Page 115 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

Weiss swallows hard, then nods wordlessly.

“Good,” I say, my eyes never leaving his. “Security will escort you out. Don’t come back.”

The moment he’s gone, I replace the gun in its concealed compartment, my hand trembling slightly with adrenaline and rage. That bastard had the nerve to threaten Tatiana. To imply he knew about our arrangement.

I press the intercom. “Eleanor, get Jake Thompson in here. Now.”

Jake arrives moments later, taking in my expression with a quick, professional assessment. He notices the shattered floor tile.

“You shot at Weiss?” he says.

I shrug.

He’s looking around the room. “You really have to be careful firing in an enclosed space like this. The bullet could have ricocheted. Hit you.”

His eyes focus on a hole in the wall near the door. He examines it, takes out a small pen, and extracts the bullet.

“But it didn’t,” I say.

“No,” he agrees, setting the slightly flattened bullet down on my desk. “It didn’t.”

“Weiss is not to be allowed on the premises or within 100 feet of my wife ever again,” I instruct him. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Jake’s tone is clipped, efficient.

“Have you been able to dig up anything more linking him to the supplier sabotage?”

“Not yet, sir. We’re still working on it.”

I rake a hand through my hair, frustration and residual rage making me want to put my fist through the table. “Find something soon, before I put a bullet in his head for real next time.”

“Understood, sir.” Jake hesitates. “Do you want me to increase Mrs. Rossi’s security detail again?”

The thought of Weiss anywhere near Tatiana makes my blood boil all over again. “We’ve already doubled it. I don’t want to alarm her.”

Jake nods slowly.

After he leaves, I stare at the bullet on my desk.

The confrontation with Weiss has left me shaken in a way I’m not accustomed to. It wasn’t the threat to my business that pushed me over the edge.

It was the threat to Tatiana.

I almost killed a man today because he threatened her.

The realization terrifies me. I’m losing control. Getting too attached.

Four days left, and I’m alreadythiscompromised.

Fuck.

I need to push her evenfurtheraway.

For both our sakes.

It’safter ten when I finally return to the penthouse, deliberately working late to avoid another intimate evening with Tatiana. My cough is starting to return. The place is dark except for a single lamp in the living room, where she sits curled up with a book.

She looks up when I enter, her expression guarded. “You’re back late.”

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