The Quinn War (2015)

Chapter Eleven: WarLady!

The Quinn Manor, once a symbol of refined elegance and wealth, had become something entirely different in the days since Francesca's return. The grand halls, with their high ceilings and elaborate decor, now echoed with the cold, methodical movements of a woman on the brink of becoming a warlord.

Francesca had transformed her room into a makeshift command centre. Maps of Corby, London, and other significant locations were pinned to the walls, with notes and photos connected by red string. A large desk dominated the centre of the room, cluttered with papers, dossiers, and weapons-meticulously organised but ominous in their abundance.

Francesca moved through the room with purpose, her eyes cold and calculating. She had spent the last few days researching, planning, and preparing. Every move, every detail was scrutinised under her intense gaze. The transformation in her was stark; the warmth and empathy that once defined her had been replaced with a ruthless determination.

She no longer saw herself as just Francesca Quinn, the heiress of a powerful family. She was now a force to be reckoned with-a power-hungry warlord ready to do whatever it took to eliminate her enemies. And there were many enemies.

On her desk, a small handgun gleamed under the dim light of the lamp. She had spent hours polishing it, ensuring it was in perfect condition for what was to come. It was no longer just a tool; it was a symbol of her resolve, a weapon that would bring her the justice she craved.

#### Jaydon Brings News

Jaydon entered the room cautiously, aware of the change in his sister. He had seen her like this before, but never to this extreme. She was focused, driven, and, to some extent, terrifying. He cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence that filled the room.

"Frankie, I've got news," Jaydon began, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Francesca didn't look up from the papers she was studying, her voice cold as she replied. "What is it?"

Jaydon took a deep breath. "The Johnstons have chosen their fighter. It's Kieran Feldmanis."

At this, Francesca finally looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Kieran Feldmanis... the big brute who was standing by Cameron when we were set up?"

Jaydon nodded, trying to gauge her reaction. "Yeah, that's him. But I'll be fine, Frankie. I can handle him."

Francesca's lips curled into a chilling smile as she leaned back in her chair, her fingers lightly tracing the outline of the gun on her desk. "This is perfect. Kieran in the ring will draw Cameron in, and when the time is right... we'll finally deal with the issue."

Jaydon couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down his spine at her words. He had always known his sister to be strong, but this was something else entirely. She was becoming something darker, something more dangerous.

"I'll do what needs to be done in the ring," Jaydon said, trying to sound confident. "But, Frankie, we need to be careful. This could get out of hand."

Francesca's gaze remained fixed on her gun, her smile fading into a look of steely determination. "Out of hand? It's already out of hand, Jaydon. The moment they crossed us, they signed their death warrants. This isn't just about a fight-it's about sending a message. We're not to be trifled with."

Jaydon nodded, realising there was no point in arguing with her. She had already made up her mind, and he knew better than to try and change it.

"I'll be ready," he said quietly before turning to leave the room.

Francesca didn't respond, her focus already back on her preparations. As Jaydon left, the door closing softly behind him, Francesca picked up the gun, feeling its weight in her hand. She could see the events of the coming days clearly in her mind-the fight, the blood, the final reckoning.