Wicked Savage: Chapter 22

Getting out of my car, I glance over my shoulder, an eerie sensation crawling up my spine. It feels as though someone’s watching me, and I can’t shake the unease settling in my chest.

My footsteps falter as I climb the stairs, heading toward the safety of my front door. I tell myself it’s fine. No one can get to me here. Konstantin makes sure of that. He has eyes everywhere. If anyone tries anything, he will make them pay.

But at what cost? Who else would have to die just to protect me?

Am I even worth it? I couldn’t protect my own mother. Why do I deserve protection?

With a sigh, I step inside, shedding my shoes and coat before heading straight up to my room. It was nice to see Natalia and Alisa earlier, but all I really want right now is to curl up in bed, surrounded by memories of Cillian. The photos from that weekend we spent in New York are all I have left, and looking at them breaks me every time. We were so happy then. But that feels like a lifetime ago.

The moment I collapse onto the mattress, I bury my face in the pillow, but then…something hits me. The unmistakable scent of him.

For a moment, I think I’m imagining it. My mind is playing tricks on me, conjuring his presence when he’s not here. I even thought I saw him earlier—some guy in a hoodie and sunglasses, staring at me across the street—but when I looked back, he was gone.

Great. I’ve officially lost my mind.

But as I inhale deeply, the unmistakable scent fills my senses, and I know it’s real. I’m not crazy.

Or maybe I am…

But how can this be? Cillian wouldn’t have come here. He couldn’t have gotten in.

I laugh to myself and grab the pillow, walking into the hallway to find someone from the cleaning staff.

When I spot one, I call out to her. “Lena, can you help me with something?”

She looks up, her blonde hair pulled tightly into a neat ponytail.

“Of course, Ms. Marinova. What do you need?” Her Russian accent isn’t as thick as the others.

“Can you smell this pillow and tell me what it smells like?”

Her eyes widen, concern flashing across her face. “Is something wrong with it?”

“Oh, no, no. It’s not that,” I reassure her quickly. “I know this sounds strange, but I broke up with this guy, and I swear I smell his cologne on my pillow. I just need to know if I’m losing my mind, or if you can smell it too.”

She hesitates, then leans in, inhaling softly. Her eyes widen even more.

“You smell it, don’t you?” I ask, a mix of disbelief and relief flooding me.

She nods, her lips parting in surprise. “Yes.”

“I knew it!” I exhale, my heart racing.

“Do you want me to tell Mr. Marinov?” she asks, her tone a little hesitant.

“No!” I raise a hand quickly. “This stays between us. Please.”

“As you wish,” she responds before backing away and disappearing down the hall.

I return to my room, my mind spinning with questions. If he was here, what does it mean? Why would he come? Does he miss me? Or is he just playing games?

Then my eyes land on my vanity, and I freeze.

My perfume. It’s gone.

“What the hell?”

I walk closer, checking the drawers to see if I misplaced it. But no. It’s gone.

Cillian took my perfume? What for?

A rush of anxiety floods me as I pull out my phone and start typing a message to Natalia and Alisa, desperate to share what I just discovered.

A throbbing hits my chest. I miss him so much it physically hurts.

The thought of going out with some other guy doesn’t sound appealing.

Ouch.

I rise from the bed, grabbing the pillow again, and press my face into it, inhaling deeply.

His scent still lingers, and for a moment, I almost convince myself that he’s here, lying beside me. But I know he’s never coming back.

Natalia’s words echo in my mind. She’s right. Eventually, I’ll have to move on. The thought of moving on feels impossible right now, but maybe she’s right. It doesn’t have to happen today.

I pull myself together, grab my phone, and head downstairs, hoping a snack will distract me. I didn’t eat much earlier while I was out with the girls, my appetite lost in the swirl of emotions that have been consuming me.

As I enter the kitchen, Lenny is busy mixing a bowl of Olivier salad. He looks up and gives me a quick nod.

“Ms. Marinova,” he greets me. “Can I get you something to eat?”

“Please.”

“Salad okay? I also made shashliki.” He glances at me briefly before quickly averting his eyes, his usual way of avoiding direct contact.

I suspect it’s out of respect—or fear of Konstantin. I’ve never asked about their history, but I know there’s one there.

“Salad’s fine, thank you.”

Lenny turns his back to me, taking a bowl from the cabinet and serving me a generous portion. He hands it to me along with a fork, his gaze still not meeting mine.

“Thank you.”

He nods before retreating out of view.

I head to the fridge for a bottle of water, hoping it’ll help clear my mind. But before I can reach it, Sonya’s voice rings out behind me.

“Ms. Marinova, what are you doing? I can get that for you.”

Laughing lightly, I turn to face her, already holding the bottle in my hand. “Sonya, I can get my own water.”

“I know.” She shrugs, a small, almost uncomfortable smile flickering across her face. As I sit down, she glances at my plate, her eyes narrowing. “That doesn’t look like enough food. You need meat. Let me get you some.”

I shake my head, pulling the bowl closer to me. “No, I just wanted the salad.”

Her smile falters for a brief moment, something unreadable passing through her expression. It’s so quick, I almost miss it.

She recovers almost immediately, though, and waves it off. “No, no. Salad’s no good. I’ll get you something else.”

She grabs my bowl and moves toward the fridge with purpose, her back to me for a few seconds.

“Sonya, really, I’m fine with the salad,” I insist.

Her laugh is quick and hollow, as if she’s trying to fill the awkward space between us. “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

She starts toward me again, but just as she lowers the bowl back down, it slips from her hands. The ceramic shatters against the counter, pieces flying everywhere.

“Oh God!” I jump back as shards scatter across the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry! I’m an idiot,” Sonya exclaims. “Let me clean this up quickly, and I’ll make you another bowl, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” I mutter, still shaken.

She calls in help, and within ten minutes, the mess is cleaned up and a fresh bowl is placed in front of me. But even as I begin to eat, I can’t shake the strange feeling gnawing at me.

Something feels off, and I have no idea what to do with that.

I didn’t expect her to install a camera in her room, but it doesn’t change my plans. I don’t need to go into her bedroom. I’ve already got what I came for: the perfume bottle that’s always beside my bed, her panties right next to it.

I take a drag of the cranberry vodka, letting the cool liquid burn its way down my throat, then close my eyes. My mind drifts back to the night we met, when she drank the same drink. The way she lit up the room. How perfect she was.

How perfect she still is.

Leaning back into the sofa in the sitting room at Tynan’s, I register the sound of the door opening in the distance.

My family’s starting to trickle in for dinner, and if I didn’t have to be here, I wouldn’t be. But we all show up for these dinners, no matter what. No escaping it.

I take my time finishing my drink, not in the mood for the small talk that’s inevitably coming. They’re going to start asking about Dinara, and I can’t deal with that right now.

Then I hear the familiar click of high heels and look up to find Iseult striding in.

“What are you doing here all alone?” she asks, dropping onto the love seat across from me and crossing one leg over the other.

“Hiding,” I mutter, the bitterness in my laugh matching the tightness in my chest.

“I get it. Our family can be a lot sometimes.” She watches me for a few long seconds. “Are you okay? Fionn told me.”

I just shrug.

She exhales, dragging out the breath like she’s measuring her words. “I’m not great with advice, and I know Mom’s death messed us all up in different ways, but I don’t want to see you sabotage your happiness.”

I rub my face, the feeling of disgust creeping in. Disgust at myself for letting it get this far, for letting Dinara get under my skin this much.

“I can’t be with her, but I can’t be without her either.”

“I can see where you have a problem,” she says with a light chuckle.

“What the hell am I supposed to do, Iseult?” My voice cracks, the frustration thick in my chest.

She leans back, studying me like I’m some puzzle she’s trying to figure out. “I don’t know. But you’ll have to decide, because this whole mopey, brooding thing?” She gestures at me with a flick of her hand. “Not working for you.”

“Yeah, thanks for the insight,” I grumble dryly.

“I’m only half kidding,” she says, letting out a short laugh.

I exhale sharply. “What would you do? Could you just get over it if Gio’s father or uncle killed our mother?”

Her face tightens, her mouth forming a thin line as she thinks. “Honestly? I don’t know. And that’s the truth. But you have to decide. Either move on or find a way to be with her. Because if you don’t figure it out, it’s going to eat you alive.”

“Feels like it already is.”

She snickers. “Looks like it too.” Standing up, she stretches, as though ready to move on from this conversation. “Come on, let’s go. Being alone isn’t going to help you.”

I shake my head. “Neither is the inquisition I’m about to face out there.”

“Don’t worry.” She drapes an arm around me as we head toward our family. “I’ll scare them into silence.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I believe you.”