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...
"Revenge isn't just sweet, it's intoxicating. A slow-burning poison that tastes like honey on my tongue, dripping down in crimson ribbons, warm and rich. And now that it's served, I'll savor every last fucking drop."
- Frankie
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I felt fucking sick.
Had been ever since I shoved my hand inside Luigi and ripped out his guts like he was nothing but a fucking piñata full of blood and bile.
Disgusted?
Not even close. That was just the appetizer. I'd done worse. Been dragged away from corpses far more mangled, my hands still buried in their split-open chests.
I'd always been a vindictive bitch—one who didn't just crave revenge but bathed in it, drowning those who hurt her people in a sea of their own fucking blood.
So why the hell did I feel like I was rotting from the inside out?
I'd been nauseous for days, hurling up more than I ate, my stomach twisting like something inside me was fighting to crawl out. We'd been back in Chicago for forty-eight goddamn hours, but the sickness clung to me like a fucking curse. And I had to hide it. From Sawyer. From Noah.
From Hector, most of all.
If he caught so much as a whiff of something being wrong, he'd have me strapped to a goddamn hospital bed before I could blink. But this wasn't something any doctor could fix.
I didn't need a hospital.
I needed a fucking pregnancy test.
No. No, no, no. God, no.
I couldn't be pregnant. I couldn't fucking be pregnant.
I wasn't built for that shit. I wasn't soft, wasn't nurturing—I wasn't the kind of woman who read bedtime stories and packed little lunches with stupid heart-shaped sandwiches. I was a killer, a torturer, a goddamn monster with a smile that dripped poison. I was fucked up.
I barely had a mother myself. Four years. That's all I got before life ripped her away, and if it weren't for the old family album that Noah still clung to like a damn lifeline, I wouldn't even remember her face. So what the fuck did I know about motherhood?
What the hell did I know about raising a kid the right way?
Because let's be real, I wouldn't be teaching my kid how to bake a goddamn birthday cake. No, I'd probably end up teaching them how to sharpen a knife, how to gut someone clean and fast. How to survive in a world that only knows how to take.
And wasn't that just so fucking poetic?
How the fuck did this happen?
I'd been careful. Took my pills religiously. Yet, here I was, staring at the inevitable like a loaded gun pressed to my temple.
