HER ITALIAN BODYGUARD

15.CHOOSING ME

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHOOSING ME

He’s holding her by the hair as she hunches over, vomiting onto the garden path when I find them. I know it’s the pregnancy vomit. Disgust flickers through me—but not just at the sight. That should have been me. Instead, I had a bomb that was meant for me. I tear my eyes away and force myself to focus.

“We’re needed at the station,” I say flatly. “They’ve found new evidence.”

Neither of them responds. I don’t wait. I turn and walk away, refusing to stand in their shadow for even a second longer.

There’s no way in hell I’m getting into a car with either of them. I take one of the family sedans and drive myself to the station, the silence inside the car oddly soothing. My phone is buzzing with missed calls. Its Diane again, no doubt demanding updates but I ignore it. My mind is racing.

I have a gut feeling Mark will show up with Evelyn. Let them arrive together. Let the world see them walk in side by side while I arrive alone. If that’s the picture they want to paint, let them. I’m done protecting anyone’s image. Forget what my mother-in-law says. He arrives about ten minutes after I do. Alone.

Interesting.

I watch him enter the station lobby, running a hand through his hair, tension etched deep into his features. A detective immediately steps forward to meet him.

“Where’s your publicist, Mr. Washington?” the detective asks. “Your wife mentioned you might be arriving with her.”

“She went home to change,” Mark says, clearing his throat. “But she’ll be on her way shortly. You must understand, it’s been a harrowing few days for all of us.”

The detective doesn’t waste a beat.

“Mr. Washington,” he says grimly, “your publicist placed the bomb in your wife’s car.”

Silence crashes into the room like a wave.

“What?” Mark blinks, stunned, his face contorting like someone just slapped him, or worse, like someone just s**t on his life.

The detective continues, unfazed by the disbelief on Mark’s face. “We’re dispatching officers now to arrest her. In the meantime, I’ll brief you on the evidence we’ve collected. We retrieved surveillance footage, financial transactions, and a statement from the individual she paid to tamper with the car.”

Mark sinks onto the bench beside me, hands trembling. I don’t say a word. I don’t gloat. I don’t smirk. But inside? Something clicks back into place. A flicker of power. Control. For the first time in days, I don’t feel like I’m drowning in someone else’s mess.

Thirty minutes later, the air outside fills with the sharp wail of police sirens. It’s oddly poetic, almost cinematic, how quickly things unravel when the truth finally surfaces. We’ve already been briefed on the evidence: grainy surveillance footage, a bank transfer Evelyn thought she cleverly disguised, and a voice recording that clearly captured her arranging the hit. There’s no room for doubt now. Also, in addition is the perpetrator she’d hired. He was honestly a low-life thug. An amateur at best.

She’s brought in, cuffed and pale, her designer heels clacking on the cold tiles like an afterthought. Her perfect hair is windswept, and for the first time, she looks less like the polished publicist and more like the fraud she really is. Tomorrow the new stations and gossip articles will have a field day with this.

“C-Can I talk to her?” Mark asks, voice low, still wrapped in disbelief. “Just for a minute.”

The officer leading the arrest glances at the detective, who gives a curt nod.

“Make it quick,” the officer says.

I watch Mark start to move and I’ve honestly had enough.

“Hey!” I call sharply.

He turns. I stand, not caring who hears me, who’s watching, or whether this will end up in some tabloid headline tomorrow.

“When you finally grow the f**k up, come find me,” I say. “I’ll be at my parents’.”

His mouth opens, but I’m already walking. Out of the station. Out of the wreckage. And of course, like a scene out of a bad rom-com, he chases after me.

“Gina, wait! Look, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you at first, but-”

“I’ll be at my parents’, Mark,” I cut him off, opening my car door. “In the meantime, feel free to sleep with and impregnate every single member of your f*****g staff. It’s clearly your brand.”

I slam the door, start the engine, and peel out of the lot, leaving him in a cloud of exhaust and his own pathetic choices. He curses under his breath but I don’t look back.

Good thing I’d already made sure everything I needed was in this car. My bag. My charger. And yes, his platinum Amex. He said I could use it however I liked. So I’m doing just that.

On the drive out of town, I call in a favor from an old friend, someone who never needs an excuse to hop on a private jet, but especially not for Vegas.

He’s thrilled. He thinks I’m going there to party. I don’t correct him.

We met in med school. He’s brilliant, loud, and unapologetically the gayest man I’ve ever known. His family’s rich and incredibly well-connected. We hadn’t reunited since I hung up my stethoscope and married into chaos. So yeah, this is a reunion. In his family’s jet.

And maybe, for the first time in a long while, this is the beginning of me choosing me.