Wicked Savage: Chapter 33

My fist crashes into the punching bag, the sharp impact rattling through my bones like a jolt of electricity. I don’t feel it. The pain in my knuckles is nothing compared to the fire in my chest. The memory of seeing Dinara with Adriano replays in my head over and over again.

Each punch I throw is a desperate attempt to obliterate the image of them together. Him with his arm around her, his face too close to hers, as if he has any fucking right to touch her.

I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m the one who left her. Of course she chose to move on, while I sat here all these years wishing I had the chance to make things right, to tell her I’m sorry.

But now, she’s too hurt to ever give me that chance.

She’s gone. Completely gone. And it’s all my damn fault.

But the way she felt in my arms after all this time… It was better than I imagined, until that moment she walked out the door like I meant nothing at all.

Muttering a curse, I hit the bag harder, my fists throbbing with the force of my rage. The burn in my arms doesn’t matter. I can’t focus on anything but that scene: her in his arms, like she belonged there. It’s all I can see when I close my eyes.

Dinara is mine. She’s all mine.

I tell myself to calm down. Killing Adriano wouldn’t be smart. It would start a war with the Italians, and with Gio married to Iseult, it would fuck everything up. The Marinos are family now, and they’d be stuck in the middle.

My mind knows that. But the part of me that’s consumed with rage—the part of me that still cares for Dinara—doesn’t give a damn about family.

I should call Adriano and talk to him, man to man. Tell him she’s mine. But if he’s been with her all this time, if he’s had her in his life the way I used to, he won’t just let her go. I know that. If I was in his shoes, I wouldn’t.

My punches get faster, harder, until the bag seems to blur in front of me.

I’ve never felt this fucking shattered. I’m falling apart. I waited all this time to find her, but all I did was lose her all over again.

“Looking to break your hand?” Fionn’s voice cuts through the noise in my head.

I don’t turn around. I just punch the bag again, my teeth gritted.

“Fuck off.”

“That was some party, huh?”

Why is he still talking?

I don’t answer him, just keep swinging.

But he doesn’t stop. “You two disappeared for a while. How did that go?”

I stop mid-punch and whip around to face him, my temper flaring. “How the hell do you think it went?”

Fionn leans against the wall, watching me like he’s studying some kind of animal in a cage. “Based on how miserable you were afterward, I’d say pretty damn bad.”

I let out a curse, so done with this conversation already.

“Why not just ask her to marry you? Maybe she’ll actually say yes.” He smirks.

The words hit me like a hammer.

Marriage? Jesus.

There was a time when I couldn’t even stand the idea. I couldn’t let myself get trapped in that kind of life, tied to a family who had already taken so much from me. From us.

But now? The thought of her saying yes doesn’t feel so sickening anymore. Not after I’ve felt the agony of her being gone.

But it’s pointless. She’ll never say yes. I fucked up. She hates me.

“Not interested,” I mutter.

Denial is easier.

Fionn shakes his head like I’m some kind of idiot. “You haven’t learned shit, have you?”

I clench my fists and snap, “Mind your business, Fionn. Just let me work out.”

“You look like you’re trying to beat the hell out of someone, not work out.” His eyes glint with amusement.

“Maybe I’m imagining it’s your face,” I scoff, unable to hide the flicker of a challenge in my tone.

Fionn raises an eyebrow, his smirk turning into something more intense. “Remember what happened the last time you wanted to fight me? You ended up with a shiner.”

“That won’t happen again.”

He shrugs, his grin unfading. “Guess we’ll never know. See ya tonight at dinner.”

Dinner. Fuck. I forgot.

Tynan’s hosting family dinner. That damn tradition my father started. Now I’ll have to sit there and pretend I’m not a goddamn mess.

And worse, everyone’s going to ask questions. They’ll know something’s off. They always do.

I shake my head, the frustration clawing at me, but Fionn’s right. I’m not here for a workout. I’m here because if I don’t hit something, I’ll snap.

I need this. I need her.

Dinara can’t be with Adriano. I won’t let it happen.

And today? He’ll learn how far I’m willing to go to make sure he knows that.

She’s mine. Always was. And I’ll tear apart anyone who tries to take her from me.

Hours later, I find myself staring at the phone in my hand, the weight of it almost suffocating.

I’ve been pacing for God knows how long, fighting the urge to throw it across the room, but I need answers. I need to know. My fingers slide over the screen as I hit dial, and the phone rings three times before he picks up.

“Cillian Quinn. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Adriano’s voice is smooth, too calm, like he’s been waiting for this call.

The bastard knows exactly why I’m calling.

“Adriano.” My tone is steady, but it doesn’t hide the edge, the simmering anger beneath. “I need to know. How long have you been with her?”

I run a hand over my jaw, trying to keep myself from losing it. A silence stretches, thick and heavy, before he answers, and I can almost hear him smirking.

“I’m not with Dinara. We just met at the party. But she’s lovely, that’s for sure.”

Lovely.

That word ignites something inside me: a rush of heat, a surge of pure fucking possessiveness. He’s talking about my woman, even if she doesn’t know she’s mine anymore.

My fist clenches. He needs to shut the hell up.

“She’s mine,” I growl before I can stop myself.

He laughs, low and amused, like this whole thing is some damn game. “Really? According to her, you’re an ex. An asshole, as she called you. What the hell did you do?”

The bastard is enjoying this. The question hangs in the air, sharp and biting, and I fight the instinct to tear him apart with my words. Instead, I force myself to stay calm and in control.

“That’s none of your business.” The words are sharper than I intend, but I can’t help it.

Adriano chuckles again, colder this time. “Perhaps not. But I’m disappointed it won’t work out with you and Lucia.”

“She’s great,” I mutter through clenched teeth, my pulse spiking. “She’s just not her.”

“I understand. But you don’t need to worry about Dinara and me. I have no interest in her.”

I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me, bitter and hollow. “I wasn’t worried.”

“Of course not,” he responds, like the whole conversation is beneath him now. “Have a good day.”

The line goes dead while my hand clenches around the phone. I drop the cell onto the kitchen counter like it’s a hot stone, the cool surface offering some kind of relief, but it doesn’t last.

I should feel relieved. She wasn’t with him. She lied. She was just trying to make me jealous.

And shit, it worked. I was burning with it.

But so was she. And that just means she still cares.

She can pretend all she wants, but the way she looked at me when she saw me with Lucia…I know the truth: she’s not done with me.

And neither am I. I haven’t let go. I never will.

If it takes all my damn willpower, I’ll make her remember exactly what we were. And what we can be.