𝗙𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗮 𝗨𝗻𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲.
𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐞
I am the judge, the jury, and the executioner.
Francesca "Frank" Monroe. One of the most successful criminal defense attorneys in the history of Illinois. The woman everyon...
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I fucking ruined everything.
Thought I was protecting my brother, doing what needed to be done, keeping him away from me. Keeping our bond a secret. Instead, I just handed him over to the wolves on a silver fucking platter.
Jamie losing his job was never part of the plan. He didn't deserve that.
Daniel motherfucking Pierce. Hector swore up and down he'd handle his junkie cousin, straighten him out. But guess what? He did jack fucking shit.
Jamie let it slide. My brother—too goddamn noble for his own good—refused to press charges. Didn't want to be a "sore loser." But Daniel, that little coked-out motherfucker turned around and sent some poor bastard into the precinct, broken and bloodied, to claim Jamie had done it. Just waltzed in, smug as hell, like ending an honest cop's career was all some fucking game.
And the best part? His rich daddy had already packed him off to some cushy rehab in New York. Like that was gonna fix him. Like a few weeks in some five-star retreat could scrub the junkie stink out of him. Once a fucking rat, always a fucking rat.
But since I couldn't get my hands on Daniel—yet—I went for the next best thing. The little snitch who ran his errand.
Sawyer had been gone for two hours. Two hours of me pacing, my patience wearing thin, the anticipation clawing at my insides.
Then, finally—a knock.
"Come in," I barked.
Sawyer stepped inside, face unreadable. But I saw it in his eyes—he had him.
"He's downstairs," he said. "Untouched, just like you asked."
Good. He was mine.
The basement was dim, filled with the smell of sweat and something sour. The bastard was tied to a chair, head lolling forward like a broken doll.
Unharmed. For now.
I descended the stairs slowly, letting each step echo, drawing it out. He heard me. Knew I was there. His breathing hitched.
He lifted his head, and the moment our eyes met, he understood. Understood exactly how fucked he was.
"The fucking audacity," I said, voice calm, almost gentle. "You strolled into the Chicago PD, pointed your dirty little finger at my brother, and thought there'd be no consequences?"
He flinched. "I—I didn't know he was your brother, ma'am, I swear—"
My laugh was sharp, humorless. "You think I give a fuck?"
My fist snapped forward, straight to his gut. A sick, wet sound. He gasped, sputtering, eyes wide with pain.
"Tell me," I murmured . "How did Daniel Pierce contact you?"
