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...
"It takes two to make a murder. There are born victims, born to have their throats cut, as the cut-throats are born to be hanged."
- Aldous Huxley
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The New York City skyline lit up the night like a damn inferno, every glowing light screaming for attention. I gripped the knife in my hand tighter, my patience wearing thin as the plane dragged out its descent. By the time we touched down, I was ready to explode. One of Ronan's men was already waiting by the curb in a black Bentley.
The address Massimo gave me wasn't far, which was good because I was fucking done waiting. I'd made it crystal clear he wasn't to touch a hair on Michael's head. Whatever I had planned for that bastard was mine to handle, and Massimo didn't need the details. If he wanted to stick around and watch, though, fine by me. I'd make it a goddamn show.
Massimo had stashed Michael in some dingy motel about ten minutes away-a ten-minute drive that felt like a goddamned eternity.
My phone was buried in my bag, turned off to avoid any bullshit interference. The last thing I needed was Papa or Salvatore's men trying to track me down. Between Papa's suffocating overprotectiveness and Salvatore's relentless hovering, it was a miracle I hadn't lost my shit entirely. They both acted like I was some damsel in distress that needed wrapping in bubble wrap.
They needed to understand something-I didn't need saving. I had everything under control. I wasn't some superhero, sure, and yeah, my reckless ass might get me killed one day. But if that day came, the world wouldn't be losing much-a person with no moral compass was hardly a loss at all.
We finally arrived at the address. I bolted from the car before it even fully stopped, storming toward the room Massimo had directed me to. Irving barely had time to unbuckle his seat belt before he was scrambling after me.
"Boss!" he called, rushing to catch up. "Let me go in there with you."
I spun on my heel, closing the distance between us until I was right in his face. His loyalty was never in question, but I couldn't have him doubting my ability to handle this on my own.
"I didn't bring you because I needed protection, Irving," I began, forcing my rising rage to stay in check. "I brought you because you wanted to come. Now, you're going to go back to the car and sit there like the good man you are. Let me handle my fucking business."
Irving's eyes flickered with uncertainty and a hint of hesitation, but he gave me a small nod and backed off toward the car like I'd ordered.
"Yes, boss," he murmured, his shoulders sagging as he walked away.
I turned back toward the motel room where Massimo's men stood guard. My patience was on its last goddamn leg, and I was two seconds away from kicking the door down myself.
"Frank Monroe," I said curtly.
My jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack, the anger boiling hotter and clawing back up to the surface no matter how much I tried to shove it back down.
