Chapter 49
Savannah
The back corridor feels like a different house.
It’s quieter and dimmer, with fewer eyes on me, even though it is still guarded.
It’s always guarded. The guards beside me are women, and their steps are soft.
Their eyes do not linger on my body. They don’t look at my diary like its something they are allowed to touch.
One stays slightly ahead and the other stays slightly behind, a protective bracket that dosen’t feel like a cage. Rafa moves with us, silent and efficient. He dosen’t speak unless he has to, and that makes me trust him more than men who talk too much.
We exit through a side door, and cold air hits my face. My whole body tightens instantly because outside means someone could be watching. My fingers crush my pendant. The car is waiting, black and unmarked. The women open the door for me.
Rafa’s voice is low. “Seat belt.”
I buckle in with shaking hands. The women slide in with me, one on each side, but they do not touch and they do not crowd me. Their perfume is faint, like soap and shampoo. It almost makes me cry because everything else in my world smells like metal and engines and blood decisions.
Rafa takes the front passenger seat. The driver starts the engine, and we move smoothly, quietly. No music. No conversation. The silence should comfort me. It doesn’t. I stare out the window and watch the compound fade behind us.
My stomach twists hard, because leaving a guarded place should feel like relief. Instead it feels like exposure, like stepping out from behind a shield. My tongue tastes like pennies.
I whisper without meaning to, “Gabriel.”
One of the women looks at me for a second, respectful, then looks away. She doesn’t ask questions. She just says softly, “He watches everything. He has eyes everywhere. You still have ways out.”
Prepared. My throat tightens anyway, because eyes everywhere means he expects violence. And if he expects it, it will happen.
We pull into a small driveway across from the church.
The building looks normal from the outside, two stories with curtains drawn, the kind of place that could be anyone’s rental. The driver cuts the engine, and for one second the quiet is so complete my ears ring.
Rafa turns slightly toward me, keeping his voice low. “Inside. Upstairs. Stay out of the windows.”
Windows. My fingers clamp my pendant, but I nod anyway. “Yes.”
The women move first. They check the perimeter, open the door, step out. Then Rafa looks at me. “Ready?”
The question is simple, but it still feels like someone is finally treating me like a person.
I swallow hard. “No.” Then I shake my head and correct myself, because I’m tired of letting fear make my choices. “But yes.”
Rafa nods once. “Good.”
I step out into the cold, and my body braces. I keep my diary tight to my chest. The women flank me as we move inside. The building smells like dust and lemon cleaner, like it has been empty too long.
We climb the stairs. Each step creaks, and my heart pounds harder with every sound, like the house is announcing me. On the second floor, there is a room with thick curtains and one narrow gap cut in the fabric like a slit. A viewing line.
Rafa points to the corner. “Stay behind this.”
I swallow and step behind the designated line. One woman takes position at the door. The other stands near the window, angled so she can see outside without blocking my sight line.
Rafa pulls a small device from his pocket, an earpiece receiver, and offers it without pushing it into my hand. “Audio only. If you want it.”
I stare at it. Black. Small. The rubber tip looks soft but not comforting. My fingers hover, then touch it anyway. The texture is slick and slightly tacky, like warmed plastic. My pulse jumps fast and hard.
Audio means hearing the setup. Hearing voices.
My throat tightens. “I don’t want to hear anything Cassio has to say.”
Rafa nods once. “Then you don’t.” He pockets it.
I let out a shaky breath and move a little closer to the slit in the curtain. Just enough to see the street and the church entrance. No one can see me from here unless they know exactly where to look.
I repeat it in my head. They cannot see me. They cannot see me.
Outside, the church looks exactly like it does in my nightmares. Stone. Tall doors. A place people call holy, and men use as a stage. Cars begin to arrive. Black SUVs. Italian suits. Cartel suits. Men stepping out like they own the sidewalk.
Cassio is there. I see him first, in front like he is leading a procession. His posture is rigid and his eyes are hard. He speaks to a priest at the entrance. Father Santo. I recognize him.
Father Santo looks tense. I remember the tissue box in the office and the way Gabriel controlled that space. Cassio is controlling it now. My stomach twists.
Then I see Gabriel’s convoy arriving from the opposite direction. He exits his vehicle like he is walking into court. Suit. Cold face. Weapon hidden. Presence loud even without sound. He scans once, quick, then steps toward the church doors.
Cassio meets him halfway. Even from here, I can feel the air tighten between them. Two kings. Two kinds of power. And I’m not there, but I’m still the reason.
A man steps out of a car behind the crowd. He doesn’t move like an Italian and he doesn’t carry himself like a cartel man. He stays near the edge, trying to be invisible while still watching everything.
My chest tightens. My skin goes cold. Even if I don’t know his name, my body knows what he is. A handler. Controlled. Clinical. Eyes that don’t see people. Only reactions.
One of the women beside me shifts. She whispers, “Target.”
Rafa’s head tilts slightly and he murmurs into his sleeve, quiet comms. My throat tightens.
So that is Sergei, or one of his men.
He moves closer to the church entrance, staying behind two others like he is using bodies as cover. Then his gaze lifts. He looks toward the street, toward windows, toward sight lines.
My body freezes. I step back from the curtain slit immediately, heart pounding hard.
The woman beside me places her hand on my forearm and keeps it there. My breathing slows by a fraction.
Outside, Cassio gestures broadly like he is inviting men into the church. Gabriel doesn’t move with him immediately. He stands his ground. Even from here, I can tell he is refusing to be guided.
Then Gabriel turns his head slightly, and his gaze lifts for a second toward the building across the street. Toward this window.
He cannot see me, but it still feels like he is checking my existence in the world. My chest tightens. My eyes sting.
Cassio steps in closer to Gabriel, talking fast. Gabriel doesn’t shift at all. Sergei stays back and watches. He doesn’t go in yet. He’s waiting for proof. Waiting for me.
My stomach turns, because now comes the part I hate most. The lie.
Rafa’s voice is low. “Phone,” he says, holding one out to me.
I stare at it. My throat tightens. “What.”
“Text him. One line to Luca. Luca will make it look real.”
I swallow hard and take the phone with shaking hands. The screen is bright in the dim room, too bright, like it is exposing my fingers. Like the glow itself could be tracked.
My mind goes blank for one second, then my body remembers the sentence I wrote earlier. I type slowly, each letter like I am cutting my own skin.
I cannot breathe. It is in my head. I cannot be his wife.
My stomach lurches. Even as a lie, it feels like I am betraying him. Even as bait, it feels like I’m putting myself in their hands. I hate myself for writing it. My eyes sting.
I hit send.
My hand trembles so hard I almost drop the phone. Rafa takes it back gently.
Outside, Luca approaches Gabriel with something folded in his hand. Even from here, I can see how Luca positions himself so Sergei can witness the exchange without touching.
Luca hands the folded paper to Gabriel.Gabriel’s face doesn’t change. He doesn’t read it like it matters. He holds it like it’s beneath his attention. An annoyance. A burden. A distraction.
Perfect acting.
Sergei shifts. His head tilts slightly with predator interest. He takes one step closer, then another. Cassio notices movement and turns his head. His eyes scan, and he stiffens like he recognizes the scent of Bratva even without knowing the name.
Gabriel turns slightly, just enough to put his body between Sergei and the church doors. A barrier. Sergei pauses, then angles to the side, trying to regain sight.
My stomach twists. The woman’s hand tightens on my forearm. “Breathe,” she whispers.
I try. In. Out. In again.
Outside, Cassio suddenly steps forward, speaking sharply, too sharp for a public church entrance. Gabriel is letting him talk. Letting him become the loud one. Letting him look unstable. Letting him provide the chaos that makes Sergei move closer to verify.
It is a trap inside a trap, and Cassio is unknowingly acting as bait too.
Sergei finally moves. He slips toward the side entrance, hugging the stone wall like he knows the blind spots.
Rafa murmurs into comms again. One of the women at the door shifts her stance, ready.
My heart pounds so hard my ears ring.
Then Rafa’s phone buzzes in his hand. He glances down. His face stays blank, but his eyes sharpen like something just changed. He looks at me.
“Jefe says stay back,” Rafa says quietly. “But he wants you ready.”
Ready makes my stomach flip. “Ready for what.”
“Move if needed,” he says. “Exit route.”
My throat tightens. My fingers crush my pendant until it hurts. “Is something wrong.”
Rafa answers honestly. “Sergei is not alone.”
My skin goes cold, and the cold is inside me, not outside.
I lean toward the curtain slit again, just a fraction, and I see it. A second man steps out from behind a parked SUV.
He’s not watching the church.
He is watching the building across the street.
This building.
My blood runs cold and hot at the same time. That means they suspected a decoy. They are hunting the real location.
My throat closes. My diary feels suddenly too heavy, like it is made of stones.
The woman at the door whispers into her mic, one quiet syllable I don’t catch. The other woman shifts closer to me.
Rafa’s voice is low. “Do not move to the window.”
I am not, but my body is screaming at me to run anyway. My breath turns shallow. My vision narrows.
This is the old feeling. This is that year all over again. The second pair of eyes that always shows up the second you think you’re safe.
“He’s looking at us,” I whisper.
Rafa nods once like he already knew. Like the whole plan included the possibility of being hunted back. He speaks into his sleeve. “Second watcher. Cross street. Parked SUV. Confirm.”
A pause. A crackle of audio I cannot hear. Then Rafa’s jaw tightens.
He looks at the women. “Positions.”
The woman at the door moves like a ghost, shifting to cover the stairwell and the front entry without exposing her silhouette. The woman beside me lowers her voice.
“Savannah,” she says softly. “Look at me.”
I blink and lock eyes with her. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t baby me. She just holds my gaze like a steady bar.
“Feet,” she says.
My feet are frozen. I force them to press into the floor. Hard.
The room smells like dust, lemon cleaner, and my own sweat rising at the base of my neck. My throat burns. My tongue tastes like pennies again.
She keeps her voice even. “Name five things you see.”
I swallow hard. “Curtain. Lamp. Rafa’s shoulder. Door handle. My diary.”
“Good,” she says. “Four things you feel.”
My hands shake. “Paper edges. Pendant chain. Cold air from the vent. My heartbeat.”
“Good,” she says again. “You’re here.”
Here. Not there. Not nine.
I drag in a breath. In. Out.
Rafa’s phone buzzes again. He looks down, then glances at me and away like he doesn’t want his face to be the thing that panics me.
“Jefe says Sergei is entering side door,” he murmurs. “Cassio is still loud. Luca placed the proof.”
My stomach turns. Sergei is inside the church now, which means the man outside is not there for the church.
He is there for me.
My chest tightens. “They’re splitting us.”
“They’re trying,” Rafa says.
Trying. Not succeeding. Yet.
Outside, the second man shifts again, moving closer to the curb. His eyes scan up the building like he is counting windows. Like he is mapping. Like he is deciding which door to test.
My stomach drops, because door tests are the beginning.
Tap. Pause. Pressure. Then the lock test.
My body remembers.
My hands shake harder.
The woman beside me asks softly, “Touch okay.”
I nod, throat tight. “Yes.”
She places her hand on my upper arm, a reminder that I am not alone in a room with a predator outside.
Rafa’s voice drops lower. “If he comes in, you move first. Down the hall. Back stair. Vehicle.”
My throat tightens. “What about Gabriel.”
Rafa’s eyes stay steady. “Gabriel is where he needs to be. He knows this is possible.”
Possible means planned for. It means I am not crazy for feeling like the trap has teeth on both sides.
I swallow hard. “I don’t want to run.”
Rafa’s voice stays quiet. “Then don’t. Just move.”
The second man outside takes out his phone. He looks down, then up again, then starts walking slow toward the building.
My breath catches. My heart punches my ribs.
The woman at the door lifts a hand slightly, a silent signal. Rafa’s posture shifts, and the air in the room changes.
Ready.
My fingers crush my pendant. “He’s coming.”
“I see him,” Rafa says.
And then, through the curtain slit, I see something else that makes my blood go cold. Another vehicle rolls up the street. Not Italian. Not cartel. It slows near the curb like it is looking for an address.
Like it is looking for me.
My throat closes. “There’s more.”
Rafa’s eyes narrow. He murmurs into comms again. “Additional vehicle. Unmarked. Approaching safe house.”
The woman beside me keeps her hand on my arm. She says softly, “Breathe. Feet.”
I do it. In. Out.
But my body is screaming one truth.
They didn’t just come for appearances. They came for the hidden room behind the curtains. They came for the woman holding the diary.
And if they get inside, they will not be asking for the diary anymore.
* * *
Dear Diary,
I was spying on my own life
Maybe the trap worked.
Maybe that was the point.
Maybe they were trapping us.
Maybe we were trapping them back.
But my body knows one thing for sure.
When men stop watching the stage and start watching the exits.
They plan to come inside.