Wicked Savage: Chapter 42

Fia sits perched on her father, Fionn’s, lap, her bright, innocent smile lighting up her face as she watches Dinara intently across the dinner table.

She’s a sweet, adorable four-year-old and has her father completely wrapped around her finger. But Fionn had no idea she even existed until just a few months ago. Neither he nor her mother, Amara, had any way of finding each other so she could tell him about their daughter.

“You’re pretty,” Fia says, grinning up at Dinara while my entire family is gathered around my father’s dining table. “Do you love Uncle Cillian? Daddy says Uncle Cillian loves you.”

I choke on my water, the sputtering cough catching me off guard. Dinara scratches her temple, her eyes flickering between Fia’s earnest gaze and the silent room around us.

This is exactly how I imagined our family dinner would go. Total inquisition. Glancing at Fionn, I see the devilish grin tugging at his lips. Of course he’s enjoying this.

Fia’s gaze is still on Dinara, waiting patiently for an answer.

“That’s not a polite question, baby,” her mother says gently, giving Dinara an apologetic look.

Fia, undeterred, furrows her brow. “Why, Mommy? You have to love a boy to get married, right? Like princesses and princes?”

She looks at Amara for validation, the hope in her eyes clear and unguarded. I hate to break her little heart, but Dinara and I are no fairy tale, though a little lie never hurt anyone…

“That’s right, sweetheart,” I say, squeezing Dinara’s hand and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

And for the first time since we’ve reunited, my wife doesn’t look like she wants to kill me. Her mouth twitches just a little as I go on.

“Dinara and I are very much in love. Aren’t we, leannan?”

When she tries to slip out of my grasp, I don’t let her, bringing our joined hands over my lap. She gives me a pointed look, one I meet with equal intensity.

“Um…yep. That’s right. So in love.” She clears her throat.

Maybe one day soon, she’ll actually sound like she means it.

Fia’s face lights up, her excitement palpable. “I can’t wait to be a flower girl! Mommy showed me what to do! It’s going to be so much fun! Right, Adora?” She glances over at Tynan’s daughter.

Adora nods shyly. Unlike Fia, she’s more reserved around new people.

Fia turns her gaze back to Dinara. “Do you like tea parties?”

Dinara narrows her eyes playfully, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “I’ve been known to throw a pretty awesome tea party or two. Just ask my sister.”

Fia’s eyes practically sparkle with excitement. “Can we have one together? You and Uncle Cillian?”

“Him at a tea party?” Dinara snickers. “I’d pay to see that.”

I raise an eyebrow, pretending to look offended. “You think I can’t hang with the girls?”

Dinara laughs, the sound light and carefree. “I guess we’ll see.”

Her smile widens, and it makes me wonder if this marriage, this life we’ve found ourselves in, might just work out after all.

“Are you nervous at all about the wedding tomorrow? I mean, we’re a lot,” Iseult cuts in, her tone playful as she takes a sip of her wine. “I wouldn’t blame you if you needed to hightail it out of here. I’d even help you.”

I shoot her an irritated look.

“Believe me, it’s at the top of my priorities.” Dinara’s mouth curves.

I pull her closer, lowering my lips near her ear. “Don’t you know by now, I’ll never let you get away again?”

She shoots me a grin. “Try to stop me.”

“Aw, aren’t they just cute?” Fernanda chimes in, leaning her head on my father’s shoulder.

My dad watches us with a fond smile, like he already accepted Dinara into our family as soon as they met. “I’m glad you all found someone to spend the rest of your lives with. It’s important to have that one person you can always count on, no matter how old you get or what life throws at you.” He kisses Fernanda’s hand. “It makes this father very proud.”

“Okay, Dad, cut it out with the mushy stuff,” Iseult groans, quickly blinking away any sign of emotion as she grabs her glass of wine.

“Don’t mind her,” Gio says, wrapping an arm around Iseult. “She loves mushy stuff. It makes her cold, dead heart beat a little.”

“I’ll have you know my cold, dead heart is about to carve out yours if you don’t stop talking,” Iseult warns with a glare, though there’s no hate behind it.

Gio laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, while Dinara watches the exchange between them. Her gaze flickers to me briefly, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s remembering the days when we used to have fun like that, before everything got complicated. I won’t lie; I miss it.

And maybe, just maybe, we can get that back.

Waiting for her to walk down the aisle has to be the most nerve-wracking experience of my life. Every muscle in my body is tight, my thoughts racing in a dozen different directions. Part of me wonders if she’s going to bolt, just turn and disappear like she did once before. I was on the edge of losing her for so long, and I’m still terrified of it happening again.

I scan the guests seated in front of the draped canopy: my family, hers, a sea of faces all watching me, all waiting for her. Never in a million years did I think I’d find myself here. A man who used to despise the Marinovs. Hell, I still don’t like them—except her.

I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything. It surpasses all my doubts, all the bitterness, all the things I used to believe. If only I could rewind time and undo all the hurt I caused her, maybe she’d be happy to marry me.

“You look like you’re about to be sick,” Fionn chuckles, breaking into my thoughts.

Tynan leans in. “He’s probably afraid she’s already run off, just like last time.”

I throw him a warning glare, but it doesn’t faze him.

If Dinara tries to leave, Konstantin will make sure she doesn’t get far. I have no doubt about that.

“She won’t run,” Tatiana interjects from across the aisle, holding a bouquet of delicate white roses. Her voice is steady, confident, as though she knows for sure, and it helps settle some of the tension in my chest.

“But if you hurt her again…” Natalia cuts in, cold and stern, eyes gleaming with something darker. “I will personally kill you, and it will be painful.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Trust me, I don’t plan on ever doing that again.”

I don’t know if she realizes how much I mean it.

“Good.” Her chin tilts upward in a gesture that says she’s not messing around. “You’d better not.”

The music shifts, and that’s when everything starts to feel real.

The guests rise, the air humming with anticipation. My pulse pounds in my ears, every second stretching longer than the last. My gaze locks on to the end of the aisle…and then I see her.

I let out a laugh, unable to help myself.

Dinara isn’t like other brides. While every other woman in this moment would be bathed in white, she walks toward me draped in black from head to toe. The black veil covering her face conceals her from view, while her strapless lace gown clings to her figure in a way that takes my breath away.

She’s perfection. Strong, flawless, and every bit the woman I’ve wanted for so long.

Konstantin walks her down the aisle proudly, a smile curling at the corners of his lips. His eyes meet mine briefly before he stops in front of me, lifting her veil gently. He kisses both of her cheeks, whispers something I can’t hear into her ear, then places her hand in mine.

“You take care of our girl,” he says in a low, steady tone, filled with an unspoken trust.

“I will.” My words carry the weight of all I’ve been through to get here.

Dinara looks up at me, her eyes locking with mine, and for a brief moment, I see something softer in them—a glimpse of the woman I used to know.

Leaning into her ear, my breath warm against her skin, I say, “Interesting dress choice, baby.”

She meets my gaze with a coy little smile that makes me wanna kiss her right now. “What else is a girl supposed to wear to her own funeral?”

I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “Tha thu bòidheach.”

“What does that mean?” she whispers.

“It means, ‘You’re beautiful.’”

Her eyes widen for a moment before the priest gets our attention. But my focus remains on my wife, my heart pounding as I realize that everything—all the mistakes, all the years lost—has led me to this moment.

And no matter what happens next, I know this is where I’m supposed to be.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

As he lifts my veil, his eyes locking with mine, a flood of emotions rushes through me as I remember the time when I could have pictured myself marrying him without hesitation. Back then, the thought was a comfort, something I held on to. But now it feels like a chain, heavy and suffocating.

When his mouth captures mine, my hands instinctively grip the lapels of his jacket, desperate to hold on to something I’ve wanted for so long, even when it’s the last thing I should do.

Cheers erupt around us as we pull away, but I’m still lost in him, in this quiet daze that surrounds me when he looks at me this way—full of longing. Even in this moment, as much as I fight it, he holds my heart.

Soon enough, we find ourselves on the dance floor, his arms pulling me close as we begin to sway, my hands resting on his shoulders.

“I can’t believe they pulled off this wedding on such short notice.” My attention momentarily sweeps around the elegant setting—the floral centerpieces of white calla lilies, the black tablecloths with gold runners—everything is just as I envisioned.

A soft melody drifts from the band, a song about love, about being open to it even after the heart’s been broken. I can’t help but wonder if Cillian chose this song intentionally.

“My stepmother has a gift for last-minute planning,” he says with a half-smile. “Once she found out, she was all in to help.”

“Well, they did a good job. If I wasn’t marrying you, I’d actually say this is the nicest wedding I’ve ever been to.”

“You’re hurting my feelings, Mrs. Quinn.”

“Wait, you have feelings?” I raise a brow.

His lips curl into a small smile. “I’ve missed this.”

The back of his hand brushes softly down my cheek. A touch so familiar, yet laced with something bittersweet.

“Me too,” I whisper, feeling a rush of warmth spread through me as the song fades into another.

As his gaze lingers on me, I want more than anything to trust him again, to believe in him. But the wound is still fresh, the fear too heavy.

Just as we’re about to get swept up in another song, something catches my eye—a figure standing at the edge of the crowd. A cold wave of dread sweeps through me and I instinctively clutch Cillian’s hand tighter.

“Dinara, are you okay?” His voice sounds distant, muffled by the rising panic clawing at my chest.

Through the sea of people dancing and laughing, I see him.

My father. His face is as cold and unforgiving as I remember as he stands alone, watching me with a chilling intensity.

“Dinara?” Cillian calls, sharper this time.

I snap my focus to him, trying to shake off the fear that threatens to swallow me whole.

“What’s going on?”

“I…” My words falter as my attention darts back to where my father was standing.

But he’s gone. Vanished into the crowd, or maybe he was never really there at all.

The rational part of my mind tells me that I’m imagining things, that the years of fearing him have twisted my perception. But the lingering terror, the gnawing feeling in my gut, tells me something different.

I force a shaky smile at Cillian, trying to push the unease down. “Nothing. I’m fine. Let’s go sit for a moment.”

Cillian’s brow furrows, suspicion flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t press further. He simply nods, leading me back to our seats. As we settle down, a nagging question burrows deep in my mind.

Was he really there? Is my father still lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike? Or is it just fear playing tricks on me?

Either way, I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. That this night isn’t over yet.

Minutes pass before the clinking of a glass draws everyone’s attention. The music fades, conversations hush, and all eyes turn to Konstantin as he rises to give a toast, a smirk tugging and a drink in hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins. “I’m grateful to see you all here, gathered to celebrate Dinara and Cillian. Now, I don’t know if you all are familiar with the torturous history between these two—because believe me, it was torturous.”

A ripple of laughter moves through the crowd.

“Especially for me,” Konstantin continues.

Cillian exhales sharply beside me.

“But for those who don’t know, let me sum it up: it took them way too long to get here. Honestly, I started thinking we’d all die of old age before they got their act together. And yet, here we are.” He pauses, tilting his glass slightly. “So I, for one, sincerely hope this is the end of their problems, because the last thing anyone wants is a funeral.” He grins. “Za zdorovye.”

He raises his glass, and the room erupts in cheers, glasses clinking together.

Cillian mutters a curse under his breath while I struggle to contain my laughter. Because of course, it’s just like Konstantin to end a toast with a thinly veiled death threat.