Chapter 30 Gabriel
Gabriel
The church smells like wax and old stone. It should smell like peace. It doesn’t.
The priest walks ahead of us through the side corridor, keys clinking softly in his hand like he’s trying to be brave with metal. The sound bounces off the stone walls in tiny, sharp echoes, like the building is listening.
Savannah walks beside me. Quiet, but different. Not silent because she’s afraid. Silent because she’s holding herself together on purpose.
Her braid is tight. The earpiece is hidden under it. Her pendant sits heavy against her chest, my crest, cold metal against her warm skin. I watch her fingers touch it once, subtle, like she’s checking that she’s still here.
Because I can feel it in her body. The way a church can pull her backward. Not because she believes in God. Because men used churches to break girls long before she ever met me.
Father Santo opens a narrow door and leads us into a small office behind the sanctuary. The air is warmer in here, stale with old paper and dust and candle smoke.
A wood desk. A cross on the wall. A framed photo of a pope. A box of tissues that has probably seen more tears than blood.
He closes the door and then looks at me like he’s about to negotiate with a terrorist.
The priest clears his throat. “I understand you have concerns,” he says carefully.
I keep my tone respectful.
“Yes,” I say. “We will control access.”
His eyes flick to Savannah, then back to me. “This is a holy place,” he says.
“It will stay holy,” I reply.
The priest swallows. “I cannot,” he begins.
I lift my hand. “You can,” I say. “You just haven’t been paid enough to feel safe doing it.”
Savannah’s shoulders tense slightly. I feel it. I don’t look at her yet. Not because I don’t care. Because if I look at her now, I’ll turn this room into a murder scene with my eyes alone.
I keep the priest’s attention.
The priest’s lips press together. “This isn’t,” he starts.
Savannah speaks, quiet and clear.
“Father,” she says.
He turns toward her immediately, like her voice surprised him. Like he forgot women could speak in rooms like this.
She holds his gaze. “I don’t want the doors open,” she says. “I don’t want strangers watching me.”
Her voice shakes slightly on the last word. But she still said it.
The priest’s eyes soften. “I see,” he murmurs.
Savannah’s fingers touch her pendant again. Her chin lifts a fraction.
“And I don’t want anyone adding guests,” she continues. “No surprises.”
He nods slowly. “I can do that,” he says.
Good.
Because a man will bend easier for a woman’s fear than a man’s threat, if he still has a soul.
“Guest list is final,” I say. “Two days before ceremony.”
He nods.
“Security will screen at the outer gate,” I add. “No weapons inside the sanctuary except mine.”
The priest’s eyes widen. “This is a church,” he says, voice tight.
“It’s also a war zone,” I reply.
He hesitates, then lowers his voice. “If there is violence.”
“There won’t be,” I cut in. “Because I won’t allow it.”
The priest exhales. He looks between us, and I see the calculation. Not greed. Survival. How to keep his building intact. How to keep his body intact.
Then his gaze lands on Savannah again. “You will speak,” he says softly, like he’s asking permission.
Savannah nods once. “One sentence,” she says.
The priest’s mouth tightens, thoughtful. “A vow,” he murmurs.
Savannah doesn’t confirm. She doesn’t deny. She just holds his gaze like she’s decided the sentence exists and the world can deal with it.
Something shifts in my chest. Pride. Not the stupid kind. The kind that makes a man want to kneel.
I don’t. But the instinct is there, sharp and hot and dangerous.
Father Santo opens a drawer and pulls out a small leather bound book. “I will need the names,” he says. “For the record.”
I give him the full names. He writes them down like ink can tame men like me.
Then he looks up again, carefully. “The Alliance,” he says. “They will insist on certain traditions.”
I nod once. “I know,” I say.
He swallows. “And the other parties,” he adds.
Romano. Cassio. Family heads who treat a sanctuary like a boardroom.
I speak clearly. “Any man who disrupts her sentence is removed,” I say. “Immediately.”
The priest’s eyes widen. “This is not,” he starts.
Savannah speaks again, voice quiet. “It’s my sentence,” she says. “I want it protected.”
Father Santo’s face shifts, like something inside him decides to stop pretending this is just a wedding.
He nods slowly. “Then I will protect it,” he says.
Good.
I stand. Meeting done. I don’t linger. Lingering makes openings.
Outside the office, Juan waits in the corridor. He sees my face and nods once.
* * *
We exit through the side entrance and cold air hits Savannah first. The wind tastes like winter and exhaust. It steals heat from her cheeks and makes her inhale sharp, reflex, then I watch her steady. Touching the pendant. Staying.
We reach the vehicle. I open her door. She slides in. I climb in beside her.
The moment the door shuts, her shoulders drop like her body finally allowed the weight to land. She stares forward, breathing fast.
I place my hand on her thigh.
She flinches slightly.
Her voice is barely audible. “I did it,” she whispers.
I keep my voice low. “You did,” I confirm.
Her throat works. “I talked to him,” she whispers.
“Yes,” I say again.
She swallows. “My voice didn’t disappear,” she says.
I glance at her. Her eyes are wet.
I nod once. “It didn’t,” I say.
She looks at me like she’s standing at the edge of something too big. Like she wants to believe she can keep this, her sentence, her spine, her control.
Then her eyes flick away quickly. Like looking at me too long is dangerous.
Because my feelings don’t sit politely anymore. They sit like a loaded gun with the safety off.
Juan drives us back toward the compound. Luca’s car follows. The tires hum against the road like a low warning. My jaw stays tight the whole ride because even now, leaving a church, my head is still scanning exits.
* * *
When we arrive, Luca is waiting at the gate, phone in hand. His face is tight. He moves toward my window.
“Jefe,” he says.
I don’t ask twice. “Talk,” I order.
Luca’s eyes flick to Savannah, then back to me. “Cassio sent a man,” he says.
My blood goes cold. Not because Cassio asked. Because he thinks he can.
“What man,” I ask.
Luca swallows. “A security attachment,” he says. “He’s already inside the perimeter.”
My jaw locks.
Savannah’s body goes rigid beside me. I feel it immediately. The air in the car changes. Her breathing becomes shallow. Her fingers curl into her dress like fabric can keep her from falling apart.
She whispers, “No.”
I don’t look at Luca. I look at Savannah.
“Look at me,” I say softly.
Her eyes snap to mine.
“You’re here,” I say.
She swallows. “Yes,” she whispers.
Good.
Then I turn back to Luca. “Where,” I ask.
Luca points toward the internal courtyard. “Near the main house,” he says. “He claims he’s here to ‘assist.”
Assist. A polite word for watch.
Savannah’s throat works. “He’s going to,” she starts.
I cut it off, low and firm. “He’s not going to do anything,” I tell her.
Her eyes are wide. “What if Cassio orders it,” she whispers.
I hold her gaze. “Cassio doesn’t order inside my walls,” I say.
Her breath shakes.
I glance at Juan. “Stop the car,” I order.
Juan stops.
I open my door and step out. Luca follows. Juan follows. Savannah stays inside.
Good. She doesn’t need to be near this.
I walk straight into the courtyard.
The man is there. Standing like he belongs. Italian posture. Alliance suit. Hands behind his back like he’s a soldier. He smiles when he sees me.
“Jefe Gonzalez,” he says.
His accent is Italian smooth. His eyes are cold. He’s not here to protect her. He’s here to mark her.
“To ensure loyalty,” like Cassio said.
My jaw tightens.
“Leave,” I say.
The man’s smile holds. “I’m assigned by.”
I step closer. One pace. Then another. I stop within striking distance. The air smells like cut grass and gun oil.
He swallows slightly. His smile tightens. “I’m assigned by Capo Amato,” he says, trying to sound firm.
I cut him off. “No,” I say.
The man’s eyes flick. “This is Alliance blood,” he says. “You are in Alliance territory under treaty. We are entitled to.”
Juan shifts beside me. Still silent. Luca watches.
I keep my voice even. “You’re entitled to nothing,” I say. “Not my house. Not my wife. Not her breathing.”
The man’s jaw tightens. He tries to hold ground.
“Capo Amato will not like.”
I step closer again, close enough that my shadow covers his shoes.
“Tell him,” I say softly, “that if he sends another man to my wife, I will cut up the treaty and mail him the pieces.”
The man’s throat bobs. He stares at me. Testing.
Then he makes his mistake.
He glances past me, toward the house. Toward where Savannah sits inside the vehicle. Like he wants to see her.
My blood snaps hot.
I don’t raise my voice. I don’t move fast. I just speak with lethal clarity.
“You look at her again,” I say quietly, “and you leave this compound in a bag.”
The man goes still.
Juan takes one step forward.
The man swallows hard. “I will report,” he says, trying to salvage pride.
I nod once. “Report,” I agree. “Then leave.”
He hesitates a beat too long.
Juan moves. He grips the man’s elbow and turns him toward the gate. The man stumbles, forced to walk.
Luca exhales. “He’ll call Cassio,” Luca says.
I don’t blink. “Good,” I reply.
I turn back toward the vehicle.
Savannah’s face is pale behind the window. Her eyes are wide. Her mouth is slightly open like she forgot how to breathe.
I walk to the door and open it. I kneel slightly to meet her eyes. I keep my voice low.
“You’re safe,” I say.
She swallows hard. “Was he,” her voice breaks.
“He was nothing,” I cut in, smooth. “And he’s gone.”
Her breath shakes. “But Cassio,” she whispers.
“Cassio will learn,” I say. “He doesn’t get to pull you like a rope between men.”
Her eyes glisten. She whispers, “I felt like I was going back.”
My chest tightens.
I nod once. “I know,” I say.
Her throat works. “I hate it,” she whispers.
I place my hand over hers.
“Then hate it,” I say. “And still choose.”
Her eyes squeeze shut for one beat. Then she opens them.
“Did you mean it,” she whispers. “When you said you fell in love with me.”
The question hits hard.
Because she’s asking like it’s dangerous to hear yes. Like yes will trap her.
I don’t lie. I don’t soften. I keep it simple.
“Yes,” I say.
Her breath catches. Her eyes shine. She looks away fast.
Then she whispers, “don’t say it in front of them.”
I nod immediately. “I won’t,” I say. “Not unless you want me to.”
She swallows hard. Then she whispers something smaller.
“I don’t know what I want.”
I squeeze her hand once. “Then we go slow,” I say.
She nods, barely.
I stand.
“Inside,” I order quietly. “Food. Shower. Rest.”
She blinks. “You’re ordering,” she whispers.
I shake my head once. “I’m protecting your body,” I correct. “You can say no.”
She stares at me. Then she whispers, “No.”
One word. Sharp. Clear.
My chest tightens. A smile almost touches my mouth. Almost.
“What no,” I ask.
She swallows. “I don’t want rest,” she whispers. “I want training.”
My brows lift. “Training,” I repeat.
She nods, small. “I want to practice the sentence,” she whispers. “So I don’t forget it when everyone is staring.”
My chest tightens again.
I nod once. “Okay,” I say.
She inhales shakily.
“And,” she adds, voice thinner, “I want you to listen.”
I hold her gaze. “I’m listening,” I say.
“Not like security,” she whispers. “Like it matters.”
My throat tightens. “It matters,” I say.
Her eyes flicker. She nods once.
Then she steps out of the vehicle.
She stands on her own. No wobble. No collapse.
Shaking, yes. But standing.
Men watch from the courtyard edges. Guards. My people. Her world.
* * *
She lifts her chin and walks inside beside me.
And I realize something that makes my blood go cold and hot at the same time.
Romano wanted her to be the weak spot.
Cassio wanted her to be a trophy they could point to.
But Savannah is becoming something worse for them.
A woman who doesn’t break.
And then chooses to learn how to speak.
And if she gets her voice fully back, men like Romano won’t be able to use her story anymore.
They’ll have to fight her.
And that will cost them more than they’re ready to pay.