My Mafia Husband Threw Me Out at Midnight—Then I Found Out He Was Trying to Die for Me.

Down near the private elevator, Trent Falcone had managed to drag himself onto his feet, clutching his bleeding thigh, his hands shaking frantically as he reached for his dropped revolver.

Carlo didn't rush.

He walked slowly across the polished hardwood floor, the heavy soles of his leather shoes crunching softly over the broken glass. His white shirt was soaked with his own blood and rain, his dark hair falling over his forehead, looking like an ancient warlord stepping through the ashes of a conquered city.

He picked up Falcone’s silver revolver from the floor, balanced it in his palm for a second, and then pointed it directly at Falcone’s chest.

"You came into my city, Trent," Carlo said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying rumble. "You put your filthy hands on my home. You made my wife bleed."

"Carlo... wait!" Falcone choked out, holding up his hands, his face slick with sweat. "We can make a deal! The federal task force... I can turn them off! I have the contacts! I can give you New York!"

"I don't want New York," Carlo said calmly.

"Then what do you want?!" Falcone shrieked, backing against the elevator doors as the red floor-strip lights reflected off the barrel of the gun.

Carlo glanced back at me. I was standing in the center of the room, holding the MP5, wiping the rain from my eyes, looking back at him with absolute, unwavering loyalty.

"I already have everything I want," Carlo said.

BANG.

The heavy .357 round tore through Falcone’s chest. He slumped backward against the elevator doors, sliding down to the floor in a lifeless heap, his eyes staring blankly up at the high concrete ceiling.

Carlo dropped the empty revolver onto Falcone’s corpse, pulled out his personal phone from his pocket, and dialed a number.

"Sofia," Carlo said into the receiver. "Cancel the dead-man's switch."

"It's already done, Boss," Sofia’s voice came through the speaker, sounding exhausted but deeply relieved. "The files are secured back in the Cicero vault. And... Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"Your wife is terrifying."

Carlo looked at me, a genuine, breathtaking smile breaking through the blood on his face. "I know, Sofia. Send the clean-up crew up to the penthouse. We have a home to rebuild."

He hung up the phone and walked back over to me.

He didn't say anything. He simply reached out, wrapped his strong arms around my waist, and pulled me tight against his chest, burying his face into the side of my neck. I dropped the submachine gun to the floor, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, holding him with every ounce of strength left in my body.

The cool night wind blew through the shattered windows, carrying away the smell of gunpowder and blood, replacing it with the fresh, clean air of the lake after a storm.

"I'm sorry," Carlo whispered into my skin, his chest heaving with silent sobs. "I'm so sorry, Bianca. I hurt you."

"You tried to die for me," I whispered back, my tears finally falling, hot and fast against his neck. "You stupid, arrogant man. You tried to die for me."