Chapter 16 Gabriel
Gabriel
She’s sitting in my chair like she’s afraid she’s breaking a rule just by existing, her body tense like she’s waiting for punishment any second.
There’s blood on her elbow and a bruise already forming along her ribs.
My ring is clenched in her fist like it’s the only thing keeping her in the room, like if she opens her hand and lets go, she falls.
I crouch in front of her. I need to see her breathing.
Because if she stops breathing, the treaty ends and I burn the world.
Her eyes are unfocused. Not blank. Gone.
That’s the part that scares me, not the blood, not the rope, not the fact that men got inside my compound and didn’t die before they crossed the threshold.
It’s her mind leaving her body. Trauma doesn’t always scream.
Sometimes it just exits. It goes quiet. It goes somewhere a man like me can’t reach with threats or guns.
I tilt her chin up with two fingers, slowly. “Look at me,” I say. Her eyes lock on mine with a delayed blink, like she’s swimming through fog. Good. She’s still here.
“Tell me where it hurts,” I say.
Her lips part. Nothing at first, then her voice comes out small and raw. “Everywhere.” My jaw tightens. I keep my voice low. “Ribs.” She nods once. “Elbow.” She nods again. “Head.” Her throat works. “A little.”
I lean back and exhale slow through my nose, then I look past her to Juan, standing by the door like a statue with murder in his eyes.
“Get the medic,” I say. Juan nods and disappears, and Savannah’s eyes flick to the door the second he moves.
Fear spikes. Her shoulders lock. Her breath catches.
I watch it happen and file it away. Movement equals danger for her. Doors equal pain. Good to know.
I stand and cross to the bar, the room too quiet, I pour water.
The glass clinks once, I bring it back and set it in front of her.
She doesn’t take it. She’s still clutching the ring, knuckles white, palm smeared red.
The gold is streaked with blood that isn’t hers, and it turns my stomach in a way I don’t allow.
I sit on the edge of the desk and stare at her hands.
“You didn’t drop it,” I say. Her eyes flicker.
“What.” “My ring,” I clarify. “You held it.” Her throat works.
She looks down like she forgot she was holding it, then she whispers, “You gave it to me.” “Yes,” I answer, and her fingers curl tighter around it.
I nod slowly. “That was a mistake.” Her head snaps up.
“Did I,” she starts. “Not you,” I cut her off, and her breath stutters.
I keep my voice quiet and lethal. “Me.” Her eyes widen slightly.
“Why.” Because it tells the enemy exactly what matters.
Because now they know I’ll trade my pride for her survival.
I don’t say all of that. I just say, “Because now they know how to send a message.”
Savannah’s lips tremble as she looks down at the ring again.
“Was it the Bratva,” she whispers. I stare at the wall behind her for one second.
The truth is complicated, and I don’t give her complicated when she’s still trying to stay inside her skin.
“Bratva fingerprints are on everything,” I say.
“But this…” I pause. “This felt like cartel.”
Savannah’s eyes widen. “Your men.” “Not all,” I correct.
“One.” Her throat tightens. “Who.” “I don’t know yet,” I say, and that’s what makes my skin crawl.
A man got through my compound. That means someone helped, or someone close watched.
Copied patterns. Memorized my guard rotation the way predators memorize prey.
Either way, someone believes they can come into my house and take what is mine.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, dialing Luca.
He answers instantly. “Jefe.” “Talk,” I reply.
Luca’s voice is tight. “We found something.” “What.” “Rope brand,” he says.
“Not Bratva. Local. From our side. Bought two days ago.” My jaw locks.
“By who.” Luca pauses half a beat, then says the name that makes my blood go cold. “Carson.”
Carson. A captain. A trusted one. A man who has sat at my tables, eaten my food, carried my orders, looked me in the eye and acted loyal like it meant something.
My fingers tighten around the phone. Savannah watches my face.
Her voice is small. “Who is that.” I don’t answer yet.
I speak into the phone, voice low. “Bring him.” Luca hesitates. “Jefe, he’s not here.”
My stomach turns. “What do you mean.” Luca’s voice drops lower.
“He left the compound fifteen minutes before the breach.” Something cold slides down my spine.
A plan. Timed. He left before the attack so he’d have an alibi.
Or he left because he didn’t want to watch.
Either way, he’s gone. I close my eyes for one second and breathe in through my nose.
“Lock the city,” I order. “Every route. Every safe house. Every border contact.” “Yes, Jefe.” “And Luca.” “Yes.” “Bring me whoever helped him,” I say.
“I don’t care if you have to peel the skin off their bones.
” Luca goes quiet. Then, “Understood.” I end the call.
Savannah is staring at me, face pale, eyes wet again. Her voice is barely there. “Someone in your house tried to take me.” I step closer and crouch again so my height doesn’t swallow her whole. “Yes,” I say. Her throat works. “Because of what Cassio said.” Not a question. A conclusion. She’s smart.
I nod once. “He lit the fire.” Savannah’s lips tremble.
“So he did this.” I stare at her. This is the dangerous part.
Cassio can be cruel but this was tactical.
This was a cartel move. I shake my head slowly.
“Cassio pressured,” I say. “He didn’t plan the rope.
” Her breath catches. “So it’s your men.
” “One,” I correct again. “And whoever he paid.”
Savannah looks down at her hads. “I knew it,” she whispers.
My jaw tightens. “Knew what.” Her eyes lift to mine, glossy and haunted.
“That it doesn’t matter who the husband is,” she whispers.
“They still touch you when he’s not looking.
” The sentence hits me like a fist, because it’s true, because it’s what my world does to women, because she’s saying it like she’s already resigned, like she’s already making peace with being hunted.
Something twists in my chest. Rage. A rage that sharpens my vision. “No,” I say. Savannah flinches, so I soften my tone. “No,” I repeat. “Not in my house.” She swallows hard. “You can’t be everywhere.” I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a vow. “Then I make them too afraid to breathe near you.”
Her eyes widen, fear first, then something else. A flicker of belief she doesn’t want because belief is expensive and belief gets punished in her world.
A knock hits the door. Juan returns with a medic, and the medic is a woman.
I did that on purpose. Savannah’s body tenses, but not as violently.
Good. Juan stands behind the medic like a wall while the medic moves carefully toward Savannah.
Savannah’s breath catches, and I step in front of the medic for one second, looking at Savannah.
“Tell me yes,” I say quietly. Her lips tremble. “Yes,” she whispers. I step aside.
The medic checks her elbow first, then her ribs.
Savannah winces. I watch every expression, every breath, every involuntary flinch.
“Bruised, not broken,” the medic says softly.
Good. Savannah’s shoulders drop a fraction as the medic cleans the cut on her elbow.
Savannah’s eyes squeeze shut, her breath shaking like she’s trying not to be heard.
I hold my hand out. She hesitates, then places her hand in mine.
Her fingers are cold again. I squeeze once.
The medic finishes and leaves quickly. Juan stays.
* * *
I look at Juan. “Bring the driver,” I say.
Juan nods. “He’s waiting.” “Good. Bring him in.” Juan opens the door and pulls a man inside, one of the drivers from the hit.
He’s pale, shaking, bandaged, and he drops to his knees the moment he sees me.
“Jefe,” he says, voice cracking. I don’t waste time. “Who gave you the route.”
He shakes his head hard. “I don’t know.” I step closer.
“Yes,” I say. “You do.” His eyes dart to Savannah for half a second, then down again.
He’s scared of her presence. Good. Fear makes men talk faster.
“Jefe, I swear.” Juan moves one step forward.
The driver flinches. I hold up one hand, stopping Juan, then crouch down to the driver’s level. “Look at me,” I say. He does, shaking.
“You’re going to tell me,” I say quietly, “and you’re going to live.
” His breath catches, hope cheap and immediate.
“Carson,” he whispers. My jaw locks. There it is again.
I nod slowly. “What did he say.” The driver blurts, “He said the Italians asked. He said Cassio needed confirmation of the route for appearances, so he could make it look like we’re cooperating.
” My eyes narrow. A lie built on Cassio’s pressure.
Smart. The driver keeps going, desperate.
“He said it was for peace. He said you approved it.”
I didn’t.
I look at Juan. His face is stone. He already wants to kill Carson. Good. I look back at the driver. “Did you see Carson with anyone.” The driver swallows. “A man. Not ours. White. Russian accent.”
This isn’t just cartel betrayal. This is cartel betrayal funded by Bratva. A trap. They want my men to hate Savannah, blame Cassio, and turn on the treaty. They want me isolated. They want Cassio enraged. They want war.
War profits them.