Wicked Savage: Chapter 15

Ms. Marinova.

Why? Why would he call her that fucking name?!

A wave of cold dread slams into my chest, choking the breath out of me.

I pull away from her instinctively. Confusion plays in my features as my gaze snaps between her and a man dressed in a white chef’s coat.

Dinara’s face pales, her chest heaving as though she’s suffocating, and the terror in her eyes is unmistakable.

Fear.

“What did you just call her?” My voice cracks like broken glass, raw, jagged.

Before I even realize it, I’m on him, my hand tight around his throat as I lift him off the ground and slam him against the wall.

“Cillian! What the hell are you doing?” Dinara’s words are shaky, frantic, as she tries to pry me off the guy whose face is rapidly turning purple.

His chest spasms, his lips parting as he struggles for air, his hands clawing weakly at mine. But I don’t care.

“What. Did. You. Call. Her?” My teeth grind, my words laced with a fury I can’t contain.

“I-I don’t understand. What did I do?” The chef’s voice shakes, gasping for air.

“Answer me, you son of a bitch! What did you call her?”

“Cillian!” she cries my name, her hands grabbing at me, the pain of her touch searing through me. “Please let me explain!”

“No!” I peer over at her from behind my shoulder. “You keep quiet.” My attention returns to the chef. “I asked you a question. What did you call her?”

He’s barely able to breathe, stuttering out his answer. “Ms.…Ms. Marinova?”

“Why?”

A ferocity builds inside me, an anger so deep it threatens to consume everything.

“WHY?!” I shout when he doesn’t answer right away.

He jerks, complete panic on every inch of his face. “Th-that is her name. Dinara Marinova.”

No. Nonono!

“FUCK!”

Every muscle in my body locks. My mind goes blank, and then—everything crashes down.

“Is she related to Konstantin Marinov?” My tone comes out barely a whisper, but the words feel like venom on my tongue.

He nods, shaking with terror.

“How?!”

“She-she’s his cousin. Her father, Leo, and his father, Sergey, were brothers.”

And in that moment, the world tilts. I stagger back a step, the room spinning.

She can’t be a part of that family. She just can’t be.

No. Not her.

My hand falls, my body buzzing with adrenaline and fucking hatred.

“Get the hell out of here!” I bark, shoving the chef away.

He stumbles before jolting upright. Without a second glance, he bolts from the room. The space falls silent, but it only lasts a second.

“Cillian, please, look at me.”

Her hand rests on my back, but instead of warmth, it burns. I search for something to say, anything that won’t make this worse, but every word feels wrong.

And I know: once we have this conversation, whatever weare will be over.

“I didn’t know,” she pleads. “Not at first. I just⁠—”

“So you did know!” I flip around, curling my hands to control the rage running through my veins. “You knew about what happened to my mother and my feelings about your family, and you said nothing?”

“No, it’s not like that! I⁠—”

“You told me your name was Dinara Matrovskaya.” The rage courses through me like wildfire. “You’re a fucking liar, aren’t you?”

“No!” Her eyes well with tears, and the sharp sting of guilt pierces me. “That’s my mother’s maiden name! I don’t use Marinova because I…because I hate my father.” Her voice cracks. “I hate him.”

But I can’t hear it. I can’t seem to stop my anger from taking over, reliving those moments of watching my mother screaming as she burned alive. I see it, hear it, feel it, and it rips something inside of me open, leaving only pain and emptiness.

“Fuuuck!”

My fist slams into a nearby wall, the impact echoing in my bones. My knuckles crack, blood spilling across my hand as I pull it back.

“Oh my God!” She rushes to the table and takes a napkin, picking up my hand to stop the bleeding.

Her touch is nothing but poison.

But even as the venom fills me, I want it. She’s a craving. A need.

One that I can’t let myself have. Not now. Not ever.

I’ll never fall in love with the woman whose family broke mine.

She glances up as she presses the napkin on my wound, and my jaw clenches. I want her to continue touching me even while I hate myself for needing her so damn bad.

“Dinara…why?” I don’t even know what the hell I’m asking.

Why didn’t you tell me?

Why the fuck do you have to be a damn Marinov?

Tears spill down her cheeks, and with each drop, my heart breaks more.

“I found out a few days ago.” Her hands tremble as she wipes away her tears. “Konstantin told me everything. Who you are. What his father did. And I…I planned to tell you after dinner.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m so sorry, Cillian. I can’t—” She chokes on a sob, her words faltering. “I can’t imagine, but I can because my father… My father killed my mother. Right in front of me. And I couldn’t stop it. I still hear it. Every night.”

Her words break me in ways I didn’t think were possible. She knows. She understands. But that doesn’t make this any easier. It doesn’t make her family’s betrayal any less real.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” My hand cups her face, forcing her eyes to meet mine, the weight of her sadness dragging me deeper into despair. “I’m so damn sorry.”

I tug my hand away, and I see it: her soul shattering right in front of me. And it’s all my fault. The agony in her face twists the knife even deeper.

She presses her hand to my chest, a desperate plea in her eyes. “I never meant to hurt you, Cillian. I swear.”

She doesn’t get it, does she?

“It doesn’t matter.” Every syllable is a tortured rasp. “Your uncle… He’s the reason my mother is dead. Don’t you get it? I can’t be with you. I can’t love you, not when your family destroyed mine.”

I can’t believe this is fucking happening.

Her face crumples, her lips trembling.

“Please don’t walk away from me,” she whispers, breaking into pieces. “We can figure it out. Together.”

“You think I want to?!” I roar, pushing her up against the wall.

My hand circles around her throat, but not enough to hurt her. It’s to keep me from falling apart. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.

“You think I want to leave you? The thought of never seeing you again, of losing you for good… It’s killing me, Dinara. But you know what kills me the most?” The pain’s so thick I can barely speak.

Her breath catches, and I know she feels it too—the pull between us.

But it’s not enough.

“Knowing that I could fall in love with the woman who killed my mother.”

“I…I didn’t.” She shakes her head.

“You might as well have.” I draw in closer, my lips stroking hers, wanting her so damn much. “Every time I look at you, I’ll remember her screams. The way she begged. The way she died so brutally while I couldn’t save her.”

The words are like a knife. Silently, she cries, and every part of me continues to break.

“Tell me,” I choke, my throat closing. “How would you feel if my family killed your mother? Could you ever be with me? Could you lie beside me every night knowing that?”

She doesn’t answer.

“I’m sorry, Dinara. But I just…I can’t.” As I step back, the words rip me apart. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes flutter shut as more tears spill down her cheeks. She doesn’t say anything, but I see it in her face: the anguish, the plea.

But I can’t stay.

Before I can change my mind, I turn away, every step harder to take.

“Cillian…” Her pained sob cuts through me, and my chest rips in two.

And when she does it for a second time, that’s all it takes. I’m rushing back before I can stop myself, my lips crashing to hers in a desperate, savage kiss—a flickering flame consuming us both until it fades and dies. My hands are everywhere, gripping, pulling her closer, even as my heart screams for me to stop.

But I can’t. I can’t stop touching her. I can’t stop wanting her.

Because the moment I let go, this will all be over. I know it. And so does she.

I grip her hip, clasping her nape with my other hand, her pulse pounding against my touch. And for a moment, I forget who she is and why this is wrong, and I let myself remember why she’s felt right from the moment I first kissed her.

I don’t know where to go from here. How to forget I ever met her. How to live knowing I can’t have her anymore. That someone else will.

My chest tightens, my fist clenched at the small of her back, but I don’t let go, kissing her with a savagery I’ve never felt before. If I don’t stop, then I don’t have to walk away.

Not right now. Not until it’s over.

I don’t know how long I stay there, how long I let myself have what I’m no longer allowed, but soon, it comes to an end. My palms cup her face, her lips skimming mine like she doesn’t want this to end either.

But then the image of my mother, her body scorched, comes crashing back, and I know there’s nothing left for us.

I don’t look back as I walk away, even though her sobs cut through me.

Slipping into my car, I grip the steering wheel like a lifeline. When I glance in the rearview mirror, I see her standing there watching me drive off, her face streaked with tears.

But I can’t stop. I have to keep driving.

Because I’m already gone.