He's her enemy. Her obsession. And the only man who has the power to destroy her.
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My name is Frank Monroe, and I am the most dangerous woman in Chicago. Not because I kill, but because I make it legal. I'm the lawyer the Irish mob calls when...
"It's hard to be done a favor by a man you hate. It's hard to hate him so much afterwards. Losing an enemy can be worse than losing a friend, if you've had him for long enough."
- Joe Abercrombie
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She went still—too still. The kind of stillness that wasn't quiet, but screaming.
The light in her eyes snuffed out like a candle in a storm, leaving nothing but the hollow, endless dark behind. I'd never seen her like this. Never seen this kind of ruin, the kind that didn't just break a person—it hollowed them out, turned them into something unrecognizable.
And then, before my mind could catch up, her hand was already moving—fingers ghosting behind her back, slipping the gun free. The metal kissed her temple, her finger trembling on the trigger like a breath before the fall.
"Frankie!" I yelled, rushing forward. In a heartbeat, I was on her, grabbing her wrist and prying the gun from her hand before she could finish. She struggled, fighting me with everything she had, her rage and agony spilling out in screams. She crumbled beside me, sobbing and clutching at me as if she were the one dying.
I held her tightly, feeling her heart pound against mine. "We don't know, baby. We don't know if he's gone," I murmured, desperate to believe my own words, "Luigi's just screwing with you, baby, don't give him that. Don't let him take you too."
She screamed into my chest, a sound so wrecked it felt like it came from the marrow of her bones. Her whole body convulsed with it, fists pounding weakly against me, like she needed to hurt something but didn't know where to aim.
I held her tighter, like I could somehow keep her from slipping away. Whispered promises into her hair, swearing we'd get Noah back. That it wasn't over. That she wasn't alone.
Then, Frankie's phone rang again, piercing through her cries. The name flashing on the screen made me pause—Theodore? Confusion and anger twisted inside me, but I picked up, placing the call on speaker.
"Hector," came Noah's voice, breathless and scared.
"Noah?" Frankie's head snapped up, and she grabbed the phone from me, gripping it as if her life depended on it. "Noah! Is it really you? Are you okay?" Her voice was barely a whisper, like she was too afraid to believe it.
"Frankie," Noah said, his voice small but real, sending a flood of relief over her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she clutched the phone with trembling hands. "Theodore...he saved me, Frankie. But he...he's hurt. Bad."
"Noah, listen to me. Send me your location," Frankie said, her voice trembling but fierce. Within seconds, Noah texted their location.
She handed the phone to me, and I checked the map, noting the distance. We could make it in ten minutes, maybe less if I pushed it.
As we sped through the streets, I glanced at the phone in Frankie's hand, where Noah was still on the line. But then a familiar voice came through, low and weak. "Francesca..." It was Theodore.
