Wicked Savage: Chapter 53

The sky weeps with us.

A cold drizzle falls over the cemetery, soaking into the fresh mound of earth that will soon swallow my little brother whole.

My fingers tremble as I clutch the white roses in my hand, their petals soft, delicate. Too much like him. Too much like the boy who never got to grow up.

I take a slow, shuddering breath, but it doesn’t stop the anguish caving into my chest.

It’s been two days since Gregory died right in front of me. Since his blood stained my hands. Since his small body went still. Two days, and it still doesn’t feel real.

It never will.

Cillian stands beside me, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, grounding me, keeping me upright when all I want to do is collapse. His warmth is the only thing preventing the cold from consuming me entirely. But even that isn’t enough to numb the agony tearing me apart.

I step forward, my boots sinking slightly into the damp grass. The coffin is there—polished black wood, lined with silver. Too small.

It shouldn’t be this small. This isn’t right. None of this is right.

With a shaking hand, I toss the flowers onto his coffin, watching them land softly against the surface. The finality of it crushes me, stealing what little breath I have left. My body trembles violently as I force out the words I should never have to say.

“I love you,” I whisper, my voice shattering like glass. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Just like I couldn’t save our mother…

Beside me, Tatiana chokes on a sob, her entire body convulsing as she falls to her knees, fingers clawing at the dirt as if she can pull him back from the grave.

“No, no, no,” she wails, her grief raw and piercing. “I want him back. Please, just bring him back!”

Her screams rip through me, twisting the knife of my own pain deeper into my soul.

Konstantin crouches beside her, his hand on her back, whispering something I can’t hear over the sound of my own heartbeat, the roar of my grief. He’s trying to comfort her, but nothing will help. Nothing will make this better.

Nothing except vengeance.

I lower my gaze toward Konstantin, his expression grim.

“I want to watch him die.” My words are hollow, stripped of emotion except for the deep, burning rage simmering beneath my grief. “I need to see it. I need to see him suffer.”

Konstantin’s lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. It’s crueler, darker—satisfaction and promise twisted into one. He kisses the top of Tatiana’s head and rises to his feet, stepping closer.

“You will, dorogaya. I’ll make sure of it.”

A sharp gust of wind cuts through the cemetery, rustling the trees, as if the universe itself is bearing witness to his vow.

Gregory will never breathe again.

And soon, neither will the man who caused it.

The noon air is thick the following day with the stench of blood and filth. The distant grunts of pigs echo through the silence, their restless shuffling filling the space between the living and the dead.

I stand at the edge of Konstantin’s pig farm, my fingers curled so tightly around Cillian’s that my nails bite into his skin. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, his grip tightens, anchoring me as I wait for the moment I’ve longed for.

The moment my father dies.

He kneels before us, wrists bound behind him, his cruel eyes locking on to mine with a twisted sneer. Even now, facing death, there is no regret in his gaze. No remorse for the wife he slaughtered. No grief for the son he led to death.

Only hate.

“Look at you,” he spits, voice rough but dripping with contempt. “Standing there, thinking you’re strong because they protect you.” His eyes flick to Konstantin, then to Cillian. “You’re weak, just like your mother. Just like that little bastard brother of yours.”

Rage surges through me so violently, I take a step forward. But Cillian is already there shielding me, his body taut with barely restrained fury.

“You say one more fucking word about her, and I’ll carve your tongue out myself,” he growls.

My father smirks, but before he can open his mouth again, Konstantin steps in.

“Enough talking for you, Uncle.” He rolls up his sleeves, exposing his tattooed forearms.

My father’s expression flickers just for a second. A sliver of fear seeps through the arrogance, the realization settling in that this isn’t just a death sentence. It’s an execution. And it won’t be quick.

Konstantin doesn’t rush. He starts slowly, methodically, cracking his knuckles before delivering the first punch. My father spits blood, but laughs, even as Konstantin delivers another blow, then another.

The laughter fades when Konstantin pulls out a blade and drags it across his chest, carving slow, deliberate lines into his flesh.

The minutes stretch into eternity. My father’s body is painted red, his screams mixing with the night air. He thrashes, but there’s nowhere to go. No one to save him.

Konstantin steps back, breathing hard, his eyes cold and calculating as he signals to Aleksei, who grins and drags over a chainsaw. The sound roars through the night, a deafening, merciless noise that drowns out everything else.

My father’s eyes go wide. He thrashes his arms harder, desperation finally taking over as the blade inches toward his leg.

“Nyet—podozhdi!” No—wait!

His screams are unlike anything I’ve ever heard. Blood sprays as Konstantin drives the blade through flesh and bone, severing his leg at the knee. His body convulses, agony twisting his face.

He tries to crawl, but Konstantin is already moving, taking the other leg. More screams. More blood.

I turn away and press my face into Cillian’s chest, nausea churning in my gut. His hand slides to the back of my head, holding me close, shielding me from the worst of it. But the sound—the wet, sickening noise of flesh being torn apart, the fading gurgles of a man drowning in his own pain—it seeps into my marrow.

By the time I look again, my father is barely more than a torso. His body is slumped, his head rolling to the side. Blood pools in the dirt, thick and endless. His lips move, but no words come out. Just a pathetic, broken gasp.

And then…nothing.

He’s gone.

I should feel relief. I should feel triumphant. But all I feel is empty.

Gregory is still dead. My mother is still gone. Nothing changes that.

But it’s not over yet. Aleksei reappears, dragging two more figures into the dim light.

Ludmilla and Sonya.

Sonya snivels, her face streaked with tears, while Ludmilla stands tall, expression hard despite the bruises marring her skin.

Konstantin doesn’t even hesitate. He grabs Ludmilla by the throat, shoving her to her knees.

“You betrayed me.” His mouth curls ruthlessly, his voice deceptively soft. “You worked against me. You had to know what I’d do to you, yes?”

Ludmilla’s lips part, but before she can speak, Sonya blurts out, “Please, sir, I didn’t know anything. She made me think Lenny was the traitor! I didn’t know she was working against you, I swear!’

Konstantin’s gaze flicks to Ludmilla, who can’t say a word to deny it. I heard it all from my father, and Konstantin knows the truth too.

“You were always easy to fool,” she taunts Sonya. “So naïve.”

Sonya’s sobs turn desperate. “I thought she was my friend! I didn’t know!” Her face crumples. “I-I didn’t know. I swear.”

Konstantin sighs, bored, and in one clean motion, slices Ludmilla’s throat. The blood sprays. She gurgles. Then he severs her head with the chainsaw. It rolls to the dirt, eyes still open, lips still curled in defiance.

I barely flinch, while Sonya screams, recoiling in horror. Her knees buckle, but before she can collapse, Konstantin presses the gun to her forehead.

“You didn’t tell me about Lenny,” he says. “You should’ve told me.”

She doesn’t beg. Doesn’t plead. She just cries.

A single gunshot echoes through the night, and Sonya falls.

Silence settles.

For a long moment, I just breathe, staring at the death before me. So much of it.

But there is no sense of victory. Just the pain of my brother’s absence.

Cillian squeezes my hand, and I turn to him, searching for something—comfort, reassurance, anything to fill the void inside me.

“It’s over now,” he promises.

I shake my head. “No. It’ll never be over.”

Because Gregory is still gone. And that pain will never fade.