Chapter 32 Gabriel
Gabriel
She says it again and again until her voice stops shaking. Not because fear disappears, but because she refuses to disappear with it.
“I chose this.”
The sentence sounds different every time she says it. The first time, it is so quiet it almost disappears. By the tenth time, her voice is firmer. More certain. I watch her in the mirror, not like a man watching a woman, but like a man watching her take something back piece by piece.
Her shoulders stop folding inward. Her chin lifts. Her feet stay planted like she is anchoring herself to the floor on purpose. The pendant is cold against her fingers, and she keeps touching it like it’s a promise she can hold onto when everything else feels like smoke.
Every time she says the sentence, I feel the room tighten. Not because she is loud, but because she is present. That is what men like Cassio and Romano can’t stand. A woman being present.
Savannah turns her head slightly and catches my gaze in the mirror. Her eyes are wet, but it’s not helpless. It’s anger, sharp enough to sting. She inhales hard like she is fighting her own lungs, then she says it again.
“I chose this.”
I nod once. “Good,” I tell her.
She glares. “I still hate that word,” she mutters.
“Lie,” I answer.
Her mouth twitches like she wants to smile and refuses to let herself. She looks back at her reflection like she’s studying a stranger, measuring what she sees, and then her voice drops.
“I hate needing you.”
The confession is quiet, but it lands hard. It lands because she isn’t trying to seduce me. She’s trying to understand herself.
I step closer, slow, not behind her, but beside her. I keep my voice low. “Need isn’t weakness,” I say. “Need is honesty.”
Her throat works. She blinks fast, swallows, then nods once like she’s accepting the sentence even if it scares her.
She turns slightly away from the mirror and locks her eyes on mine. “I want you to listen,” she says.
“I am,” I reply.
“Not like you have to,” she corrects. “Like it matters.”
My chest tightens. “It matters,” I say. “More than anything.”
Her breath shakes, and for one second she looks like she might step into me. Not for protection. For comfort. For warmth. For something that isn’t war.
I don’t move. I let her choose.
She takes one step closer, then stops like she hits a line inside herself. Fear flashes across her face like a shadow. Her body wants to retreat, but her eyes don’t . Her eyes stay on mine like she’s testing whether love is still dangerous.
I lower my voice. “Tell me yes,” I murmur.
Her lips part. “…Yes,” she whispers.
I lift my hand slowly and set it at her waist. She flinches, an old reflex, then steadies. Her breath comes out uneven.
“You’re here,” I say.
She swallows. “Yes,” she whispers.
Her hands hover near my chest like she doesn’t know what to do with them, and that’s the part that kills me. She was stolen as a child. Taught that hands mean pain. Now she’s trying to learn that hands can mean choice.
I lean down slightly, my mouth near her ear, and I don’t touch her with my lips. I just speak. “You did good.”
Her throat tightens. Her voice goes smaller. “don’t praise me like a child.”
I pull back just enough to see her eyes. “I’m not,” I say. “I’m respecting what you just did.”
Her lashes flutter. Her breathing stays quick, and heat moves under my skin that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with possession. If I move wrong, her body will interpret it as taking, and I’m not taking. Not from her. Not ever.
A knock hits the door, hard.
Juan’s voice cuts through the air. “Jefe.”
Savannah goes rigid instantly. Her eyes widen. Her hands drop. Her body locks like it’s bracing for impact.
I keep my hand at her waist and answer without looking away from her. “Talk,” I say.
Juan’s voice is clipped. “Alliance convoy just entered the outer gate.”
The air changes.
Savannah’s face drains of color. Her chest rises too fast. The pendant swings as her hand flies up to grab it like it can keep her from slipping.
I angle my head toward the door. “How many.”
“Five vehicles,” Juan answers.
Savannah whispers, “Cassio.” Her voice is tight, thin, not collapsing, but close.
I look at her. “Feet,” I say softly.
She swallows and plants them.
Good.
I don’t soften the truth. “He came to see if you meant it,” I tell her.
Her eyes flash with fear and anger at the same time. “I don’t want to see him.”
I nod once. “You can say no.”
Her throat works, and then she surprises me. “I do,” she whispers.
My chest tightens. “Why,” I ask quietly.
Her eyes burn. “Because I’m tired,” she says. “And I want him to see I’m not the same.”
I nod. “Okay.”
I move to the small table and pick up the control to her earpiece, then tap it once. A soft click. I look at her.
“You want my voice,” I ask.
She swallows. “Yes.”
I step in and adjust the braid so the earpiece stays hidden, careful not to touch her scalp too long, not holding her, just practical. She shivers anyway, not from cold, but from nerves, from being seen, from being wanted.
I pull back. “Ready.”
She inhales, touches the pendant, plants her feet. “…Yes,” she whispers.
I open the door.
* * *
Juan is there, eyes hard. Luca behind him. They glance at Savannah and both of them stiffen, because they understand what Cassio means to her, and they understand what she just chose.
We move down the hall toward the courtyard. I stay beside her, not in front, not behind, beside. She’s shaking, but she’s walking, and I realize she’s doing something bigger than facing Cassio.
She’s facing the part of herself that still thinks she has to obey to survive.
The courtyard is lit with vehicle lights. Five black cars. Alliance crest on the first hood. Italian guards step out first, sharp and fresh in suits, spreading out like they own the air. My men spread out too, quiet and lethal.
No one speaks, because speaking is what men do when they’re trying to cover fear.
Cassio steps out last, of course. He moves like the ground is his and the world makes room. He doesn’t scan the perimeter. He doesn’t check exits. He looks straight at Savannah like he’s inspecting property.
Savannah’s breath catches. I feel it in the way her ribs lift too fast. In her ear, I speak softly.
“I’m here.”
She swallows and touches the pendant.
Cassio walks forward and stops two steps away, close enough to smell his cologne, close enough to drag old memories toward the surface. He speaks like I’m not the threat.
“Savannah.”
Her voice shakes. “Yes.”
Cassio’s eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the braid, the posture, the way she’s standing beside me instead of hiding behind me. His gaze cuts to me for a moment, then back to her.
“I hear there are rumors,” he says calmly.
Savannah’s mouth tightens. I keep my face neutral.
Cassio continues, “Rumors that Alliance blood is compromised.”
Her breathing speeds up. In her ear, I speak. “Feet.”
She plants them harder.
Cassio’s eyes flicker like he notices. He shifts tactics. Soft voice. A trap.
“Come with me,” Cassio says. “We need to talk privately.”
Savannah’s throat tightens. Her body tries to shrink, and then I hear her inhale. I hear the decision form before the word exists.
In her ear, I whisper, “Say no.”
She looks Cassio straight in the face and does it.
“No.”
The courtyard freezes. Even the engines seem to quiet.
Cassio’s jaw tightens. “You don’t tell me no.”
Savannah touches the pendant again. Then she lifts her chin.
“I chose this.”
It lands like a gunshot without the sound.
Cassio goes still. For one beat, he looks like he forgot what to do when he can’t control the outcome. Then his eyes cut to me, sharp and accusing, like I put the sentence in her mouth.
I don’t move. I don’t blink. I let him see the truth.
He didn’t lose her to me. He lost her to herself.
Cassio’s voice lowers. “You chose,” he repeats slowly.
Savannah’s voice stays quiet. “Yes.”
Cassio exhales through his nose and looks around at the men watching. He can’t punish her in front of them without showing his hand, so he pivots.
“Then I’m here to remind you,” Cassio says smoothly, “that choices have consequences.”
Savannah’s face tightens. I keep my hand near her waist, not touching, just close, ready.
Cassio steps back half a pace and gestures toward his lead vehicle. Two Italian guards move to the trunk. Metal clicks.
Savannah stiffens. My men shift. Juan’s hand moves subtly toward his weapon. Luca’s eyes narrow.
The trunk lid rises.
I keep my posture calm, but inside everything sharpens, because whatever is in that trunk is meant to do one thing.
Break her, or break the treaty.
Cassio doesn’t look at the men opening the trunk. He keeps his eyes on Savannah like she’s the only thing in the courtyard worth watching. That’s not love. That’s ownership. He wants her to flinch. He wants her to step back. He wants her to remember the old rules.
I can see the war in her face, the old instinct and the new anger. Her throat works. Her hand tightens on the pendant until the chain pulls against her neck.
In her ear, I speak again. “Breathe. In. Out.”
Her chest rises, and she obeys, not because she’s trained, but because she’s choosing to stay.
The trunk opens fully.