Page 162 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

“No,” I say, my voice deadly calm. “You just manipulated me with guilt because you’re too fucking broken to deal with your own shit.”

He turns, anger flashing in his eyes. “Careful, Dom.”

“Or what?” I step closer. “You’ll guilt me more? Tell me again how I owe you? How I ruined your life?”

“Youdidruin my life,” he hisses. “Where were you when they were beating the shit out of me? Hiding under your fucking bed like a coward.”

The words hit like physical blows, but for once, I don’t flinch from them.

“I was fifteen,” I say quietly. “A terrified kid. And I have spent every day since then trying to make it up to you. But it’s never enough, is it? First you wanted two million dollars. Then shares in my company. Then a cut of the resort profits. And then you wanted my wife.”

“Your temporary wife,” he corrects.

“That doesn’tfuckingmatter,” I roar, the calm shattering. “You saw someone I cared about and decided to take her from me just because you could. Because you knew I’d let you.”

Nico’s face twists. “Poor Dominic. Always the victim.”

“No,” I move closer. “You don’t get to spin this. You’re not going to get two million dollars or any shares in my business or the resort. And you’re certainly not going to get Tatiana.”

“Won’t I?” Nico smirks, and something in me snaps.

My fist connects with his jaw before I even realize I’ve moved. Nico staggers back, eyes wide with shock, then launches himself at me with a roar.

I try to brace myself, but he slams me hard against the wall. Pain explodes through my injured side where the bullet grazed me last night. For a second, black spots dance across my vision, but I refuse to go down. Not this time.

I use his momentum against him, hooking my foot behind his ankle and twisting sharply. He loses his balance, and I push him sideways. At the last moment, he reaches out, grabbing my arm and pulling me down with him.

We crash into his expensive coffee table, sending glass flying everywhere. Pain continues to lance through my injured side, but I barely feel it now through the rage and adrenalin. We grapple on the floor, years of resentment and guilt unleashed in a flurry of fists and curses.

“I fucking worshipped you,” Nico gasps, landing a solid punch to my stomach. “My big brother who could do no wrong.”

I flip him, pinning him beneath me. “And I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to make up for one night,” I pant. “One fucking night when I was a scared kid.”

“It should have been you,” he snarls, his scarred face contorted. “They should have beaten you instead.”

“You’re right,” I say, and he freezes beneath me. “It should have been me. I live with that every day. But that doesn’t give you the right to destroy my life.”

“Yourlife?” He laughs, bitter and hollow. “Look at you, Dom. You have everything. The empire. The money. The power.”

“And it means nothing,” I say, the fight suddenly draining out of me. I roll off him, lying beside him on the floor amid the broken glass. “It all means fucking nothing.”

We lie there in silence, both breathing hard, surrounded by the ruins of his living room. An expensive painting hangs crooked on the wall. A shattered vase drips water onto imported hardwood.

Then, inexplicably, Nico starts to laugh. It begins as a chuckle, then grows into full-throated laughter. I turn my head to look at him, thinking he’s finally lost his mind.

“Your face,” he gasps. “You should see your face.”

And suddenly I’m laughing too, the absurdity of it all hitting me. Two grown men, bloodied and bruised, lying in broken glass in a multimillion-dollar apartment.

“We’re a fucking mess,” I say when I can breathe again.

“Complete disaster,” Nico agrees.

I push myself up, wincing at the fresh blood seeping through my shirt. “I need a drink.”

“Kitchen,” Nico says, not moving. “Top cabinet. The ‘82 Barolo.”

I find the wine and two glasses, returning to find Nico sitting against the wall, surveying the destruction.

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