Chapter 6 - My Husband Took a Bullet Meant for Me, and I Discovered the One Secret He Had Never Shared
Constantine ordered the driver to stop.
“Show me.”
Petra enlarged the photograph and pointed to the emblem on the man's cuff.
“I've seen this symbol on Marcus's office stationery. He used it on business cards and invoices. He said it was a design chosen by one of his partners.”
“Did he ever name the partner?”
“Bell & Cross Strategic Consulting.”
Constantine stared at the image.
“Marcus was connected to the company that paid your sister.”
“Yes.”
“And your father met him before he died.”
“Apparently.”
Constantine leaned back.
“Then this is no longer just a financial investigation.”
Petra looked out at the warehouses.
“It never was.”
They reached the property shortly after noon.
The building sat between a shuttered machine shop and a freight depot. A rusted sign identified it as a storage facility, but the security cameras were newer than the surrounding equipment, and fresh tire marks crossed the gravel.
Constantine's men had already secured the perimeter.
He turned toward Petra.
“You stay in the car.”
“No.”
“Petra.”
“You don't get to lock me away every time something becomes dangerous.”
“This isn't a discussion about your independence. We don't know who's inside.”
“And my father might have been killed because of what he discovered. If Marcus is connected to that, I have a right to know.”
Constantine's expression tightened.
“You have a right to the truth. You don't have to stand in the middle of a gunfight to earn it.”
“Then don't let there be a gunfight.”
For several seconds, he stared at her.
Finally, he handed her a protective vest.
“Put this on. Stay behind Owen. If I tell you to move, you move immediately.”
Petra pulled the vest over her coat.
“Agreed.”
The warehouse door opened with a metallic groan.
Inside, rows of wooden crates stood beneath hanging lights. The air smelled of oil, dust, and damp concrete. Two guards moved ahead while Owen checked a corridor to the left.
Petra's attention went straight to the paperwork scattered across a metal table.
Shipping manifests. Insurance certificates. Invoices.
She moved toward them.
“Petra,” Constantine warned.
“I'm looking at the records.”
“Look quickly.”
She scanned the top page.
The company name was different, but the format matched the transfers she had studied overnight. Several payments had been routed through the same consulting firm. One carried the reference number ending in 7319.
Her pulse quickened.
“Constantine, this is it.”
He joined her.
“What did you find?”
“The hidden account. It's listed on the transfer authorization. The ledger must be connected to these shipments.”
Before she could turn the page, a metallic click echoed from the far end of the warehouse.
Constantine's expression changed instantly.
“Down!”
He grabbed Petra and pulled her behind the table.
A gunshot shattered the silence.
Wood splintered above their heads.
Petra screamed, pressing herself against the concrete floor. Constantine covered her with his body while Owen shouted orders into his radio.
Another shot rang out.
Then a third.
The sound was deafening inside the warehouse.
Constantine rose just enough to return fire toward the far corridor. Petra saw a figure retreat behind a row of crates. His security team moved to flank the attacker.
Then Constantine jerked backward.
For a second, Petra didn't understand what had happened.
He looked down at his side.
A dark stain spread across his shirt.
“Constantine?”
He pressed his hand against the wound.
“Stay down.”
Blood appeared between his fingers.
Petra's stomach turned.
“No. No, no, no.”
She scrambled toward him, ignoring the vest and the gunfire.
“Petra, get back!”
“You're bleeding!”
“I noticed.”
His attempt at humor sounded strained.
She pressed both hands over his wound.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
“Keep pressure on it,” he said.
“I'm not letting you die.”
“You're not qualified to make that decision.”
“Shut up.”
He stared at her.
Even injured, he looked surprised.
Then his expression softened.
“That's the first time anyone has told me to shut up while saving my life.”
“Then you should stop talking.”
Owen reached them and helped drag Constantine behind a concrete support column. The gunfire slowed as the attackers retreated.
Within minutes, the warehouse was secured.
An ambulance had been called, but Constantine refused to be moved until Petra was checked for injuries.
“I am fine,” she insisted.
“Let the medic decide.”
“You have a bullet in your side.”
“And you have a talent for repeating obvious facts.”
She wanted to hit him.
Instead, she pressed harder against the wound until the medic arrived.
The bullet had passed through the muscle near his ribs. The damage was serious enough to require surgery, but the doctors said it had missed his major organs.
Petra sat in the hospital corridor with blood on her hands.
She couldn't stop seeing the moment he had stepped in front of her.
He had not hesitated.
He had not calculated whether protecting her was worth the risk.
He had simply moved.
Elena arrived with a clean coat and a paper cup of coffee.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Have you eaten?”
Petra shook her head.
Elena sat beside her.
“Constantine will recover.”
“You don't know that.”
“The doctors do.”
Petra stared at the blood beneath her fingernails.
“He could have died.”
“Yes.”
“Because of me.”
“Because someone wanted to stop you from finding the ledger.”
Petra looked at Elena.
“You're not going to tell me this is part of the job?”
“No. I'm going to tell you that Constantine made his own decision. You didn't force him to protect you.”
The words settled slowly.
Petra had spent her life believing that love meant being responsible for other people's feelings. She had stayed silent when Cecily crossed boundaries because she didn't want to upset her. She had accepted Marcus's excuses because she didn't want to lose him.
Now she was terrified that Constantine's decision to protect her would become another debt she felt obligated to repay.
She didn't want to owe him her life.
She wanted him to have it.
An hour later, the surgeon emerged.
“He's stable,” she said. “We'll keep him under observation. He'll need time to recover, but the outlook is good.”
Petra closed her eyes.
For the first time since the gunfire, she allowed herself to breathe.
When she was finally permitted to see him, Constantine lay in a private hospital room with monitors beside the bed and a bandage wrapped around his torso.
He looked pale and exhausted.
He also looked annoyed.
“Don't start crying,” he said as she approached.
Petra stared at him.
“You were shot.”
“I was aware.”
“You could have died.”
“But I didn't.”
She pulled a chair beside the bed.
“You're impossible.”
“So I've been told.”
She tried to smile, but her eyes filled with tears.
Constantine's expression changed.
“Come here.”
She moved closer.
He reached for her hand, then stopped before touching it.
“May I?”
Petra nodded.
His fingers closed gently around hers.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Finally, she whispered, “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Step in front of me.”
He looked at her as though the answer should have been obvious.
“Because the bullet was coming toward you.”
“You didn't even think.”
“I thought.”
“When?”
“Afterward.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“That's not funny.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It isn't.”
She looked at their joined hands.
“I don't understand you.”
“That's fair.”
“You're involved in a world where people carry guns and threaten each other over money. You have enemies who would kill you without hesitation. And somehow, in the middle of all that, you keep asking whether I'm comfortable before you touch me.”
Constantine looked away.
“Those things aren't mutually exclusive.”
“Why?”
“Because being dangerous doesn't give me the right to make you feel unsafe.”
Petra's throat tightened.
She thought about Marcus, who had known her for three years and had still treated her trust as something he could exploit.
Constantine had known her for days.
Yet he had given her the freedom to say no, the freedom to ask questions, and the freedom to walk away.
She didn't know what to do with that kind of respect.
“I was afraid,” she admitted.
“I know.”
“Not just because of the shooting.”
He turned back toward her.
“I was afraid you wouldn't wake up. I was afraid that the truth about my father would destroy everything I thought I knew. And I was afraid that if you died, I would never get the chance to tell you something.”
Constantine's fingers tightened around hers.
“What?”
Petra took a shaky breath.
“I think I'm falling in love with you.”
The words hung between them.
She hadn't planned to say them. She hadn't even admitted them to herself until that moment.
Constantine stared at her.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
“Petra, I don't want you to feel that you owe me anything because I protected you.”
“I don't.”
“You don't have to love me.”
“I know.”
“You can still leave.”
“I know that too.”
He searched her face.
“Then why tell me now?”
“Because I almost watched you die, and I realized I didn't want to pretend this was only a contract anymore.”
Something shifted in his expression.
The guarded man who had treated affection as a liability seemed suddenly unsure of what to do with it.
“I have spent years telling myself that attachment makes people weak,” he said. “It gives enemies something to use against you. It makes every decision more complicated.”
“Does it?”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe you should stop trying to make every decision simple.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
“You make it difficult to remain cynical.”
“Good.”
He drew a careful breath.
“I don't know how to promise you a normal life.”
“I didn't ask for one.”
“I can't promise that my world will never touch yours.”
“It already has.”
“And I can't promise that I won't make mistakes.”
Petra looked at him.
“Neither can I.”
He lifted her hand again.
“But I can promise that I won't knowingly lie to you about something that could affect your safety. I won't use your trust against you. And I won't ask you to stay if you decide this life isn't what you want.”
Petra felt tears burn behind her eyes.
“That's a better promise than most people make.”
“It's the only kind I know how to keep.”
She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his.
He did not kiss her.
Not until she lifted her face and whispered, “You can kiss me now.”
His lips met hers gently, without the urgency she had expected. The kiss was brief, but it carried a tenderness that frightened her more than the gunfire had.
When they separated, Constantine rested his forehead against hers.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She laughed softly.
“You really are terrible at romance.”
“I have been told that as well.”
For a little while, they forgot the warehouse, the ledger, and the people trying to destroy them.
Then Constantine's phone rang.
Owen's voice came through the speaker.
“Sir, we recovered a device from one of the attackers. The messages identify the person who authorized the warehouse operation.”
Constantine's expression hardened.
“Who?”
A pause.
Then Owen answered.
“Marcus Bell.”
Petra went cold.
Constantine looked at her.
“I'm sorry.”
She shook her head.
“No. Don't apologize.”
She stood slowly.
Marcus had not merely betrayed her relationship. He had been connected to the money, her father's investigation, and now an armed attack that had nearly killed her husband.
Whatever remained of her old feelings for him had finally burned away.
“Find him,” she said.
Constantine watched her carefully.
“Alive?”
Petra considered the question.
“Yes. Alive.”
She looked at the bandage beneath his hospital gown.
“I want him to answer for what he did. I want him to explain what happened to my father. And I want enough evidence to make sure he can't hurt anyone else.”
Constantine nodded.
“Then we'll bring him in.”
Petra looked down at her bloodstained hands.
She had come to Chicago's warehouse district looking for a ledger.
She had left with the knowledge that someone had tried to kill her.
May you like
And the man who had taken a bullet for her was no longer just a stranger she had married to escape humiliation.
He was the first person she trusted enough to tell the truth.
