Chapter 18 Gabriel
Gabriel
The convoy is a performance. A lie built with engines and bulletproof glass, designed to drag a traitor into the light and make him beg for mercy.
Juan stands over the map with Luca, both of them quiet and sharp, and I watch them the way I watch everything lately.
I watch the guards. I watch the cameras.
I watch the exits. I watch the angles. I don’t watch Savannah, not because I don’t want to, but because if I look at her too long right now, I’ll make decisions with my heart instead of my head.
And my head is the only reason she’s still here.
“ Three cars,” I say, tapping the route with my finger. “Decoy first. Shadow car behind. Safe car last.”
Luca’s gaze flicks up. “Why last?”
“Because most hits go for the front,” I answer. “And if they miss, they panic and scatter.” Juan nods once. “Counter snipers.” “Roof line,” I confirm. “Two teams. And we rotate them before we move.”
Luca’s mouth tightens. “Carson won’t risk a full breach again.”
“No,” I agree. “He’ll try to set a trap based on what he hears.” I point to a second line on the map. “So we tell him what we want him to hear.”
Juan’s eyes narrow. “Alliance safe house.”
“Yes.”
Luca exhales once, low. “Cassio won’t like that.”
“I don’t care what Cassio likes,” I reply.
“I care what Carson believes.” Juan glances toward the inner room where Savannah is locked behind another door.
“She knows,” Juan says quietly. “She knows enough,” I answer, because knowing too much gives fear new shapes, and fear already owns too many corners of her.
I move to the inner room door but I don’t open it yet. I pause, then knock once softly.
Her voice comes through, small. “Yes?”
“Open,” I say.
There’s a beat and then the lock clicks. She opens the door slowly. Her face is pale and her eyes are steady enough to fool a stranger, but not me. She’s dressed in black now, simple clothes, no jewelry except the ring, her hair pulled back.
She’s trying, and I feel a tight pull in my chest.
“We move tonight,” I tell her.
Her throat works. “Okay,” she whispers, like she’s swallowing glass. I step closer but stop at a distance.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I say.
Fear moves behind her eyes. “I’m thinking if you’re wrong, I die.”
My jaw tightens and I nod once. “Yes.” She flinches at my agreement, and good, because I don’t lie to her.
“And if I’m right,” I continue, voice steady, “Carson dies.”
Her breath stutters. She looks down, then back up. “And the other one,” she whispers. “The one who got away.”
My eyes narrow. “He dies too.”
She doesn’t look relieved. She looks tired.
I step closer by one foot, still not touching. “Do you want to do this?” I ask.
Her eyes widen slightly, not because the question is hard, but because she’s not used to being asked. Her lips tremble. “No.”
Then she adds, quieter, “But I will.”
I hold her gaze. “Why?”
“Because if I keep hiding,” she says, “they keep coming.” There’s a beat, and then she looks up at me like she hates herself for it. “And because you’ll do it without me anyway.”
I nod slowly. “Yes,” I admit. Truth again.
Her mouth tightens. “Then I’d rather be with you,” she finishes.
The sentence hits me hard. Not because it’s romantic. Because it’s a choice. A real choice, even if fear is pushing it. I lift my hand slowly and pause.
“Tell me yes,” I say.
Her breath catches. “Yes.”
I touch her cheek, one slow stroke with my thumb, then I step back. “Good,” I say. “Now listen.”
I explain the plan: We are taking three cars, a decoy car, a shadow car and a safe car. No one will know the routes outside of this room. Only Juan, Luca, and me. “And you,” I add.
Her eyes flicker.
“You’ll be in the safe car,” I continue. “If anything feels wrong, you press the button.”
She nods once, tight.
“Show me,” I say.
She lifts the device slightly, fingers shaking, and presses it lightly, just enough to feel the click, not enough to trigger. Her eyes lift to mine. “Like that,” she whispers.
“Yes,” I confirm, and then I give her the part she needs most. “No one touches you,” I tell her. “Not to move you. Not to guide you. Not to restrain you.” Her throat tightens. “If we have to move fast, I touch you,” I add. “Only me. You understand.”
Her lips part. A beat. Then she nods. “Okay.”
I hold her gaze for one long moment, then my voice drops. “And if we get separated, you don’t let anyone put a hand over your mouth.”
Her eyes widen and my jaw locks. “Bite,” I instruct. “Scratch. Break skin. Make noise.”
Her breath shakes. “I thought you said don’t scream.”
“That was to stay alive in that moment,” I answer. “This is a different moment.”
She swallows, her mind trying to categorize danger, trying to memorize rules like survival math. I step closer and keep my voice low. “Tonight, you are not alone,” I tell her. “You are not small. And you are not silent.”
Her eyes burn again. She blinks hard, forcing it back. Good. She’s holding herself together with nails and grit. I respect that. I also want to tear it out of her hands and carry it for her, but I can’t, not if I want her to heal.
Juan knocks once and enters without waiting. He speaks fast. “Cars are ready. Drivers switched. Roof teams rotated.”
I nod. “Good.”
Luca appears behind Juan, face hard. “We have movement.”
“What movement?”
“A rumor already spreading,” Luca says. “Alliance safe house transfer.”
My mouth tightens. That was Fast. Too fast. Which means Carson is listening, or Cassio’s side is leaking again, or both. I glance at Savannah. Her face goes paler. “They know,” she whispers.
“They suspect,” I correct.
I look at Juan. “Any internal pings?”
Juan nods once. “Two men requested off shift last minute. Both Carson’s friends.”
I exhale sharp. “Names.”
Juan gives them. I don’t repeat them. I don’t need to. They’re already dead in my head.
Luca steps closer. “We can grab them now.”
“No.”
Luca’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Because if we grab them,” I answer, “Carson disappears deeper.”
Luca’s jaw tightens. “So we let it play.”
“We let it play,” I confirm.
Savannah’s voice is small. “So we’re bait.”
I look at her. “No,” I say again. “We are the trap.” Her fingers tighten around the device.
I step closer to her and lower my voice. “Tell me yes.”
Her lips tremble. “Yes.”
I lean in and kiss her forehead. Her breath shudders. Then I step back and speak to Juan. “Move.”
Juan opens the inner room door first and scans, then he gestures. I position myself between Savannah and the hallway immediately. My body is the first wall. Juan is the second. Luca is the third.
We move through the corridor fast. Guards line the route. Every corner cleared. Every camera watched. Savannah walks, but I can feel her fear. Her steps are measured and quiet. She’s trying to look like she belongs.
* * *
I open the garage door to the convoy bay. The SUVs wait with engines idling, a low growl and hot exhaust, and the air smells like gasoline and rubber and night air. Drivers are in place. Roof team is in position.
“Safe car,” I say, keeping my voice low.
She swallows. “How do I know?”
“You don’t ,” I answer, because truth is the only thing that doesn’t collapse under pressure. Then I add, “You just trust me.” Trust is a word that hurts her, but she nods once anyway.
I open the rear door of the third SUV. I don’t push her in. I gesture. She climbs in stiff and careful, and I slide in beside her. Not across. Beside. My presence is the anchor.
Juan sits front passenger in this car. Luca is in the shadow car behind the decoy.
The doors shut. Locks click. Savannah flinches again, a full-body twitch like the sound is a whip. I watch it and say nothing. I just place my hand on her thigh over fabric, near her knee.
The convoy rolls. We exit through the inner gate, not the main, and we move through side streets, dark and quiet. Just the hum of engines and the pulse of war.
Savannah’s breathing is shallow beside me. Her hand is clenched around the device. She keeps looking at the windows like shadows will grow hands. I don’t tell her to stop. I want her aware. Awareness keeps her alive.
We hit the first turn point and everything feels normal, too normal. That’s how hits happen. In the quiet moments. The decoy SUV takes the lead turn. The shadow follows. We take the second turn.
And then the radio crackles.
Juan’s voice is steady, but I hear the edge. “Jefe,” he says, “we have a tail.”
My spine straightens. “Describe.”
“Two cars,” Juan replies. “Not ours. Keeping distance.”
Luca’s voice cuts in over the radio from the shadow car, tight. “One is Russian.”
Savannah’s breath catches beside me. Her nails dig into the device. I keep my hand on her thigh, firm now. “Stay,” I murmur to her.
“I am,” she whispers.
I speak into the radio. “don’t spook them,” I say. “Let them follow.”
Juan hesitates. “Jefe—”
“Let them follow,” I repeat, cold as death, because if they follow, they commit. And if they commit, we end this.
The convoy continues. The tail stays. Two blocks. Three. Four. Savannah’s breathing speeds. I feel her shaking now, small tremors. I lean in, my mouth near her ear. “Breathe in my rhythm,” I murmur. In. Out. In. Out. Her breath catches, then matches mine by fractions. Good. She’s still here.
We reach the staged choke point, a narrow stretch between two warehouses, perfect for an intercept, perfect for a lesson.
Juan’s voice drops. “They’re closing distance.”
I watch the side mirror. Headlights tighten in behind us. The decoy car slows slightly on purpose. The shadow car matches. Our safe car holds.
Savannah’s hand tightens. “Not yet,” I whisper. She nods, almost imperceptible.
The Russian car swings out first, aggressive, trying to cut off the lead. At the same time, the second car speeds toward our lane. That one is closer. That one is for us.
Savannah’s breath stops. Her body goes rigid. My hand tightens on her thigh.
“Now,” I say sharply.
Juan slams the brakes. Our SUV jerks. The car behind tries to adjust, too late. The shadow car cuts sideways and blocks, forcing the second car into the wall.
Metal screams. Glass explodes.
The Russian car tries to reverse and a gunshot cracks from the roof line. Then another. The Russian car’s tire blows. The vehicle fishtails, spins, and stops.
Silence hits for half a second.
Then chaos.
Shouts outside. Spanish. Russian. Footsteps. Savannah’s nails dig into the device. Her eyes are huge. “They found us,” she whispers.
“No,” I correct, voice low and lethal. “We found them.”
* * *
I open my door. Savannah jolts. I look at her. “Stay,” I order.
Her lips tremble. “don’t leave.”
My jaw tightens. I lean in and touch her cheek. “I’m right here,” I tell her. “don’t open this door for anyone but me.”
Her breath shakes. “Okay.”
I step out and cold night air slams into my lungs. Gunfire pops in the distance. My men are moving. The crash site is lit by headlights and muzzle flashes.
The second car’s driver door opens. A man stumbles out, bleeding. Not Russian. Cartel. He tries to run, but he doesn’t make it two steps before Juan tackles him and slams him to the ground hard.
The man spits blood, laughing like an idiot. Juan puts his gun to his head.
I walk over slowly.
The man’s eyes flick up to me and recognition hits his face. Then satisfaction, like he expected this moment. He coughs and laughs. “You think you won,” he rasps.
I crouch down. “Where is Carson?”
His grin widens through blood. “He’s already inside,” he whispers.
My blood turns to ice.
Inside. Not on the road. Not in a tail car. Inside my house. Inside my system. Inside my walls.
I stand fast and turn toward our safe SUV, toward Savannah.
And I see it.
Her door handle moves from the outside.