but the trigger is still there.
I keep my voice low. “Breathe,” I tell her.
Her eyes squeeze shut. “I can’t,” she whispers.
I step closer, careful. “Tell me yes,” I say.
There’s a pause, a shaky inhale. “Yes.”
I take her face in my hands and kiss her forehead first, then her cheek. Then I stop. I hold her gaze, not asking, letting her feel the restraint. Restraint is the only proof she can trust right now.
Her lips tremble. “You’re angry,” she whispers.
I nod once. “Yes.”
“At me,” she asks, terrified.
I shake my head slowly. “At anyone who thinks they can use you,” I say.
Her eyes fill again. I wipe the tear with my thumb.
“One more thing,” I tell her.
She swallows. “What.”
“Cassio just lit a fire,” I say. “And someone else is going to try to use it.”
Her breath catches.
“So tonight,” I continue, “you don’t leave my sight.”
Her eyes widen. Fear, then something else. A flicker of relief she hates herself for. I see it.
I lean in and murmur against her hair. “They’re going to try again,” I say. “And when they do.” I pull back and look into her eyes. “I want them close enough to watch me destroy them.”
Her breath shakes. Her fingers clutch my shirt.
* * *
And outside her door, a soft footstep. Not Juan.
Not my guard rhythm. Wrong. I go still. Savannah senses it instantly.
Her whole body stiffens, her eyes widening.
I lift one finger to my lips. Silent. I tilt my head toward the door.
A shadow passes under it, slow, careful, testing.
Someone is right outside. And they’re not supposed to be.