Page 37 of Wicked Savage

“Ah, we’re here.”

“Where ishere, exactly?”

A half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as we drive through a private residential area, passing mansion after mansion. What is this place?

When we stop in front of a light gray house—smaller than his, but still enormous—he turns to me. “This is your new home, Dinara. I hope you like it.”

“Uh, what?” I let out a laugh. “I live with you.”

Clearly, he’s joking.

“You will always have a home with me, but I thought since you are a woman now, you should have a place of your own.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. “You’re serious?” My gaze darts between his amused expression and the towering house in front of me. “This is too much.”

“Nonsense.” He waves it off. “Come on, let’s take a look inside.”

“I don’t even know what to say.”

Emotions tighten in my throat. He didn’t have to do this for me.

“A thank-you would suffice.” He smirks.

“Spaseba.”Thank you.

We approach a pair of security guards at the entrance, who greet us as they open the door.

Inside, a few housekeepers move about the foyer, one polishing the small glass table at the center with fresh orchids resting inside a vase, while the other dusts off the mirror and the sketched fashion art pieces already adorning the walls. Everything is sleek, contemporary, and somehow…so me.

A glistening chandelier hangs from the cathedral ceiling, drawing the eye upward. I can’t help but wonder what I’m supposed to do with such a giant home all to myself.

“Mr. Marinov, Ms. Marinova.” One of the housekeepers comes over, wiping her hands on her apron as she approaches.

“This is Sonya, your head housekeeper. She’s Ludmilla’s friend.”

“Yes. Hello.” She nods, her blue eyes glistening as she smiles, a few gray and black hairs sticking out from her almost perfect bun. “Anything you need, you tell me. I’m here to help. So is everyone else.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s go see the rest of the house,” Konstantin says, leading me toward the staircase and turning into a pristine gray-and-white kitchen.

A man stands at the stove in a white jacket, and when he turns, the tips of his mustache curl upward.

“This is Lenny, your cook.”

“Ms. Marinova, it’s a great pleasure to meet you.” His heavy Russian accent matches Konstantin's.

“I chose him just for you,” Konstantin adds. “He’s one of the best chefs in Russia.”

Lenny’s face pales for a moment before he recovers and smiles at me. “Yes, when Mr. Marinov told me he would bring me to America to cook for his family, I was honored. Truly honored.”

“Only the best for my family.” Konstantin's jaw tightens, and Lenny nearly trembles.

What’s going on here?

“It’s nice to meet you.” I extend my hand, and he shakes it with a slight shudder.

“You as well, Ms. Marinova. I will get back to making lunch for you both.”

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