Chapter 29 Savannah
Savannah
The sentence sits in my mouth like a secret I am not ready to say. I chose it. I did. But saying it out loud feels dangerous, like I am giving someone a way to hurt me.
Gabriel said it came from my blood. He said that like it was a compliment. Like it was proof I’m still alive.
I sit in the small sitting room with the curtains half open, the pendant cold between my fingers. My heart still racing even though nothing is happening. That’s the part that makes me feel crazy. Nothing is happening, and my body still acts like it’s running.
Footsteps outside the door. Gabriel. He knocks once.
“Come in,” I say.
He steps in and closes the door behind him. His eyes go to my hands, to the pendant, then to my face.
“You’re here,” he says.
I nod. “Yes,” I whisper.
He doesn’t ask about the sentence again. He just sits on the chair across from me.
He watches me for a beat, then speaks. “Priest meeting is in thirty,” he says.
My stomach drops. “Do I have to go,” I ask quietly.
Gabriel’s gaze holds mine. “No,” he says. “But I want you there if you can.”
My throat tightens. “Why,” I whisper.
“Because it’s a staged walk,” he says. “For the meeting. Not for God.”
I swallow hard. “Okay,” I whisper.
Gabriel nods once. Then he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small object. He sets it on the table between us.
A tiny earpiece.
My stomach twists. “What is that,” I ask.
Gabriel’s tone is steady. “Security,” he says. “One way. You hear me.”
My throat tightens. “I don’t want to be wired like a bomb,” I whisper.
Gabriel’s eyes narrow slightly. “You won’t be,” he says. “it’s not for control.”
I stare at it. It looks innocent. It’s not. Nothing in my life is innocent anymore.
“What if Cassio sees it,” I whisper.
“He won’t,” Gabriel says. “Your hair covers it.”
I swallow. “And if he tries to separate us,” I whisper.
Gabriel’s voice goes colder. “He won’t,” he says.
I look at him. “You’re sure,” I whisper.
Gabriel leans forward slightly. “I’m not asking,” he says.
My ribs ache with the way that sentence calms me. I hate that I need it.
* * *
A knock hits the door. Harder this time.
Juan’s voice. “Jefe. Call.”
Gabriel’s eyes flick up. He stands. He doesn’t answer yet. He looks at me first.
“Eat anything,” he says.
I shake my head. “Not hungry.”
Gabriel’s gaze sharpens. “Savannah,” he says.
I swallow. “Okay,” I whisper.
He nods once. He steps out. The door closes. The room feels colder instantly.
I inhale slowly and touch the pendant again. Then I hear Gabriel’s voice through the wall, sharp enough that my stomach knots.
“Say it again,” he says.
A pause.
Then Gabriel again, colder. “No,” he says. “You don’t get her alone.”
Cassio. It has to be Cassio.
My hands start shaking. My throat tightens. My brain tries to run. I touch the pendant. Breathe.
In. Out.
Then the door opens.
Gabriel steps back in. His face is calm, but his eyes are darker. He shuts the door behind him and locks it. That click makes my heart jump.
I whisper, “Cassio.”
Gabriel nods. “He’s pushing,” he says.
My throat tightens. “What did he want,” I ask.
Gabriel’s voice stays even. “He wants you at the Alliance house tonight,” he says. “Alone.”
My stomach drops. I whisper, “No.”
Gabriel’s jaw flexes. “I told him no,” he says.
I swallow hard. “And he’ll be mad,” I whisper.
Gabriel’s mouth tightens. “Good,” he says.
I stare. “You keep saying good,” I whisper.
Gabriel’s eyes hold mine. “Because it means they’re losing control,” he says. “Men don’t get mad when things go their way.”
My chest tightens. It makes sense. I hate that it makes sense.
“What did he say,” I whisper.
Gabriel’s voice goes colder. “He said you’re Alliance blood,” he says. “He said he wants to ‘ensure your loyalty.’”
My skin crawls. Ensure. Loyalty. Like I’m a dog. Like I’m a traitor. Like my survival as a child is now a political rumor.
I swallow hard. “I’m not disloyal,” I whisper.
Gabriel steps closer. He stops at a respectful distance. His voice lowers. “I know,” he says.
My throat tightens. “Does he know,” I whisper.
Gabriel’s gaze hardens. “Cassio knows what he wants to believe,” he says.
I nod slowly.
Fear rises. Then anger rises right behind it. The anger is newer. It scares me. Because anger makes me want to speak, and speaking makes me visible. Visible makes me vulnerable.
But hiding has never saved me.
Gabriel studies my face. “You’re getting angry,” he says.
I swallow hard. “Yes,” I whisper.
He nods once. “Good,” he says again.
I almost laugh, but it comes out as a shaky exhale.
Gabriel reaches for the earpiece and slides it closer to me. “Try it,” he says.
My stomach twists. “Now,” I whisper.
Gabriel’s voice is calm. “Yes,” he says.
I pick it up. My fingers tremble. It’s small. Light. But it feels like a decision.
Gabriel watches me carefully. He doesn’t touch. He doesn’t hurry me.
I lift it toward my ear and place it in. It sits snug. I can barely feel it. Which makes it worse. Because the worst things are the ones you don’t feel until it’s too late.
Gabriel taps his own ear once. Then my ear buzzes softly. A small click.
And then his voice, in my ear. Low. Close. Like he’s right behind me even though he’s across the room.
“You hear me,” he says.
My breath catches. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Say it again,” he says.
I swallow. “I hear you,” I whisper.
He holds my gaze. “Good,” he murmurs.
The calm that hits my chest is instant. I hate it. I need it.
My throat tightens. “What if I get addicted to your voice,” I whisper.
Gabriel doesn’t smile. But something in his eyes shifts, softness. He speaks quietly. “Then I’ll be careful with it,” he says.
That sentence almost breaks me. Because careful is not a word I ever heard from men like him. Careful is not a word that existed in captivity.
I blink fast and push it down. If I cry, I’ll feel weak. And I can’t feel weak today.
Gabriel moves to the dresser and picks up a hairbrush. He holds it out. “Sit,” he says.
I stare. “What,” I whisper.
He nods to the chair in front of the mirror. “Sit,” he repeats. “I’m going to braid your hair.”
My stomach flips. “That’s… weird,” I whisper.
Gabriel’s eyes narrow slightly. “it’s practical,” he says. “It hides the earpiece.”
I swallow hard. I sit. The mirror shows my face too clearly. Tired. Dark circles. Pretty in a way that makes me feel like a target.
Gabriel stands behind me. He brushes my hair slowly. Not yanking. Not harsh. Each stroke is careful. It makes my chest ache.
I hear his breathing. I hear the brush. I hear his voice faint in my ear when he speaks.
“Still okay,” he asks.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He braids it neatly. Tight enough to hold. Not tight enough to hurt. When he’s done, he ties it off and rests his hands on my shoulders for a second. He squeezes gently once. Then he steps back.
In the mirror, I look composed. Not because I feel composed. Because I’m held together. And being held together is sometimes the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
Gabriel meets my eyes in the mirror. “Priest meeting,” he says again.
I nod. My stomach twists.
I stand. My legs feel like they belong to someone else. But I stand anyway.
Gabriel offers his hand. I take it.
* * *
We walk downstairs. The air changes. Men shift. Guards straighten. Everyone watches. Not because I matter to them. Because I matter to Gabriel.
Because in this world, a woman’s value is measured by the men willing to kill for her.
I hate that. And I use it anyway.
A car takes us to the church. It’s smaller than I expected.
* * *
Inside smells like wax and dust and history. The priest meets us near the side corridor. Older man. Kind eyes. But he’s nervous. Because even kind men get nervous around monsters.
Gabriel speaks first, voice controlled. “Father,” he says, respectful enough to blend in. “This ceremony must be private and secure.”
The priest nods quickly. “Of course,” he says. “Of course.”
Gabriel’s gaze sharpens. “No open doors,” Gabriel says. “No public crowd. No press. No ‘surprise guests.’”
The priest swallows. “That may be… difficult,” he begins.
Gabriel doesn’t raise his voice. He just looks at him. The priest stops talking.
I can hear my heartbeat. I touch the pendant.
Then the priest looks at me. His eyes soften slightly.
“You are the bride,” he says gently.
“We’re already married,” I whisper. “This is staged.”
The priest nods. “Do you feel safe,” he asks me quietly.
The question almost makes me laugh. Safe. In a staged mafia church ceremony.
But I can answer honestly in the only way I know how. I glance at Gabriel. Then I look back at the priest.
“I feel… protected,” I say.
The priest nods slowly like he understands the difference.
Gabriel turns back to him. “She’ll say one sentence for the witnesses,” Gabriel says. “That’s all.”
The priest blinks. “A sentence.”
Gabriel nods. “Yes,” he says. “And it will not be interrupted.”
The priest swallows. “Of course,” he murmurs.
Then he hesitates and looks at me again. “What sentence,” he asks softly.
My chest tightens. My throat burns. My sentence sits in my mouth like a blade. I don’t say it yet. Not here. Not now.
But I lift my chin slightly and answer with something true.
“One that’s mine,” I say quietly.
Gabriel’s hand squeezes mine once. And in my ear, his voice is a whisper.
“I’m here.”
I inhale. I touch the pendant.
And for the first time, standing in a church doesn’t make me feel like a victim. It makes me feel like a warning.
* * *
Dear Diary,
Married.
This was only rehearsal.
A trap dressed up as tradition.
I am still scared.
The stone is cold under my shoes.
The words stay stuck in my mouth.
They shift there.
They will not come out.
I am still scared.
I am not a weakness.
Eyes that watch too closely
Mouths that twist everything into something ugly.
I am still scared.
And the words are still sitting in my mouth.
Waiting.