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...
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I'd been avoiding Hector. Not just brushing him off or making excuses, I'd been doing everything in my power to stay the hell away from him.
And the truth was, I knew exactly why.
No matter how tightly I kept to myself, no matter how composed I forced myself to be, Hector had this uncanny ability to see right through me. He always had. One look from him could tear down every wall I'd built, strip me bare to the bone, unearth thoughts I had buried deep, fears I had refused to acknowledge, and every ugly truth I had been too ashamed to face.
And now, I carried the ugliest truth of all.
I was pregnant.
How the hell was I supposed to stand in front of him and tell him that I was carrying his child, OUR child? How was I supposed to look him in the eye and confess that I wasn't planning to keep it?
Good God.
Sawyer had been right. Hector deserved to know. He had done nothing but love me, stand beside me through the chaos, and break himself piece by piece just to hold me together. He kissed my wounds like they were poetry, held my sins like they were holy, and now I was preparing to carve another one into his soul.
But how the hell do you look someone in the eyes when you're about to destroy them?
The clock had already passed midnight, and still, I couldn't sleep. I ached for something to dull the edge and quiet my nerves—whiskey, a cigarette, anything that could scrape away the panic clawing inside me.
I wandered toward the liquor cabinet, my fingertips trailing across the tops of bottles that promised numbness in one form or another. Just as I reached out for one, I froze.
I couldn't have any of this.
I was pregnant.
I let out a bitter, humorless laugh that echoed in the quiet of the room, then sank into the chair behind my desk, the weight in my chest pressing down so hard it felt like it might snap my spine in half.
What the hell was I supposed to do? How could I possibly fix this?
At some point, I must have passed out right there, slouched over on the armchair like I'd given up.
"Frankie?"
A small, hesitant voice floated through the haze, tugging me out of the void. My eyelids felt like they had been sewn shut, but I forced them open, wincing against the sunlight that streamed through the windows.
Benedict stood beside my chair, his eyes wide and far too kind for a kid who had seen hell up close. The soft curls on his head framed his pale cheeks, his face almost ghostly from hunger and exhaustion.
