"...And you, you better run because I'm going to destroy you for what you've taken from me."
- Samantha Young
With an aggravated sigh, I grabbed my car keys from their hook by the front door, storming out of the house as I muttered a stream of silent curses with each step I took. As if my day wasn't going poorly enough, the last image I wanted burned into my memory was the sight of them, wrapped up in each other's arms, fucking before my eyes.
Whipping into the luxury apartment complex’s vast parking lot, I shifted into park before getting out, striding towards the entrance with an unmistakable determination that could shake the ground beneath my high-heeled boots. I made my way towards the elevator that would lead me to Hector's esteemed penthouse.
"Frank, here for Hector," I stated to the security, not in the mood to entertain any further questions.
Inside, I was a simmering pot of impatience threatening to bubble over any second.
"Right this way, ma'am," a tall, striking man with piercing hazel eyes offered himself as my guide, exuding an aura of authority.
He led me towards the high-rising apartment and with every click-clack of my heels against the expansive marble floor, I hoped with every ounce of my being that she wasn’t there. It was like my thoughts had gone rogue, playing back to me a replay of her in vivid detail – the cheap looking, fiery redhead that she was.
Not that I was nursing some wounded form of jealousy or any other silly notion like that, of course not. It’s just that I knew myself and my temper, particularly when provoked, and it was nothing short of volatile. The prospect of my reaction in her presence even scared me, a frightening shadow looming over me that served as a reminder of my dangerous potential.
I stepped inside the apartment, calling out for Hector, only to be answered by her annoying presence. Dressed in nothing but one of Hector's oversized shirts, her wild, unbrushed hair and yesterday's makeup smeared on her face making her look sluttier than ever.
The scene felt like a cutout from a tired old melodrama.
"Hi! Nice meeting you again! I'm Adrianna," she greeted me cheerily, extending her hand out for a polite handshake, seemingly oblivious to the obvious discomfort emanating from me.
Her naïveté would have been charming, if it weren't for the fact that I knew exactly what – or rather who – her hand had been tangled around not long ago.
I glanced at her offered hand in disgust, my lip curling up involuntarily in contempt.
"I'm not feeling very nice today, and I wasn’t exactly looking forward to meeting you either," I retorted tersely. I couldn't keep the venomous sting from my tone. "Where's Hector?"
The colour on her face drained at my response, and she swiftly withdrew her hand. Not long after, Hector sauntered into the room, completely unruffled, wearing nothing but a skimpy towel around his waist. "Right here," he announced.
Water droplets trickled lazily from his dark blond, tousled hair, twisting their way down his perfectly sculpted torso. Even through the chaotic feelings bubbling inside me, I had to admit that Hector looked astoundingly attractive. Yet the sight of him only managed to aggravate the flames of my disappointment. And I honestly didn't have a damn clue as to why that was.
"Yes, Frankie? Anything I can help you with?" Hector questioned, an evident hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. Not particularly keen on having his peaceful morning interrupted.
"Conor's been trying to reach you all morning. It's urgent," I ground out, whipping around to stride back towards the elevator, ready to make my quick exit.
"Tell him I'll call him back," he retorted nonchalantly, waving me off.
I paused for a second, too infuriated by his careless indifference. "You have a fucking phone. Learn to use it!" I yelled back, stepping inside the elevator before letting the doors close between us.
In the temporary solitude of the elevator, I let myself crumble, leaning against the mirrored walls as I rubbed at my temples. I let the anger drain from me as the doors slid shut on my back.
Honestly, what on earth was wrong with me?
I was peeved at Marqus for allowing Frankie to waltz in without notifying me first. Still, I couldn't really blame him, could I? After all, I hadn't anticipated her seeing me in a rather undressed state, with another woman to boot. But then again, did I really care when it was clear she didn't give a fuck about me?
Evidently, I had forgotten my phone at the club, a fact I didn't realize until Frankie stopped by my place. She mentioned that Conor had been trying to get in touch with me urgently and I had to call him back.
At that moment, Goat and Zane strode into the room, anger radiating from them.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
Zane huffed, "Do me a solid man and don't ever make me deal with that fucking maniac again!"
I couldn't help but laugh at his dramatic facial expression. Turning to Goat, I asked him to fill me in.
"Not much," he replied casually, "Just some stiff who won't do business with folks he doesn't dig."
"He's a fucking madman!" Zane spewed out.
His antics made me chuckle even more. Avoiding the cushion he flung in my direction, I rose from my seat and announced, "Let's move."
"Do I really have to tag along?' Zane groaned.
Without skipping a beat, Goat and I turned to him, our expressions serious, "Yes, Zane!" we responded together.
With a grunt of annoyance, he trailed after us. We hastily entered the waiting vehicles, headed to meet with the notorious Bill Valentine, better known as Chill Bill.
We arrived at The graveyard, Bill's territory. Strangely enough, none of his men were visible, leading me to conclude he probably wasn't around either.
Abruptly, a shout came from a small lookout post. "Who's there?"
"Hector Pierce, looking for Bill Valentine," I retorted.
Not long after, a tall, blond man carrying dual AK-47s stepped out from the lookout post.
"Hold up there, no need for violence." Goat took a step back.
"What, you scared of a little gun?" Bill taunted, pointing his shotgun at us
"Told you this cat was fucking nuts!" Zane shouted, hopping backwards.
Bill didn't hesitate to throw an insult. "See why I don't like your men? Fucking pussies!"
"Who are you calling a pussy, you fucking--!" Zane's temper flared.
"Cut it out, both of you!" I shouted, interrupting him.
steeling myself as I stepped directly into the business end of his gun. It pointed threateningly at me, barely a fraction of a millimeter from my shirt. A twitch of his finger was all that separated life from death.
"We came in your territory with no weapons, in complete good faith. We're here to present a proposal, a business deal," I countered firmly, eyes fixed on his. "This show of muscle? Unnecessary."
Our gazes remained locked for a tension-filled beat. His response, much to my surprise, was a relaxed drop of his guns and a wolfish grin.
"You got nerve, I like that. We're going to get along. Working with you sounds damn interesting," He stretched out his hand and, despite my surprise, I took it.
His response startled me, prompting me to clarify, "But we haven't yet broached the specifics of the deal, Bill."
A dismissive shrug answered me. "No need to. Bravery. I like that in a man, only do deals with brave men."
"Who made you a poster boy for courage?" Zane shot back, laced with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
The counter question seemed to amuse him, for he broke into a rumbling chuckle. "Look around, boy! Spot any tough guys protecting my junkyard?"
He had a point. He may have seemed unhinged at first, but he was right. When we first set foot in his graveyard, it was apparent there was not a guard in sight. In our business, courage was not only valued but also infrequent. The majority of our associates wouldn't dare step out without wearing bulletproof vests.
We were led into what I had thought was a lookout post, but it was actually his personal office.
The clock was ticking. The Russians were circling like vultures, looking for a weak link. We knew we needed to act quickly. Offering Bill a beneficial proposition was the only shot we had to make him our ally before the clock struck midnight.
And it was not merely a matter of partnership. With no clear successor to Sergei's position of power, power struggles and turf wars were almost inevitable. We were well aware of the crucial nature of this moment - Bill was definitely on their shortlist. His talents as one of the country's top gunsmiths made him a significant potential asset they'd love to seize.
This urgency was why Conor had been desperate to contact me. I knew the seconds were slipping by. I allowed a small sigh of relief to escape. At least this mission had not been in vain. We'd accomplished our primary goal. Now, it was time to set the other pieces in motion.
Two interminably long weeks had gone by, yet it seemed as if they were measured in centuries instead of days. For the first time in an eternity, I didn't find myself aching to see Hector's handsome face. Strangely, his absence began to feel like an unexpected burden off my chest. It felt as if my obsessive desire for him was beginning to wane, inch by weary inch.
A week ago, Conor and Ronan had made their welcome homecoming. The immense relief their presence ignited washed over me like a long-awaited balm. It was a comforting reassurance that I had been pining for. Then came Manny and Aisling, trailing two days behind once we were finally certain that the danger, which had once loomed ominously over our heads, had passed.
Swiftly, I slipped into my dark blue pantsuit and favorite black Louboutin heels, shrugged my black cashmere coat onto my shoulders, and made a beeline for my appointment with Michael Radley. Being late was not an option.
"Frankie!" Layla's voice trailed behind me.
I turned around and retraced my steps towards her to ensure she was protected from the rain. "What's up?" I asked.
"I've made you breakfast," she murmured softly.
I was moved by her gesture. Though my stomach growled, protesting against my tight schedule, her genuine kindness melted my hurried intentions. "Layla, I appreciate your effort," I replied, flashing a warm, comforting smile, "I really need to leave right now. I'll eat once I'm back. Promise."
Recently, finding the will to eat had been a struggle amidst all the chaos. My days had become a constant loop of strong coffee and smoking sessions with hardly any room for food. It just didn't seem that important anymore.
──●◎●──
T
he walls of my office felt like a mockery of the churning turmoil within me. Theodore Pierce, my nemesis, sat across from me, a civility in his posture that felt as foreign as a summer breeze in December.
"Thank you, Frank," he began, his voice surprisingly gentle. It grated on my nerves. This wasn't the Theodore Pierce I knew – the arrogant, sharp-tongued capo who reveled in his heinous crimes.
"For what, exactly?" I said, my voice laced with a bitterness I couldn't mask. He'd come here, to my office, and all he had to offer were empty platitudes?
"For getting Daniel out of that mess," he said, his gaze flickering to the window and back. "He shouldn't have been involved in the first place. But you… you fought for him."
A hollow laugh escaped my lips. "Don't sugarcoat it, Mr. Pierce. You needed a skilled lawyer, and I happened to be available." The words tasted like ash in my mouth. I'd envisioned this visit differently – him pleading for my legal expertise, a chance for me to infiltrate his inner circle. It seemed my plan had spectacularly backfired.
"Perhaps," he conceded, a flicker of something akin to sadness crossing his features. "But you did more than just provide legal muscle. You… you showed him a way out."
He was right, of course. But the grudging praise only fueled my frustration. "But why exactly are you here?"
His eyes met mine, a storm brewing beneath the calm surface. "To ask you what you want Francesca." A gasp was about to push its way out of my lips when I stifled it. He knew my name. The statement hung heavy in the air, laced with something I couldn't decipher. Was it regret? Vulnerability?
Suddenly, the air in the room felt suffocatingly small. The man who had turned my life into a living hell was now… hesitant. It was infuriating, disorienting. This wasn't the enemy I knew how to fight.
"What could I possibly want?" I countered, my voice a ragged whisper.
"There must be something you want," he said. "Isn't that why you orchestrated this entire charade? To show me the secret weapon Conor Jones has in his arsenal? You."
I remained silent for a brief moment, my gaze unwavering. After all, he didn't know much. "You think Conor is after you? Why would he be?"
The answer, if there was one, wasn't coming. A wave of helplessness washed over me, as potent as the tension in the room.
Finally, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, Theodore rose to his feet. "I should get going," he murmured, the civility back in his voice, yet somehow tinged with a newfound weariness.
"Wait," I blurted out, the word catching in my throat. "Why are you really here, Theodore?"
He paused at the door, his back to me. "Perhaps," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "sometimes enemies can surprise even themselves." And with that statement, he was gone, leaving me grappling with a truth I couldn't quite grasp, and a sense of unease that lingered long after the click of the closing door.
No matter what Theodore Pierce believed he knew, it wouldn't sway his fate. Theodore Pierce was essentially condemned, a mere shadow of a man with no hope of redemption, regardless of whether my original scheme succeeded or failed.
──●◎●──
I was sitting directly opposite Michael in my office. It felt like I was under a magnifying glass as I observed his sharp, thoughtful gaze appraising me. There was a intensity in his dark eyes that made it clear he was hanging onto my every word.
"Ms. Monroe," he began, his voice just above a whisper, not for lack of courage, but simply his measured tone. "I want you to understand my deep appreciation for the incredible work you've done on my case."
I forced a smile. "It's my job to provide exceptional legal service, Mr. Radley," I countered smoothly. "There's really no need for the praise."
As our conversation deepened, I became conscious of his eyes continuously straying from mine, lingering just a fraction too long on my lips, then wandering over the curves of my body. I quickly pushed the thoughts aside, reminding myself that this was business and I was probably just over analyzing things.
"I was wondering if you would know of any reputable family lawyers you could recommend," he asked. "My sister is going through a painful divorce, and I want her to have the most capable attorney representing her, and I can only trust you."
"I know someone," I responded. Grabbing a pad and pen from the pile of neatly organized stationery next to me, I scribbled down a name, before handing the note to him. "Dennis Campbell. He’s arguably the best family lawyer in the state, and the only one I'd entrust your sister's case to."
He reached for the note I handed to him, his fingers gently grazing my own. "I can't thank you enough, Frankie," he whispered.
"It's no trouble at all," I reassured him with a polite smile.
The business part of our conversation came to an end and Michael got up to leave, pausing just for a moment as he turned back to me.
"Frankie," he murmured, his voice low and sultry. "I can't stop thinking about you. I want to see you again, outside of work."
His audacious words threw me for a loop. While his glances hadn't gone unnoticed, his sudden openness was entirely unexpected.
"I appreciate your compliment, regardless of how inappropriate it is, Mr Radley," I said, emphasizing on his last name to show my disapproval of his informality. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline. Mixing business and pleasure is not my style."
With that, I got up from my chair and led him to the exit, holding the door open for him. A hint of an arrogant smirk etching its way onto his features as though he found my stern response mildly entertaining.
"Allow me to escort you out," I told him, forcing courtesy.
As we strode towards the exit together, he extended a cordial hand. "I appreciate your time, Ms. Monroe," he voiced, brimming with charm.
Accepting his handshake, I managed a thin smile. It's always a pleasure. My voice suggested otherwise.
Suddenly, my vision blurred, my world began spinning, and I could hardly stand on my legs. Losing my balance, I groped for something stable, but the only thing within reach was Michael.
"I've got you," A deep voice whispered into my ear reassuringly.
"Ma'am, are you alright?" Dalilah questioned anxiously from her desk, quickly rushing to my side.
Barely keeping my consciousness in check, I blurted out weakly, "Call... Sawyer..."
Supported by Michael, we walked further but my legs started to wobble and I fell against him. His strong arms embraced me like a safety net.
"Are you okay?" His face creased with concern.
I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs from my brain. "Something's not right. I feel so lightheaded. I'm going to pass out."
Reacting swiftly, he swept me up in his arms, keeping me close. He hurried towards the car, carrying me with an ease that should have embarrassed me, but I was too drained to object.
"Take us to the hospital, NOW!" he commanded his driver.
"I don't need the hospital. I'm just a little dizzy. I'll be fine." I feebly objected.
But Michael wouldn't hear of it. "I'm not taking any chances with your health. We're going to get you checked out, just to be safe."
Feeling too weak to argue further, I could sense myself drifting away from consciousness, in his arms.