Page 11 of All’s Fair In Love & War (The Bulgari Cartel #2)
Cut Me Deep
Tatum
By the time we got home, I wasn’t just fuming, I was raging mad.
I stepped out of the car without waiting for Naeem or the driver to open my door and went straight inside, storming through the house like a Tasmanian Devil.
I didn’t bother taking off my heels by the door.
I needed space, but more than that, I needed to feel like I still had control over something, anything.
I made it halfway across the living room before I stopped, shoulders tightening under the weight I’d tried to keep hidden all day, hands clenched at my sides. I hadn’t said a word the entire ride back, mostly because I didn’t trust myself to speak without unraveling.
The truth was, I was still shaking inside.
That meeting had gutted me in a way I didn’t want to admit.
I’d walked in knowing I wasn’t one of them, but I hadn’t expected the coldness or the calculation in their eyes.
These men had built their loyalty in back rooms, in blood and silence and brotherhood.
They didn’t respect what they didn’t understand, and they damn sure didn’t respect me—yet .
I hadn’t grown up learning how to talk like them, fight like them, intimidate and dismiss like they did with ease.
I didn’t have the benefit of shared battles or broken ribs from wars we’d fought side by side.
All I had was my name and the lessons my father taught me when we were behind closed doors.
Standing at the head of that table had been like walking onto a stage blindfolded with no script, no direction, just a room full of waiting eyes daring me to fail, and I almost did because every time I tried to speak, Naeem was there undermining without even meaning to.
And maybe that was what made it worse—he thought he was helping.
But he wasn’t. He was suffocating me in front of the very people I needed to command.
I heard the door click shut behind me, but I didn’t turn around.
“You made me look weak.”
“No. What I did was make sure they didn’t chew you up and spit you out.”
I turned, slowly. “No, you made it look like I needed help. Like I wasn’t prepared. Every time I opened my mouth, you had something to say before I could even get the words out.”
He moved toward me, not fast, but with that quiet confidence that made my blood pressure spike. “That’s because you weren’t ready for what they were about to throw at you.”
I folded my arms. “So you decided to run the meeting for me?”
“No,” he said, voice low but direct. “I decided not to let you drown.”
His eyes locked on mine, and for a second, I hated how steady he looked. Like nothing I said touched him. Like my frustration, my pain, the tremble behind my words—all of it was background noise to a man who only responded to war, not emotion.
He wasn’t hearing me, not really, and that shit burned the most.
I stood there, trying to make him understand something he didn’t even seem willing to see: that I didn’t want a husband who needed me to lose just so he could swoop in and save me.
I didn’t want a man who saw my moments of silence as weakness or my processing as incompetence.
I didn’t want a marriage that felt like a constant battle for control, where love was measured in strategy and respect was only earned through performance.
What I wanted… No! What I deserved was a partner, a man who didn’t just admire my strength but made space for it, one who respected my voice without needing to reshape it into his own. Someone who didn’t think silence was loyalty, and dominance was love.
But what did I have?
I wasn’t sure yet.
Because in moments like this, when I was laid bare and angry and asking to be seen, not as a soldier or a symbol, but as a woman, he didn’t soften or even look remorseful.
When my feelings didn’t rattle him and my voice didn’t move him, I had to ask myself if I was married to a man who didn’t value my mind, didn’t respect my place beside him, and didn’t care if I broke right in front of him.
Because if so, I’d have to stop treating him like a husband, and start treating him like every other man who ever tried to keep me small.
And if it came to that?
He’d lose.
Just like the rest of them.
“You want to be the Don?” he asked, stepping closer. “Then act like it. You let Jax punk you with one question and flinched when Rio started circling. You looked like prey, Tatum.”
“Oh, get the fuck out of her.” I waved my hand, shooing him out of my face. “I only looked like prey to you because you’re just like the rest of them.
Naeem’s jaw ticked, just once, but I saw it. It was a small change in his expression, and a flicker of something dangerous moving behind his eyes. He didn’t like being lumped in with them, and I didn’t give a damn. He needed to feel it.
“You really believe that?” he asked, voice quieter now, but heavier. “That I’m just like the rest?”
I folded my arms. “You act like them, talk over me like them, and challenge me in front of my people like I’m an inexperienced soldier instead of your wife. So yeah, Naeem, at that moment, you were no different than Jax or Rio. You just had better shoes.”
Naeem moved closer, diminishing the space between us, but I didn’t back down. His presence was suffocating, but I was too far gone to care. My pride and my fury were enough to keep me standing.
“You don’t think I know how beautifully brilliant your mind is, or see your resilience? You think I don’t know how hard you’ve been working to hold your family together?”
“If you do, then why do you keep trying to manage me like I’m incapable?” I snapped.
“Because I can’t afford to let you fall,” he growled. “Because if you fall, we both lose.”
I stared at him, heart pounding from more than just anger now. It was from exhaustion, from disappointment, and from the part of me that still wanted him to get it .
“I’m not asking you to catch me,” I said, quieter this time.
“I’m asking you to trust that I know how to land.
” I sighed and rubbed my hand down my face, desperately trying to keep my tears at bay.
“Tonight, I was more than prepared for what they had to throw my way. I didn’t need your help, and even if I did, I should’ve been given time to process the question and think it through. ”
“You don’t get that luxury in a room full of men like them.”
I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I feel every stare, every doubt, every moment when they question why the hell I was at the head of the table? I didn’t need you to protect me. I needed you to respect me enough to let me fail if that’s what it took.”
He was right in front of me now, tall and still and goddamn unmovable. “Respect you?” he repeated, eyes narrowing. “You think I’d put my name next to yours, tie myself to your family, and risk everything if I didn’t respect you?”
“You didn’t respect me today.”
He stepped in closer, and I refused to back up.
“What I did,” he said, his voice dropping low, heavy with warning, “was keep them from eating you alive. You were so focused on protecting your pride, you didn’t notice the way they were circling, but I did, so while you sat there worried about looking strong, I made sure they didn’t smell blood and go in for the kill. ”
“I don’t need you to be my mouthpiece, Naeem.”
“And I don’t need you to act like being my wife makes you untouchable.”
“I didn’t ask for this marriage,” I said, my voice sharp enough to cut through whatever illusion he was still clinging to.
“Your mama blackmailed me into it, remember? I didn’t want a ring, a title, your last name, or to play wife—and I damn sure didn’t sign up to be someone’s shadow in my own house. ”
“You could’ve fooled me,” Naeem snapped, his eyes narrowing. “You sure played the part in front of my damn family.”
I scoffed, heat prickling under my skin. “Because I had to. But you? You didn’t have to undermine me in front of my men—again. You didn’t do that for the family or business. You did that shit because you wanted to swing your dick around and show everybody who was in charge.”
His mouth twisted as if I’d spat in his face, and his eyes narrowed, his voice was low but filled with fire as he spoke, “I am in charge. Of this family. Of the Bulgari name. And of you , Tatum. Don’t ever forget that.”
I stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Excuse me?”
“You wear that ring, you carry my name, and whether you like it or not, you’re mine. I own you.”
This time, when I stepped in, my chest deliberately bumped into his.
“I don’t belong to you, Naeem,” I said, my voice calm but sharp enough to bleed.
“Not you. Not your mother. Not my father. Not even our families. I wear this ring, but that doesn’t mean you own me.
I’m not a fucking possession! I’m a person.
One who earned her place, whether you or anybody else in that room wants to admit it. ”
His jaw tightened, but I didn’t let up.
“You think because you’re my husband, you get to speak for me?
Control me? Nah. That’s not how this works.
” I shook my head, taking another step as my finger jabbed into his chest, my words aimed to destroy.
“If you wanna play the devoted husband in front of my men, fine. But don’t come behind me trying to run the show to prove you have the biggest dick in the room. ”
“I was fine being your seasonal fuck—really, I was.” I scoffed, a frustrated chuckle following closely behind. “But now that I’m wearing this ring I didn’t ask for, either back me or move the fuck out of my way.”
Heat surged through me, heavy with anger, infused with the kind of rage that makes you reckless and makes you want to slap the taste out of someone’s mouth just to feel better.
“Because what you won’t do is stand there and act like you're the head of the Genevese family. That’s my shit. I sit at the head now.”