He's her enemy. Her obsession. And the only man who has the power to destroy her.
▫️▫️▫️
My name is Frank Monroe, and I am the most dangerous woman in Chicago. Not because I kill, but because I make it legal. I'm the lawyer the Irish mob calls when...
"You are enough to drive a saint to madness or a king to his knees."
- Grace Willows
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I'd always thought of myself as a rational man, someone who ran on logic and didn't get all tangled up in feelings or impulsive desires.
Then she walked into my life and blew that entire self-image to fucking pieces. My self-control evaporated—my willpower shattered as if it had never been a part of me to begin with.
I couldn't handle the effect she had on me. She possessed this inexplicable ability to draw out feelings I never realized were buried so deep within. It was as if she reached straight into my chest and flipped a switch I never knew existed.
She was a walking contradiction, intoxicating and infuriating all at once, and despite every ounce of better judgment I possessed, I couldn't keep away. She lived in my head rent-free, kept me constantly guessing, and I'd be a lying sack of shit if I said I didn't love every minute of it.
I tried to figure her out. God knows I fucking tried. But she stayed a puzzle I couldn't solve, a riddle that burned in my mind long into the night. And even when I failed, over and over, I couldn't stop myself from crawling back for more.
And those lips—fuck. Pure heaven and absolute hell wrapped together. Every goddamn kiss left me wrecked, desperate for more, completely hooked on everything she made me feel.
I knew I should have stayed away. But like an addict, I couldn't help myself. I was in too deep, too far gone, and there wasn't a chance in hell of turning back now.
My phone buzzed, yanking me out of my head. Zane's name lit up the screen.
"You good to go?" he asked the second I picked up.
"Yeah, we're set. I'll call when we're on the move," I said, glancing at the clock. Six in the evening already.
Tonight was the Council meeting at The Langham, and whispers of a Colombian hit had put everyone's nerves on a razor's edge. Security was locked down, but I needed to be there. Theodore's and Conor's safety rested squarely on my shoulders, and I wasn't about to fuck it up.
Frankie had laid out the plan with such precision it was almost goddamn breathtaking. She didn't miss a single detail. Smart, dangerous, and drop-dead stunning—that mix was straight-up lethal, and she wore it like she was born to it.
I couldn't help but be impressed, and I sure as shit couldn't shove down the desire that followed.
But even with a solid plan, a nagging unease twisted in my gut. That constant, gnawing dread that something could still go sideways. And Frankie—she was a goddamn risk all on her own.
I wanted to keep her out of the line of fire, but she had this relentless drive to throw herself headfirst into the chaos. It pissed me off. It also turned me the fuck on.
