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...
"Murder is born of love, and love attains the greatest intensity in murder."
- Octave Mirbeau
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One hour ago.
How could someone be so delicately soft yet fiercely dangerous all at once? Those warm, brown eyes of hers, gleaming like honey in the morning light, had me completely hooked. I was gone for her—every damn part of her. The fire, the strength, the bravery she showed, and the softness she hid from the world, only revealing it to me. From the moment I met her, all of it had sunk into me, so deep under my skin that I was trapped, fully and willingly. She had me, body and fucking soul—if there was anything left of it.
As I headed toward my mother's room, I caught sight of Theodore dragging himself, bottle of scotch in hand, into his home office. What the hell was he doing? He looked barely able to keep himself upright. Unmistakably drunk. Was he fucking serious right now?
I followed him in, and the state of the room was enough to make me pause. The desk was covered with empty bottles, ashtrays spilling over with cigar stubs. This was beyond a rough night; it looked like a total fucking collapse.
"What the hell is going on here, Theo?" I demanded, slamming the door behind me. "Trying to drink yourself to death?"
Theodore didn't answer right away. His bloodshot eyes stared blankly at the scotch swirling in his glass. The whole room reeked of stale booze, the air heavy and stagnant, curtains shut tight, windows locked. If he was looking to suffocate himself in here, he was well on his fucking way.
I strode over, yanking the curtains aside and throwing open the windows, letting the late spring air cut through the stale atmosphere. I took a deep breath, fighting down my frustration. "What the hell are you trying to prove, Theo?" I asked, barely keeping my tone in check. "Lose yourself like Daniel did?"
The mention of his son's name hit like a slap. His eyes snapped to mine, a flash of anger and resentment showing through, but behind it, a heaviness, a resignation. It was like he'd already given up.
I dropped into the leather chair across from his desk, yanking the glass from his hand and setting it out of reach. He shot me a venomous glare.
"Leave me the hell alone, Hector," he spat, grabbing the scotch bottle and taking a long pull straight from it, as if I hadn't just taken the glass away.
I clenched my fists, feeling the frustration simmering in me. He was spiraling, and he was letting it happen. "I'm not going anywhere, Theo," I said, my voice low. "That's how I got Daniel killed. I left him alone."
That guilt sat heavy in my chest, painful and unshakable. I could still see Daniel's lifeless face, his blood staining my hands, and it tore me apart every damn time. My cousin, who I'd failed in every way that mattered, was dead because of decisions I made or didn't make.
