He's her enemy. Her obsession. And the only man who has the power to destroy her.
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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...
"To exact revenge for yourself or your friends is not only a right, it's an absolute duty."
- Stieg Larsson
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Once I was dead sure we'd handled that Colombian clusterfuck, I grabbed my things, collected Theodore, and made our exit from the hotel.
The drive back was mostly silence, but Theodore eventually cut through it, his voice carrying that genuine weight I knew was real. "Hector, I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you for what you did," he said.
I kept my eyes locked on the road, holding a calm front even though I was anything but fucking calm.
"You're family, Theo. I'd never take your safety lightly." The words came out easy enough, but inside, I was coming apart at the seams.
Every breath felt like a goddamn battle, and the bullet buried deep in my side was a constant, fiery reminder that I wasn't as invincible as I liked to pretend. Blood was soaking through my shirt, but I was hellbent on not letting Theodore catch a single clue.
When we finally pulled up to the mansion, I opened his door for him. "Stay inside, Theo. I've got some things to handle," I said, forcing my voice to stay casual.
He looked at me, worn out but grateful. "Thank you, son," he murmured, putting a hand on my shoulder.
I nearly winced at the pressure but masked it with a sharp cough. "Always, Theo. Family's family."
The second he was safely inside, I tore off, heading straight for Goat's place-our unofficial medical station.
The whole goddamn drive, I clutched my bleeding side, grinding my teeth and muttering every curse I could think of aimed at those Colombian pricks.
By the time I stumbled out of the car, my legs were unsteady and my vision was blurring from the pain. Goat and Tommy were already waiting by the door.
"Dog damn, Hector," Tommy said, grabbing me before my ass hit the ground. "You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?"
"Not in my fucking DNA," I managed, panting as I leaned into him for support. "Let's get this the fuck over with. Oh, and Goat, don't you dare let Mom or Maddie hear a word about this."
Goat sighed like a man who'd seen this exact shit show play out way too many times. And he fucking had. "Yeah, yeah. Bullet wound protocol. Same drill as always."
"Appreciate you keeping my file updated," I muttered with a weak smirk, even though every step sent a fresh wave of agony ripping through my side.
Inside, Tommy dropped his bag on the table and started digging through it. He shot a glance at Goat. "Got any whiskey?"
Goat blinked. "Top shelf."
But I wasn't waiting. I snatched a half-empty bottle from the liquor cabinet and took a long, burning swig, my hands shaking like a motherfucker.
