Page 156 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

“The police are on their way.”

“No police,” I snap. “Handle it internally. Get them out of here. I don’t need press on this. Find out who they are, who hired them. I want answers.”

Jake hesitates, then nods. He knows better than to argue. He gestures to his team, who begin securing the intruders.

I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, and press a hand to my bleeding side. The bullet only grazed me, but it’s deep enough to need stitches.

I don’t care about the wound. Don’t care about the intruders. All I can think about is Tatiana.

When I thought I was protecting her, I found courage I never knew I had.

I wasn’t the coward who hid while his brother was beaten.

I fought.

I won.

But she wasn’t even here.

I was too late. I failed her already, in the worst possible way.

A laugh bubbles up, bitter and broken. Here I am, bleeding on my floor, having finally found the courage to fight, to protect, to be the man I should have been when Tatiana needed me. And it doesn’t fucking matter.

Because she’s gone.

Really gone.

And too late, I realize once again I love her. Like,reallyfucking love her. Not just as an acquisition or a means to an end. I love her intelligence, her stubbornness, her competence. The way she challenges me, doesn’t put up with my shit.

I never even told her.

I deleted my fucking voicemail.

“Sir,” Jake says, cutting through my thoughts. “We need to get that wound looked at.”

I look up at him, suddenly exhausted. “Who cares? It doesn’t matter.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Rossi, itdoesmatter.” He kneels beside me, examining the wound with practiced efficiency. “You’re going to need stitches.”

“Fine,” I mutter. “Call Dr. Keegan. Have him come here.”

Jake nods, then hesitates. “Sir, about your wife—”

“Don’t,” I warn, my voice sharp. “Don’t talk about her.”

“Understood.” He stands, speaking quietly into his comm unit, ordering the team to remove the intruders.

I watch as they drag the men out, leaving streaks of blood across my imported marble floors. Furniture is damaged. There are gunshot holes in the walls.

I should care. This penthouse cost millions.

But I don’t give a shit.

All I can think about is her. How I betrayed her. How I lost her.

You tried to trade me... hand me off to your brother like some sick peace offering.

She was right. I did try to trade her. Because deep down, I was still that scared little kid hiding behind his bed while someone else got hurt. Still trying to appease Nico in some twisted attempt to make things right.

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