Page 153 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

Then a thought hits me like a bullet.

Tatiana.

She’s here. In the guest suite.

Right fucking now.

Vulnerable.

My responsibility.

No!

Not again.

I won’t fail again.

I won’t failher.

Jake’s not going to get here in time.

I have to act.

Right fucking now.

The thought burns through my fear like acid, leaving nothing but cold, clear purpose.

I get up from behind the bed and slide open my nightstand drawer. I remove the handgun I keep there. The weight is familiar. Reassuring.

The footsteps grow closer. They’re in the hallway now.

I move silently toward my bedroom door, straining to hear their positions. Three distinct sets of footsteps. One approaching my room. The others moving deeper into the penthouse.

Toward the guest suite.

Toward Tatiana.

“Tatiana,” I call out, loud enough to be heard through the walls. “Shut and lock the door.”

A startled “Wha” comes from the guest suite.

“Shut the fucking door!” I yell, not waiting for her response.

The intruders freeze, then their footsteps quicken.

They know I’m awake now.

The element of surprise is gone.

For them, not for me.

I flatten myself against the wall beside my bedroom door, gun raised. The door pushes open slowly, and a shadow falls across the floor. A man steps in, dressed in black, a ski mask covering his face. He’s armed, a gun with a silencer held low.

I don’t hesitate. I swing the butt of my weapon down hard on his wrist. There’s a satisfying crack of bone. His gun clatters to the floor as he howls in pain. I follow with a strike to his temple. Another crack. He crumples.

I see Nico’s blood spraying across our childhood bedroom wall. See his eye swelling shut as they hit him again. Again. Hear his screams.

Voices from the hallway.

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