Chapter 39 Savannah
Savannah
The tea sits outside my door like a peace offering, a small, normal thing. Steam. Chamomile and honey.
I stare at the cup through the crack under the door like it might bite me, like it might be poisoned, like comfort is always a trap. Gabriel’s voice had been low when he spoke through the wood. Drink it. Keep the door locked.
When he says locked, my body hears stay alive. When he says locked, my body also hears you’re contained. Both are true. Both twist.
I crouch by the door and listen. Silence at first. Then soft movement down the hall, a low voice that has to be Luca, and another that has to be Juan.
Men who sound like they’re holding something sharp inside their mouths.
I press my forehead to the wood for one second, not because I’m praying, but because I’m trying to keep from floating away.
My hand finds my pendant. I whisper to myself, barely moving my lips. “Feet.”
My feet are on the floor. I can feel the hard wood under my soles. I’m here. Now. Not then.
I reach slowly, unlock the door, and open it just enough to grab the tea and the small plate beside it. Crackers. A piece of toast. Something simple. Something that says Gabriel is trying to keep my body fed so my mind doesn’t eat itself. I pull everything inside and lock the door again.
Click.
The click should calm me. It does, for one breath. Then my chest tightens anyway, because I can feel it. Something happened.
I sit on the edge of the bed with the tea in both hands.
The heat sinks into my palms. I take a sip.
Warm. Sweet. A little floral. My stomach turns like it doesn’t trust peace.
I force another sip, then another, and chew a cracker slowly like I’m proving I can.
My jaw is still tight, like my body is holding the road.
The sedan. No plates. Unknown.
I try to replay the end, how it backed off, how we made it here, but my brain keeps pulling the image of a car in the dark and telling me it didn’t leave. It just watched.
I breathe in. Out. In again.
Romano calling Gabriel over and over. Cassio’s trunk. The way Cassio said consequences like he was tasting the word. The way I said no. The way my voice shook. The way it still came out anyway. My throat feels raw, like speaking scraped something open.
A knock hits the door. Soft. Not urgent.
My body still flinches. My fingers tighten around the cup so hard the ceramic creaks faintly.
Gabriel’s voice comes through the wood, low. “Savannah.”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“You okay,” he asks.
The question is simple. The answer isn’t.
My mouth opens, and the old reflex tries to take over. Make it easier. Be good. don’t be a problem. I clamp down on it. I promised myself I’d stop lying with my face.
“I’m… scared,” I say.
There’s a pause, then his voice comes back steady. “Thank you for telling me.”
My throat tightens. He doesn’t tell me not to be. He doesn’t correct my fear. He accepts it like it’s information, not weakness.
“I’m going to leave for a little while,” he says.
My stomach drops.
Leave is a trigger. Leave means vulnerable. Leave means they take what they want.
My hand flies to my pendant. “Where,” I whisper, too fast.
“Near,” he says. “Close enough to come back fast.”
“What’s happening,” I ask.
Silence for one beat, then his voice, careful. “Something tried to reach us.”
My skin goes cold. “Tried,” I repeat.
“It didn’t get in,” he says. “You’re safe.”
Safe is a word my body wants to reject. Not because he’s lying, but because safe feels like something people say right before something terrible happens.
“Is it Cassio,” I whisper.
“No,” he answers immediately.
“Romano,” I whisper.
“Not here,” he says.
Not here means yes somewhere.
My throat burns. “Is it…” My voice sticks. “Is it Mikhail.”
Silence. Not long, but long enough for my body to hear the answer anyway.
“No names,” he says.
No names means yes. It means the name is poison. It means saying it aloud gives it power.
“He found me,” I whisper.
“No,” Gabriel says, firm. “He tried. He failed.”
My breathing turns shallow, ribs squeezing like a fist.
“What did he do,” I ask.
“I handled it,” Gabriel says, softer. “You don’t have to worry.”
That sentence is supposed to comfort. It does, and it doesn’t, because men handle things by making them bloody, and blood brings consequences, and consequences always end up near me.
“I don’t want more people dying because of me,” I say, my voice cracking.
“Not because of you,” he corrects immediately. “Because of them.”
“But they’ll say it’s me,” I whisper.
There’s a beat, then his voice goes low and certain. “Then I’ll correct them.”
My hands shake around the cup. The next words come out before pride can stop them. “don’t leave me.”
I hate how needy they sound. I hate how young they sound. I hate that my body wants to beg.
Gabriel’s voice turns quiet through the door. “I’m not leaving you,” he says. “I’m moving for you.”
“Tell me what to do,” I whisper.
He answers like he’s been waiting for the question. “Door stays locked. Curtains closed. Drink your tea. Eat something. If you feel your body float, you press your feet into the floor and you say your sentence.”
“My sentence,” I whisper.
“Yes,” he says. “It’s yours. Use it.”
My lips part. I swallow. I whisper it once, even though he didn’t ask.
“I chose this.”
His voice shifts, like something inside him warms. “I know.”
Then he goes firm again. “If anyone knocks besides me, you don’t answer.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
A pause.
“And Savannah.”
“Yes.”
“I’m proud of you.”
My eyes sting instantly. I hate tears. I hate being soft. But the pride in his voice isn’t patronizing. It’s real. Like he sees me trying.
Then his footsteps fade away from the door.
* * *
I sit very still with tea in my hands, a lock on my door, and quiet in the house that is too quiet. I eat another cracker, then another, forcing my body to do normal things like they matter. I swallow the honeyed warmth. I breathe in. Out.
Then I hear it.
A faint sound outside. Not inside the house. Outside.
Gravel.
Soft crunch. Not footsteps running. Footsteps walking slow, deliberate, like someone is taking their time.
My throat closes.
I lean toward the window, holding my breath. The curtains are closed like Gabriel said, but there’s a seam, a tiny edge where the fabric doesn’t meet the wall perfectly. A thin slice of night shows through.
A shadow passes.
Slow.
Then stops, right outside my window.
My stomach drops so hard it hurts. My hands shake. I press my feet into the floor, hard, and whisper silently, Feet. Now.
I don’t move the curtain. I don’t breathe loud. I don’t exist.
A soft tap hits the glass. Once. Not a knock. A tap, like a signal.
My body tries to float. I press my feet harder until my calves shake.
“I chose this,” I whisper under my breath.
Another tap. Then something slides against the glass.
Paper.
A slow scrape, like someone is pressing something to the window from the outside.
Cold heat crawls over my skin. Nausea blooms, because paper against a window feels like a photo. A reminder. A message. My spine breaks into sweat. My mouth tastes like metal.
Memory doesn’t ask permission. It just opens.
I stay frozen.
And then the lock on my door shifts.
Not opening. Just tested. A gentle turn, like someone is checking if it’s really locked.
My heart slams so hard I taste copper. I don’t scream. I don’t move. I press my feet into the floor until my legs shake.
“I chose this,” I whisper again, shaking.
The paper scrapes once more, like the hand outside wants to make sure it sticks. Then the shadow moves, slow and unhurried, like whoever it’s isn’t afraid of being caught, like they want me to know they were close enough to touch.
I stare at the door, at the lock, at the thin line of safety that is just metal and wood and Gabriel’s promise, and my mind starts counting.
How many seconds until Gabriel is back. How many seconds until a window breaks. How many seconds until hands are on me. How many seconds until my voice becomes useless again.
I clamp down and force the air in. In. Out.
My fingers find my pendant.
“I chose this,” I whisper.
The words shake, but they don’t disappear.
Outside, the footsteps on gravel move away. Not running. Walking. Like a man leaving a gift and enjoying the way it sits in your stomach.
* * *
I stay still long after the sound fades, because the worst part isn’t the footsteps. it’s the waiting. The waiting is where my brain makes monsters.
I take another sip of tea even though my stomach protests. Warm. Sweet. Not poison. Not a trap. Just tea. I bite the toast, force my jaw to work, force my body to stay in the present like it matters.
Then I hear it again.
Not outside.
Inside.
A faint sound in the hallway. A careful step. A pause like someone is listening. My breath stops. I stare at the door, heart beating loud in my ears.
Another gentle test of the handle. Not yanked. Not violent. Just a turn. Just curiosity. Just proof.
I don’t answer. I don’t move. I press my feet into the floor so hard my toes ache.
“I chose this,” I whisper, barely audible.
Silence. A beat. Then the footsteps retreat again, down the hall, slow and patient, like whoever it’s knows fear is enough, like they don’t need to break in to break something.
I sit there with tea cooling in my hands, staring at the locked door, realizing they followed us. They came to the gate. They came to the window. And they didn’t even have to enter to make my body feel owned.
My hands start shaking harder now, delayed. My lungs burn. I blink fast and swallow the taste of panic, and I wait for Gabriel’s steps, for his voice, for the sound that means the night is still mine.
* * *
Savannah’s Diary
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Sip. Sip. Sip.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Touch my pendant.
I chose this.
I chose this.
I chose this.