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 Chicago. The woman everyone...
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When I was a little girl, the other kids called me psycho, deranged, and sick. Now, as a criminal defense lawyer, they called me the Icy Queen in court. The nicknames had one thing in common: they all captured how cold and dangerous people thought I was. And maybe they were right. Maybe I was too cold when I shouldn't be, and maybe I wasn't cold enough when I should be. But I never wasted time dwelling on it. People's opinions didn't matter, and neither did my own analysis of my fucked up mind.
But when it was my older brother standing in front of me, judging me for who I'd become, that hit different. That hurt in a way nothing else could. It broke something fragile inside me—what little shreds of humanity I still had left.
"Frankie!" Little Johnny's voice shattered the silence, and he came running toward me, wrapping his small arms around my legs. "I missed you, Frankie! I missed Uncle Noah!" He pouted, his deep blue eyes—eyes that reminded me of Jay—shining up at me with the innocence of a child.
I glanced up at Jay, expecting him to pull his four-year-old son away from me, but to my surprise, he didn't. He gave me a look that said it was okay, despite him being mad at me.
I bent down and scooped Johnny into my arms. The grin that spread across his face felt like a balm to my broken spirit. "I missed you, brave boy," I whispered, planting a small kiss on his nose. "Uncle Noah says hi and promises to visit you soon. And guess what? He's bringing you so many gifts, you won't know what to do with them!"
Johnny's enthusiasm was a sight to behold. I had almost forgotten how pure and full of life kids could be, how their innocence could light up even the darkest corners of the world. It was a bittersweet reminder of the childhood I once had, of how protected and loved I was by my father and two brothers. But those days were long gone. Now, the man standing before me—my own brother—was rebuking me, angry and disappointed in me for taking Daniel's life. The same Daniel who had been seconds away from ending his.
I set little Johnny down and watched him dart into the house, eager to find his sister and share the good news. Little Johnny. It was almost ironic—my brother had named him after our father, John, though Giovanni was his real name. The realization that our father had hidden even that small truth left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I was left standing outside in the dark with Jay. The neighborhood was quiet, too quiet, and I knew we were easy targets out here if Luigi's men decided to strike. But explaining that to Jay right now was pointless.
"Jay," I began, my voice already drained. I couldn't hide it, didn't even bother trying. "I'm not here for that."
"Of course you're not," Jay scoffed bitterly. "Why would my baby sister come to see me and justify why she took a life? Who the fuck am I, right?"
Justify. That word. I had never needed to justify anything to anyone before. Not my actions, not my choices. I was always accepted for who I was—a ruthless killer. But this was different. This was my brother. And for the first time in a long time, I felt the sting of rejection, of being questioned by someone who mattered.
