Chapter 46 Gabriel
Gabriel
Savannah says it again, not louder and not dramatic, just enough to be dangerous.
“I do get a vote.”
The room freezes like a gun just clicked. Men in here have killed over disrespect, over tone, over eye contact, over someone speaking out of turn. The most dangerous thing in this room is my wife choosing herself out loud.
Cassio goes still like she slapped him. His face doesn’t move much.
Cassio is disciplined like that. But I see it in the small tells, the flex of his jaw, the tight pull at the corner of his mouth, the way his eyes narrow like he is trying to shrink her back into the old version of her.
Control is what he uses when he doesn’t know how to feel.
He looks at me like this is my fault. Like I taught her to push back. Like I took his sister and gave him back someone harder to control. He doesn’t look at her diary first this time. He looks at her face like he is trying to work out when she changed.
His voice is low, controlled, full of warning. “You’re coming between her and her family,” he says.
I don’t blink. The air smells like coffee and expensive cologne and gun oil.
“I’m standing between her and men who think being related to her means they own her,” I answer.
Savannah’s hand tightens around her diary.
Cassio sees it. His eyes flick to the diary, then back to her. He doesn’t like that she has something he cannot control just by looking at her. So he starts talking. Turning it into a lecture.
“Do you know what’s happening outside these walls,” he asks her.
Savannah lifts her chin a fraction.
“I know what’s happening inside them,” she says.
It hits hard because she is not talking about routes or intel. She is talking about the way he speaks to her. The way he makes her feel nine years old again.
Cassio inhales through his nose like he is trying to control his temper, like he wants to grab her shoulders and shake the fear out of her. He cannot, not with me here and not with her standing like this.
So he does what men like Cassio always do when they start losing control. He changes the subject. He pulls the conversation back to the war because that is easier than dealing with his guilt.
“Romano is coordinating with Mikhail,” he says, voice cutting through the room. “He’s providing intel.”
Savannah swallows hard. Her fingers press her pendant once, quick and unconscious. My hand stays on her back. I can feel her spine tight under my palm, braced like the room is a cage and the wrong sentence will snap the lock.
Cassio keeps going. “This is bigger than your feelings.”
There it is. Dismissal dressed up as leadership.
Savannah’s eyes flash. She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t cry. She speaks like she is telling the truth to a room that is allergic to it.
“My feelings are part of why I’m alive,” she says.
The room goes quiet, not because these men care about feelings, but because they know what that tone means. It means she is done being pushed aside.
Cassio’s mouth tightens. He looks at her like he is not used to seeing her this sharp. Like he thought that part of her was left in the past. He takes one careful step closer, still too aware of who is watching. Then he lowers his voice, like being gentle will get him what he wants.
“Savannah,” he says. “If Romano touched the Bratva, he dies.”
Savannah’s jaw tightens. “I said I do not want more death,” she replies.
Cassio’s eyes harden again, and the old command voice comes out. “You do not get a vote,” he snaps.
Savannah doesn’t flinch this time. “I do,” she says. “Because this is my life, and you keep using it to justify everything.”
Cassio goes still again. The words get to him. Deep enough to stir guilt.
He doesn’t know what to do with guilt, so he turns it into control and then into anger. He turns his attention to me, because blaming me is easier than looking at himself.
“This isn’t your family,” he says, voice cold.
I step closer to Savannah without moving my feet. Subtle, but it is a message.
Try it.
“It is my wife,” I say.
Cassio’s gaze cuts. “You married for a treaty,” he says.
He wants to reduce her to paper, to politics, to an agreement between men.
I let the air go quiet. Then I answer the truth.
“I married a woman,” I say. “And she’s standing right here making her own choice.”
Savannah’s breath shakes once. She blinks fast like she hates tears as much as she hates being watched. Her fingers touch her pendant again, then she looks at Cassio and speaks the sentence that changes the weight in the room.
“I’m not leaving with you.”
Cassio’s face tightens. “What,” he says, like the word doesn’t compute.
Savannah repeats it, clearer. “I’m not leaving with you. Not today. Not because you decided it. Not because you’re afraid.”
Cassio’s jaw clenches so hard it looks like it hurts. He stares at her like she just did the impossible, then he looks at me, and I feel it.
The moment he considers making it physical.
Removing her for safety. An older brother’s version of kidnapping.
My hand slides from her back to her wrist. A quiet line.
“Do not,” I warn.
Cassio’s eyes flare. He leans forward slightly.
“You threaten me in my own,” he starts.
“In my walls,” I cut in. “This is cartel territory under the treaty. Your men are guests. Your authority ends at my door.”
Cassio’s breathing changes. He is furious, and he is trapped by his own politics. If he escalates inside my compound, he looks weak. If he backs down, he looks weak. Romano would love it. Mikhail would love it.
So Cassio tries to control the room.
“Everyone out,” he orders.
Juan doesn’t move. Luca doesn’t move. My men do not move.
Because Cassio is not their boss.
Savannah watches it happen. I see it in her eyes, the quick flick from face to face. She sees it. She sees the boundary. She is learning something important.
Orders do not matter if the man giving them is not the one with the guns.
Cassio’s eyes narrow. “Gonzalez,” he says, tight. “This is private.”
I keep my tone even. “Then speak in your own house.”
Cassio’s nostrils flare. He turns back to Savannah. His voice softens again, too late.
“Savannah,” he says. “Come with me. We’ll take you back to Italy. We’ll keep you protected.”
Italy.
I feel Savannah’s pulse jump under my fingertips. Her shoulders lift a fraction like her body wants to make itself smaller without permission. She swallows hard, then she says it.
“I do not want to go to Italy.”
Cassio freezes. “You do not know what you want,” he says automatically.
Savannah’s eyes sharpen. “I know what I do not want,” she answers.
Cassio’s face shifts. Pain. Anger. Something like panic.
He tries fear as persuasion.
“Romano will use you,” he says. “The Bratva will use you. The cartel will use you. You think you have control now?”
Savannah’s hands tremble slightly around the diary, but her voice holds.
“I have more control than I had when you called me damaged,” she says.
The room goes still like someone sucked the oxygen out.
Cassio’s face drains. That hit landed because she said it out loud, because she said it in front of men, because she dragged his private cruelty into daylight.
Cassio’s mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
I feel the urge, hot and violent, to kill him for ever saying it to her, to a girl already bleeding in silence. But killing Cassio would hurt her in a different way, so I do the only thing that matters.
I stand between them and let her speak.
Cassio finally exhales. His voice drops, defensive. “You’re making me the villain,” he says.
Savannah’s eyes do not blink. “You were,” she replies quietly. “Sometimes.”
Sometimes. One word of mercy.
She is not trying to ruin him. She is naming reality.
Cassio swallows hard.
Luca’s phone vibrates twice. He looks down. His face hardens. I already know what came in. Movement. Trouble started.
He looks up at me. “Sergei,” Luca says.
Cassio’s head snaps to Luca. “What,” Cassio demands.
Luca ignores him and speaks to me. “He took the bait. He’s moving toward the church.”
My jaw locks.
Cassio’s voice turns sharp. “What church,” he barks.
Savannah’s body stiffens instantly. I feel her breath go shallow. Her fingers crush her pendant like she is trying to keep herself from floating out of her skin.
I step closer to her and lower my voice so only she hears. “Stay with me,” I remind her.
Savannah swallows. Her eyes lift to mine. She nods once. “Yes,” she whispers.
Cassio hears it anyway. His face tightens. “Savannah,” he starts.
I cut it off. “No.”
Cassio’s eyes flare. “You can’t keep her from,” he begins.
“I can,” I interrupt. “Because she said no.”
Cassio stares at Savannah. For one second, he looks lost. Then he pulls himself together and looks like the boss again.
He turns to his men. “Prepare the vehicles,” he orders.
Juan steps forward slightly. “Your vehicles do not leave my compound with her.”
Cassio’s eyes cut to Juan. “Who the hell are you,” Cassio snaps.
Juan doesn’t flinch. “The man who makes sure she doesn’t get dragged anywhere again.”
Savannah’s throat moves. A small sound escapes her, almost a breath, almost a laugh, almost a sob, because someone just said it out loud.
Dragged. Again.
Cassio’s jaw locks. He looks at me. “This is war,” he says.
“It already was,” I reply.
Then I look at Luca. “Track Sergei. Quiet tail. No contact until confirmation.”
Luca nods and moves.
I turn back to Savannah. Her hands are shaking, but she is still holding the diary, still holding herself, still standing.
I lower my voice. “You’re not going to church, but they’ll think you are.”
Savannah swallows. “How,” she whispers.
I do not answer yet. The answer is a trap inside a trap, and the room has ears.
Cassio’s eyes narrow, watching us, calculating. He hates not being in control.
I take Savannah’s hand and start guiding her toward the hallway, toward safety. Cassio steps forward again.
“Savannah,” he says, voice tight. “If you walk away right now, you’re choosing him over your family.”
Savannah stops. Her body trembles. She turns her head slightly and looks at Cassio.
Her voice comes out quiet and lethal.
“I’m choosing me,” she says.
Then she walks with me down the hall.
Behind us, Cassio finally cracks. I hear it in the way he barks at his men, in the sudden eruption of motion, war planning and damage control.
But all I feel is one thing.
Pride.
Because my wife just spoke for herself in front of the man who used to decide everything for her. Now the enemy wants her diary, and Sergei is moving toward the church.
If we do this right, the next man who thinks he can tap a window and live long enough to brag about it will not.