Page 94 of Wicked Savage

Yeah, whatever.

Alisa

Let us know if he comes back!

Dinara

I will.

Natalia

Love you.

Dinara

Back at ya both.

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.

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