Chapter 28 Gabriel
Gabriel
Romano’s story spreads fast because men are weak enough to need an excuse. Give them one ugly little story and suddenly they feel entitled. Entitled to control. Entitled to punish. Entitled to tighten security until it starts to look a lot like ownership.
I stand in my office with Luca, Juan, and two of my most trusted guards. Maps on the desk. Church floor plan on the screen. Photos of entrances. Side doors. Sacristy access. Basement corridor. Every place a man can hide. Every place a man can wait.
Savannah is upstairs. I can feel her presence like a pull in my chest.
Luca points to the east corridor on the plan. “This is where staff comes in,” he says. “Kitchen entrance. Service hallway.”
I nod once. “Lock it,” I say.
Luca looks up. “Fully.”
“Fully,” I repeat.
Juan speaks without emotion. “Cassio will hate that.”
I don’t blink. “Cassio can hate it,” I say. “He can also attend alive and stay alive.”
Juan nods slightly.
Luca scrolls to another image, a side door with an old stone step. “Side confessional entrance,” Luca says. “Priest uses it sometimes.”
“Only we use it,” I reply.
Luca’s mouth tightens. “We can’t tell a priest what to do.”
I look at him. “We can,” I say. “We just do it politely with armed men standing behind us.”
Luca exhales once. “Understood.”
Juan shifts his weight. “Romano will still find a way,” Juan says.
I look down at the plan. “He won’t find a way inside,” I say. “He’ll try to create chaos outside.”
Luca nods. “Press.”
“Crowd,” Juan adds. “Protesters.”
I nod once. “Then we lock down the streets,” I say.
I tap the map. “Three rings,” I order. “Outer ring is traffic and crowd control. Middle ring is guest screening. Inner ring is sacred ground.”
Luca writes it down.
Juan’s eyes flick to the screen. “What about Cassio’s men,” he asks. “He’ll demand his own security.”
“He can bring them,” I say. “They answer to my plan once they cross the gate.”
Juan’s jaw tightens. “That will be a problem,” he says.
I glance up. “Then let it be a problem,” I answer.
Because problems are better than funerals. Because I already watched my wife’s hands shake while she said no. And I refuse to let old men turn that bravery into entertainment.
Luca’s phone buzzes. He checks it. His expression changes.
“Speak,” I say.
Luca holds up the screen. Message from Cassio. A time. A location. And a line beneath it.
Bring her. Alone.
My blood goes cold. Not because Cassio asked. Because he thinks he can. Because he thinks a woman can be summoned like property and delivered like a package.
Luca watches my face carefully. Juan’s eyes harden.
I speak softly. “No,” I say.
Luca hesitates. “He’ll insist.”
I stare at the message. “I don’t care,” I say.
Juan’s voice is low. “If you refuse, he escalates.”
I lift my eyes. “If I accept, he tests her,” I reply. “And I don’t allow tests on her body.”
Luca swallows. “We need a strategy.”
“We have one,” I say.
I grab my phone and type. Two lines.
She is not meeting you alone. If you need to speak to her, you speak in front of me.
I send it.
The room goes quieter, like the air heard me and decided to hold its breath. Luca exhales like he was holding his. Juan’s mouth tightens.
“Cassio will see that as disrespect,” Juan says.
I look at him. “Cassio will survive disrespect,” I say. “Savannah might not survive another control game.”
Juan nods slowly, because he understands one thing. When a woman has been captive, the smallest control can feel like the same cage.
Luca shifts the church plan again. “We also need to talk to the priest,” Luca says.
“Yes,” I reply.
Juan’s eyes narrow slightly. “That will be delicate,” he says.
“It will be paid,” I correct.
Juan nods once. Money opens doors. Fear keeps them open.
I walk toward the window and look out at the compound. The sun is up but the light feels thin, like it doesn’t reach the corners. The air smells like hot metal and dust, like weapons oiled too early in the day. Everything tight.
But tight is not enough. Because the breach proved something. Someone is willing to crawl into my walls. And if they are willing to crawl into my walls, they are willing to crawl into a church too.
I turn back. “Bring me the guest list,” I say.
Luca nods and pulls it up. Names. Family heads. Wives. A few cousins. A handful of old men who think they are harmless. They never are.
And one name jumps out like a stain. Romano Bellini.
I stare. Luca watches.
“He put himself on it,” Luca says quietly. “Cassio approved.”
I don’t react. “I know,” I say.
Juan’s voice is flat. “You want him blocked.”
“Yes,” I reply.
Luca hesitates. “Cassio will say no.”
I look at Luca. “Then Cassio can host Romano at his own house,” I say. “Not at my wife’s ceremony.”
Juan nods once. Luca writes it down.
My phone buzzes again. Cassio. Short message.
You forget who she belongs to.
My jaw tightens so hard my teeth ache. Belongs. That word. The word men use when they want control without saying it.
Luca watches me carefully. Juan doesn’t. Juan already knows what I am. He just waits for direction.
I type back.
She belongs to herself. And she is my wife. Test that and we will all bleed.
I send it.
Silence. The air in the room becomes heavier. Luca swallows. Juan’s mouth twitches slightly.
Because in this world, lines only matter if someone is willing to die on them.
I look at Luca. “Priest meeting today,” I say.
Luca nods. “Time.”
“Now,” I answer.
Luca moves instantly.
Juan steps in front of me. “One more thing,” Juan says.
I pause. “What,” I ask.
Juan’s eyes are hard. “Romano’s rumor,” he says. “It’s not only about her history.”
I stare. “What else,” I ask.
Juan says it straight. “He’s implying she’s still connected to Russians. That she’s an asset.”
My blood goes colder. Asset. Spy. That is how you get a woman killed in a church. That is how you turn a ceremony into a firing squad.
I nod slowly. “Good,” I say.
Juan blinks once. “That’s good,” Juan repeats, confused.
I look at him. “Because it tells me Romano’s endgame,” I say.
Juan’s eyes narrow. “He wants Cassio to see her as a threat,” Juan says.
“Yes,” I reply.
“And if Cassio sees her as a threat,” Juan continues, “Cassio will control her.”
“Or remove her,” I finish.
Luca’s face tightens. “We need to stop this now,” Luca says.
I nod. “We will,” I reply.
Then I say the part none of them expect. “We don’t defend her,” I say. “We redefine her.”
Juan’s eyes narrow. Luca’s voice is cautious. “How.”
I look up the stairs. Savannah.
“We give her a public moment,” I say. “That makes Romano’s rumor look pathetic.”
Luca blinks. “Public moment.”
Juan’s eyes sharpen. “What kind.”
I turn back. “The only kind that matters to old men,” I say. “A vow.”
Luca’s mouth tightens. “A vow in church. That is already part of the ceremony.”
“No,” I reply. “A different vow.”
Juan watches me. “A vow from her,” Juan says.
I nod once.
Luca’s breath catches. “She’s not ready,” he says.
I look at him. “She said no to Cassio,” I remind him. “She told Romano not to talk to her.”
Luca swallows. “That was in private,” he says.
I lean in slightly. “And she still shook,” I say. “And she still chose.”
Juan’s jaw tightens. “She can do it,” Juan says quietly.
Luca exhales. Then he nods. “Then we protect the moment,” Luca says.
“Yes,” I reply. “We build the entire day around one sentence.”
And as I say it, my chest tightens in a way I don’t like. Because planning a church like it’s a battlefield is one thing. Planning my wife’s words like they’re a weapon is another.
She shouldn’t have to be brave for men to leave her alone. But this world doesn’t respect softness. This world only respects what bites back.
* * *
I leave the office and head upstairs. To check on her. Because her body is not a weapon. Her body is hers.
I find her in the small sitting room, curtains half open, light on her face. She’s holding the pendant between her fingers like a coin. Her eyes lift when I enter. She looks tired, but steady.
That steadiness is new. it’s fragile. And I will protect it like a loaded gun.
I stop in the doorway. I don’t crowd her. I keep my voice low.
“How are you,” I ask.
She swallows. “Angry,” she whispers.
My chest tightens. “Good,” I say.
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Good,” she repeats.
I nod. “Anger is yours,” I say. “Fear is theirs. Anger is yours.”
She looks down. Her fingers tighten on the pendant. Then she whispers, “I picked my sentence.”
I don’t move. I don’t rush. I just ask, “Do you want to tell me.”
She inhales shakily. “Not yet,” she whispers.
I nod immediately. “Okay,” I say.
Her eyes flick up, surprised. “You’re not going to ask again,” she whispers.
I step closer, slow. I stop at a respectful distance.
“No,” I say. “Because it’s yours.”
Her throat works. Her voice is smaller. “What if I forget it,” she whispers.
I shake my head once. “You won’t,” I say.
She stares. “How do you know,” she asks.
I answer honestly. “Because it came from your blood,” I say. “Not your mouth.”
Her eyes burn. She looks away fast.
Then she whispers, “Cassio wants to see me alone.”
I go still. “You heard,” I say.
She nods. “I heard Luca,” she admits. “And I heard the phone buzz. And my stomach dropped.”
My jaw tightens. “I told him no,” I say.
She swallows hard. “And he’ll be mad,” she whispers.
I nod once. “Yes,” I say.
She looks at me again. “Will he punish you,” she asks.
I hold her gaze. “No,” I answer.
Her brows knit. “He’s Cassio,” she whispers.
I lean closer, voice low. “And I’m Gabriel,” I say. “He can posture. He can threaten. But he cannot take what is mine.”
Her eyes flicker. Then she whispers, “I’m not yours like that.”
I pause. I nod. “You’re right,” I say. “You’re not mine like property.”
I lift my hand slowly. I cup her cheek gently.
“You’re mine like a choice,” I say. “And I’m yours the same way.”
Her breath shakes. She looks down.
Then she whispers, “Romano is going to keep doing this.”
I nod. “Yes,” I say.
She swallows. “And the church,” she whispers.
“Yes,” I repeat.
She raises her eyes. For the first time, her voice is not only fear. It has steel in it.
“What do we do,” she asks.
I hold her gaze. “We control the day,” I say.
She nods slowly. Then she whispers, “One sentence.”
I nod. “One sentence,” I confirm.
She inhales. Then she says quietly, “I want them to know I chose.”
My chest tightens. “I know,” I say.
Her eyes search mine. “Do you think they’ll listen,” she asks.
I answer honestly. “They’ll listen because they won’t have a choice,” I say.
Her lips part. Heat flickers. “I’m still scared,” she admits.
I nod once. “Be scared,” I tell her. “And still choose.”
She swallows. Then she whispers, “Stay close.”
I step closer. I lower my forehead to hers. “I’m always close,” I murmur.
Her breath shakes. Then she whispers, almost like she hates how much it matters, “I don’t want to break in front of them.”
I close my eyes for one beat. Then I open them. “You won’t,” I say.
She stares at me. “How do you know,” she asks again.
This time I answer with the truth that has been growing in my chest for days.
“I know,” I say quietly, “because I fell in love with you watching you survive.”
Her breath catches. Her eyes widen. She goes still, like that sentence hit her harder than the note. I don’t take it back. I don’t soften it. I just hold her gaze and let it be true.
Her throat works. She whispers, “That’s scary.”
I nod. “Yes,” I admit. Then I add, low, “But it’s real.”
Her eyes glisten. She looks away. Then she whispers, barely audible, “don’t make me say it back.”
I nod once.
“I won’t,” I say. “Not until you want to.”
Her shoulders drop by a fraction.
I stand slowly and offer my hand. She takes it. Cold fingers. Still shaking. But she takes it.
And downstairs, my phone buzzes again. I don’t need to look to know it’s Cassio. Or Romano. Or Mikhail. It doesn’t matter.
Because the next time they try to use my wife’s story as a weapon, she’s going to speak one sentence. And the entire room is going to feel it. Not because it’s loud. Because it’s hers.