Boston Blood

Forty three

As Frankie's eyes adjusted to the weak light overhead, she took in the man in front of her. He looked like he was drunk. His eyes were black with massive bags underneath and his beard was longer and much shabbier than before. There was a look in his eyes that was both terrifying and vulnerable and for the first time since she met him, she found herself feeling truly petrified of Cillian Donovan. "Don't scream, it's just me." 
His hand was still over her mouth and his other arm was holding her waist gently. He was wearing a baseball cap and a hoodie and his eyes were so dark, they looked exhausted. She wanted to scream, to tell him to get off her, to fight but she couldn't. She was frozen as he studied her face for a moment, evidently puzzled by her wide, frightened eyes before eventually letting go. He stumbled back, nearly falling over the small coffee table that was in front of her couch. "S-, sorry, I just didn't want you to get a fright and wake up the w-, whole building." 
He sat on the couch and closed his eyes, taking a long deep breath but he was drunk. Very drunk. Frankie didn't know what to do and she found herself unable to utter a word. She quickly scanned the room for something she could use as a weapon when she saw Cillian pull out a gun from behind his back and place it on the table. She eyed the gun for a moment before reluctantly meeting his gaze. He seemed strange. Apart from being wasted, he looked different, almost frightened and weak. Why was he here?
She had to be careful, here. She needed to make sure he didn't find out that she knew the truth about his uncle. If Tommy was working with Aidan then he clearly had all the information he needed. Tommy would tell Aidan and Cillian everything they needed to know in order for them to take Tony down. Then why did they need her? She tried to act calm and not to show him that she was still trembling with fear. Cillian knew, he had to, Kevin had seemed unsure but he was Aidan's nephew, more like a son, really. He would never hide something like this. No, he knew and she was in danger. 
Frankie took off her coat, revealing a skin tight black dress that hugged her curves, not leaving much to the imagination. She saw Cillian's eyes take her in but she avoided his direct gaze. She stalked into her bedroom to change but as soon as the door was closed she fell against the wood, struggling to breathe. What the fuck was she going to do? She couldn't confront Aidan and Tommy. They clearly didn't intend for her to know the truth. The way her father so expertly sat at the bar, acting so shocked that she was back. He was lying through his teeth, but why? 
Frankie could feel the migraine violently attacking her head as she whipped off her dress and put on a pair of pyjama shorts and a tank top. She lingered in her bedroom for as long as she could, hoping Cillian would have passed out. Why the fuck was he here? What was his game? Frankie felt stupid for her clouded judgement of him, lately. When she found out he wasn't a murderer like she assumed, she had started to warm to him, slightly. Stupid! She actually thought that maybe he wasn't as tough and dangerous as he seemed and that he could actually be a kind person, deep down. How fucking wrong was she? No, Cillian Donovan was an evil, twisted bastard who was clearly using her for a reason, but what? Aidan had forced her to work for him because he said he needed her help getting close to Tony and to murder her father in the process for killing his brother. But he's working with Tommy who obviously knew everything Tony had in the pipeline. Why was Aidan working with the man that murdered his only brother? Her mind was blank, infuriatingly circling around with no clarity. 
Whatever they had planned for her was not going to end well. There was no doubt in her mind about that now, if she didn't get out she was going to be killed. But how was she going to get away without risking Michael and Bill and Mary's lives? Maybe she could tell Tony what was going on? Maybe she could bargain with him, give him Tommy and Aidan in return for her freedom and Michael's? He would likely murder everyone everyone in his crew for betraying him, including his pregnant wife. And what would happen to Lucy if Aidan and Cillian and Bridget were also killed? She couldn't leave that sweet girl with no one. It was too much, she was fucked. The urge and absolute need to either drink or take something to help calm her down was making her physically ill. She was crumbling and didn't know how to stop it. 
A light knock on the door made her close her eyes in fear and dread. Just when she thought she was finally coming to terms with her situation and finally able to admit that she did, in fact, want her father dead, she had to find out the truth. That something was seriously fucking wrong and that absolutely every one around her could not be trusted, that the man sitting in the room behind this door was probably here to kill her. A terrifying thought plagued her, then and she wondered if Michael knew. Shaking her head to try tonregain some control, she quickly ran to her closet and grabbed a baseball bat that was stashed in the back. She held it behind the door, concealing it and took a breath before reluctantly opening it. Her obviously distraught and terrified face was inches from his. He smelled of weed and whiskey, not a good combo for an unpredictable, volatile and violent man.
"What's up with you? Bad day at the office?" His light and sneering tone infuriated Frankie. He knew. How could be so fucking cruel, standing there with her, knowing how petrified she must be and actually having the nerve to tease her? Sick bastard. Just get it fucking over with.
"Seriously, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost. Did s-, something happen tonight? You look like shit. When's the last time you had a proper meal. Jesus Frankie, you need to take better care of yourself." 
Is he for fucking real?
That was it. 
She grabbed the baseball bat and burst from behind the door, swinging it wildly and screaming, incoherently. Cillian scrambled off the couch cursing and flailing his arms around, in shock, trying to protect his body from the irate attacks from the dangerous piece of wood in Frankie's hands. "I. need. to. take. better. care. of. myself?" She spat while swinging between each word in outrage. "How fucking dare you! That's all I've been trying to do but you mother fuckers won't let me! All I wanted was a better life, any fucking life in which I can actually drag my sorry ass out of bed each morning and not want to throw myself under a bus or take one too many pills just to make the pain go away. You're the reason I'm here! You were the one who told that scumbag who I was and where I worked and for what? Just so you can use me in the sick, twisted game your fucking uncle has planned in his deranged head!" The anger was engulfing Frankie as she took a break from trying to hit Cillian and took aim at the lamp that was sitting in the corner. She was crying, harder than she ever had and the tears were relentless. Cillian just lay on the floor, covering his head and trying to get a glimpse of the crazy woman trying to kill him. His eyes were wild and confused and the skin around them was beginning to turn red and moist. 
"I just don't get it? Why put me through all of this when you and Aidan clearly have been hiding everything from me? What do you want from me, Cillian?" She dropped the bat with a thud and sprinted over to the coffee table, from which she grabbed the gun and pointed it at Cillian's head with tremulous hands. "Tell me why? Why did you make me work for you, telling me you needed my help getting to my father when he's been in your fucking pocket this whole time?" Frankie was screaming and didn't care that every neighbour she had was probably calling the cops right now. Good, let them. I'll hand this prick over to them and they can finally lock him up and throw away the key!
The look of fake shock on Cillian's face was priceless as he hauled himself up into a kneeling position in front of her with both hands raised. He was good at pretending he knew nothing about what she was saying, she'll give him that. Frankie smirked and cocked the gun with one hand while wiping her never ending tears with the other. He didn't speak. He just stared at her with sorrowful and nervous eyes. "Come on! Tell me why you're making me do this. Is it just because you and Aidan love to have power over everyone around you? Or is this my punishment for my mother sleeping with your father and getting him killed?" She recoiled ever so slightly at her own words, shocked at the fact that she had never really considered this to be the reason before the words spewed out of her dry lips. "Say something!" She screamed as her body was now starting to convulse with emotion. 
Cillian shook his head as he glared into Frankie's olive, hateful eyes. He looked completely baffled and she was amazed to see that he was able to produce artificial tears which were speckling his flushed cheeks. What she hadn't anticipated were the words that were to follow. He dropped his hands to his sides as his husky voice caught in his throat. He closed his eyes and whispered; "do it."

Frankie physically withdrew for a second and the gun almost slipped from her balmy hand before she immediately reclaimed her vice like grip. "What?" 
"Do it, Frankie. I want you to do it. Shoot me." 
What was he saying? Is this another fucking game of his? 
She took an unsteady step forward and dug the gun into his heaving chest, feigning confidence. "Don't fuck with me, Cillian. I'll fucking do it. God knows I want to and you know you fucking deserve it." Her voice was beginning to falter as she fought the horrible feeling that he actually looked like he meant it. 
She jumped when she felt his hands on hers but he didn't try to remove the gun from them, he was pushing the metal further into his strong pecks. "Fucking do it! I'm done with this shit and you're right. I deserve to die for the things I've done and you deserve to be the one to do it after everything I've put you through." Frankie struggled to find the words as fresh, fearful tears replaced the angry ones. "Do it!" Cillian whispered as he closed his eyes and let his own moisture fall.
Frankie was frozen as she stared in utter bewilderment at the broken man on his knees in her living room. Why wasn't he fighting back? He didn't really want to die, did he? 
She thought about it, she really did. She thought this was what she wanted, to see this man who had caused her so much suffering finally face his fate but in that moment all she could think about was the people he would be leaving behind and it shook her to her core to realise that she wasn't thinking about Bridget or Lucy, she was thinking about herself. 
Cillian opened his wet eyes and mouthed the word please but Frankie felt her knees about to give out. She wasn't a killer and as much as she hated this man, she didn't want him to die. He was broken and still  somehow looked like boy she had met fifteen years ago, the kind, vulnerable scared young man she stupidly cared about. 
She didn't know what came over her but before she could stop herself, she felt the cold barrel of the gun press against her temple and the words rush from her mouth in a resigned whimper. "You're a fucking coward, but if you don't have the balls to do what you came here to do, then I'll fucking do it myself." 
"Frankie, no!"