Page 122 of Billionaire’s Heartbreak

“You could have died.”

“So could you.”

“That isn't the point.”

“It is to me.”

He stared at me, then sighed. “How did you even get there?”

“I had some help.”

“Beng?”

“Matteo.” I hesitated. “Technically, Marie. She made him take me.”

He looked around the room, taking in the white walls, medical equipment and machines beside his bed.

“Where am I?”

“You're in the hospital.”

His eyes widened. “What happened?”

“You were shot.”

He looked down at himself, then back at me. “But it was only my knee.”

I stared at him. “You tore your stitches.”

His expression changed. “The stitches opened?”

I nodded. “You lost so much blood that you passed out.”

He was quiet for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. “Wait… I remember there were gunshots.”

I nodded.

He started looking me over, his hands moving toward my arms, shoulders and waist as though he needed to make sure I was intact.

“I thought he shot you?”

“No.” I pressed my hands over his. “I was the one firing.”

He stopped. “You shot him.”

“Yes. A few of us shot at him.” I paused. “But I fired first.”

“So he's dead.”

“Yes. I checked.” My voice softened. “He's dead.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I could still remember the gun in my hands, the deafening sound, the smell of gunpowder, and the horrible silence afterward.

Roger was dead, and somehow, I was still here. It had been luck. His gun had jammed, my hands had been shaking, and somehow my bullet had struck his shoulder badly enough to stop him before he could fire again.

I had spent years saving lives. That day, I had taken one.

I still didn't know what that meant about me.