"To exact revenge for yourself or your friends is not only a right, it's an absolute duty."
- Stieg Larsson
Once I was certain that we were safely out of danger from the Colombian attack, I packed up and left the hotel, escorting Theodore back home.
During the drive back, Theodore couldn't seem to find enough words to express the ocean of gratitude swelling within him. He broke the silence in the car, saying, "Hector, I don't think I could ever repay you for what you did."
I kept my eyes on the road, ensuring Theo was out of harm's way, while keeping a casual air about me despite the pain. "You're my family, Theo. I'd never take your safety lightly."
Despite this lighthearted chat, my insides were a wreck. Every breath felt like sandpaper on my lungs and I did my best to keep a straight face despite the throbbing bullet wound seeping crimson in my side. I suspected the bullet was lodged in the hollow part of my stomach. However, it didn't reduce the impact of the blow, the burning pain was there as constant as my heartbeats.
The last thing I wanted was for Theodore to be aware of my injuries, and so I grimaced and bore the pain all the way home.
"Theo, stay indoors. I have something to take care of," I told him as I opened the car door for him.
Theodore gave me a weary look. "Hector, thank you," he murmured, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I winced at the contact, but managed to hide it with a slight cough. "Always, Theo. Family takes care of family."
As soon as Theodore was safely inside the mansion, I immediately took off to Goat's, as his place operated as a secret medical facility for our men.
The whole ride there, I tried to suppress my painful winces, clutching at my bleeding side, silently cursing the Colombians for my current predicament. Upon arrival, I stumbled out of the car, groaning in agony. I gritted my teeth, mumbling a quiet curse.
Goat had already brought Tommy; a rough-around-the-edges medic with hands as steady as a surgeon's, and were waiting by the door.
"Hell, Hector, you really can't stay out of trouble, can you?" Tommy helped me inside, steadying me as I doubled over in pain.
"It's not in my nature, Tommy," I panted out through gritted teeth. I continued after a pause, "Make it quick, would ya? And, Goat, make sure mom and Maddie don't know about this."
Goat let out a resigned sigh. "Got it. The bullet wound protocol. This isn't the first time, won't be the last."
"Yeah," I grunted in reply, managing to find a humorless laugh through the agony, "Thanks for keeping it on file."
"This is going to be messy," Tommy declared, laying his bag on a nearby table and immediately digging through it. He turned over to Goat, "Do you have any whiskey?"
Goat looked between the doctor and me, eyes wide. "Yeah, top shelf."
He turned to find me already pulling out a half-empty bottle from a liquor cabinet. I took a deep pull straight from the bottle, my hand visibly shaking.
Tommy walked over, taking the whiskey from me. He cleaned the area around my wound, grimacing at the size and depth of the bullet hole.
"This is going to hurt, Hector," Tommy stated matter of factly.
I nodded, a cold expression on my face. I readied myself on the couch, gripping onto the sides tightly.
The bullet extraction began. As Tommy's sure hands did their work, Goat poured himself a drink. He looked like he needed it.
My eyes fluttered open, my brain sluggishly processing the foreign surroundings. The distinct aroma of disinfectant, almost sterile, choked me and provoked bitter memories of the situation that led me here.
A biting pang of pain skewered through my arm as I pushed myself up, an action I immediately regretted. It was only when I noticed the tightly-wound bandages wrapped around my arm and the specks of blood scattered over my shirt that reality began to encroach upon my hazy consciousness.
So caught up in trying to understand my situation, I hadn't noticed Sawyer's entrance into the room. He watched me from the corner of my eye, quiet, like a volcano waiting to erupt. Clearing his throat with purpose, he commanded my attention.
"When did you get here?" My question was met with a severe, stern gaze from Sawyer. He seemed more rigid, more formal than usual.
With measured steps, Sawyer closed the distance between us, settling himself at the edge of my bed - his bed.
His stern gaze never leaving mine, he broke his silence, the harsh undertones of anger cutting through his usual stoic demeanor. "You need to lie down. Now."
Defeated, I eased myself back onto the pillow, still grappling with the unnerving whirling sensation in my head.
"How did you find me?" I stammered, struggling to stitch together the scraps of my reality.
Sawyer's reply revealed a bitter disappointment that stained his face and bled into his words. "I couldn't find you when I got home. Instinctively, I knew where to look. The only time you show up here is when you're hurt. You cover up your absence by tossing me a job, and like a fucking idiot, I always take the bait."
"Sawyer-" I protested, but was promptly cut off by him.
"No, Frankie, don't even start," He pushed himself off the bed to leave the room.
In a small, frail voice, I apologized, "I'm sorry. I truly am. I just didn't want to worry you or papà, or anyone for that matter. It's not serious. I'm okay."
"But it IS serious!" His voice reverberated off the icy white walls, amplifying the raw frustration emanating from him. "Every minor scrape, every tiny cut matters to us. It matters to ME. Yes, Francesca, you're my boss and I work for you, but you're also family to me. Like the sister I never had. I obviously can't stop your recklessness, but my job is to keep you safe, a job I can't do if you keep sending me away!"
Unable to stand still any longer, I sprung from the bed as he turned away, propelling myself into him, wrapping my arms around his waist, my strength mingling with desperation in my tight embrace.
Sawyer wasn't just a man who worked for me, he was my family, my protector, and my closest confidant. And even though I never said the words out loud, I loved him like a brother.
Pulling away from the hug gently, he spun around to meet my eyes, brushing a tender kiss across my forehead. The tension faded, replaced by a small, heartwarming smile on his lips.
"I promise I won't do that again," I said, trying to make amends.
The tight lines around his eyes relaxed, as he nodded with a soft smile. Moving towards the door, his tone was lighter, filled with concern, and unspoken love.
"Come on, let's go get you some food." He proposed, treating me with the warmth and affection I was more accustomed to.
──●◎●──
Despite Sawyer repeatedly urging me to take it easy and rest, I was hell-bent on assisting Allegra Capano with her legal situation.
Soon after meeting Allegra, I found out that she and her crew were unfortunately captured on CCTV cameras during their shootout with the Colombians. Because of the masks they wore during the incident, the law enforcement could only single out Allegra and her team for the subsequent investigations.
Thankfully, it didn't require an enormous amount of legal work to get them off the hook. They had all the necessary and legally issued permits for the weapons they carried and their involvement in the entire incident boiled down to an act of self-defense. All these facts worked like a charm to favor their side in the investigation.
Following this intense case, I felt it was about time I paid heed to Sawyer's advice and give my still throbbing arm some well-deserved downtime and healing.
Feeling a wave of dullness slowly creeping over me, I found myself lost in the midst of a mound of files that lay on my home office desk. I tried to stifle a yawn as my hands circled around the warm, comforting cup of coffee.
I was snapped back from my reverie by the gentle rap of a knock at my office door. The usual warm voice of Olivia drifted into the room. "Ma'am, may I?"
"Yeah sure, come on in Olivia," I responded without tearing my eyes away from the numerous open tabs on my laptop screen.
"Mr. Pierce is here to see you," Olivia announced. Her voice carried an undertone of uneasiness, knowing very well that unexpected visits were something I absolutely abhorred.
I shot her a surprised look before gathering my thoughts.
"Let him in," I instructed.
The atmosphere in the room charged as the heavy oak door opened to reveal Hector, and with him a confidence and command that commanded the entirety of my office space. He strode in with an aura that both captivated and intimidated me, while the corner of my mind frantically raced with unbidden thoughts.
"I hope I didn't just barge in, did I?" He asked, stopping only a couple of feet away from me.
"Of course not, Hector. Take a seat," I replied, directing him towards the sleek leather couch positioned at one corner.
"You had left suddenly last night, I thought I should drop by and make sure you were alright," he clarified.
"Oh, I had to rush back for Noah, he's been having these bouts of insomnia," I shared. Then, I added, with a comforting smile, "Thanks for the concern though, I'm doing fine."
Hector settled on the couch beside me, shifting a little to close the gap between us. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers down my spine.
"You look so worn out," he gently pointed out, a soft hand brushing away stray hairs from my face. "Didn't catch much sleep last night?"
Before I could process my own reaction, his fingers trailed down the side of my face, his breath hitched as our faces inched closer, our noses softly brushing against each other. As I prepared myself for what was about to happen, I abruptly backed off. In that moment, a tide of uneasiness swept over me, leading me to a standstill.
"Are we playing the same old game again?" he spat out, irritation marring his handsome features.
Feeling his frustration on top of my own whirlpool of emotions left me tongue-tied. I wanted to pour out my heart, tell him everything, but the words just didn't seem to form.
What could I tell him? How could I possibly explain?
Seeing my continued silence, he sighed audibly, a frown creasing his brow as he reclined back against the cushions. His voice dropped a notch as he delivered the unsettling ultimatum.
"We're here again, aren't we, Frankie?" he began with a tinge of disappointment in his tone. "It seems like my very existence conflicts with everything you've been planning. We need to put a full stop somewhere. I need you to confront your own feelings and answer me, how much are you willing to put into making this work? How much do you truly want me?" he said, his voice barely audible.
His penetrating gaze held my startled one captive, demanding answers that I wasn't prepared to give.
I found myself instinctively drawing nearer to him. Slowly and gently, my hands made their way to his face, catching his gaze and holding it. I softly laid my forehead against his, my eyelids gently closing. I let my senses fill up with his addicting scent and fought off a sudden and overwhelming desire to press my lips onto his.
"You know what you are to me?" My voice was barely a whisper, hardly audible, yet filled with a million unspoken emotions.
He countered with his ever dominant tone, "Tell me."
"You're everything I want and everything I'm not supposed to have," my voice barely made it past my throat, whispering a desperate confession.
"Bullshit. I'm everything you need," he replied swiftly, the longing evident in his deep voice.
Before I could respond, he firmly grabbed my face and pulled me towards him. His lips locked onto mine so hard it took away any thought, any reality of me, replacing it with him. I was only aware of the weight of his body against mine and the delicious taste of his tongue mingling with mine.
I made no move to end our heated exchange.
There was no way I wanted to.
There was no way I could.
"I want this," he breathed out against my lips, the warmth of his breath stirring the coals of our fiery entanglement.
His lips resembled sins, and I was incredibly intoxicated.
──●◎●──
"Frankie, can I have a word with you?" Scott's voice interrupted the thought maze I was trapped in. Raising my eyes, I found him standing by the door to the office.
"Sure, go ahead," I replied, indicating the vacant chair across from my desk.
Scott shuffled uneasily as he took his seat, eyes darting around the room as if to delay the conversation. "So," he began cautiously, his tone low and solemn, "I've been wanting to talk to you about...well, the incident that took place the other day. I didn't know if it would be right for me to ask what happened...or how it even happened."
"I'd prefer you didn't," I interrupted swiftly, putting an end to his question.
"But, Frankie, it's just that...I can't help but worry about you..." he mumbled, his expression wearing a thin veil of worry.
His sincere concern had an unintended yet welcome side-effect - it made me smile.
"Scotty," I began, my voice warmer, "thank you. And thanks for being there for me the other day, you really didn't have to. But, you did. I'll always remember that."
"Come on, don't mention it! We're buddies, aren't we?" He replied, clearly hoping I'd endorse his proclamation.
Instead, I remained quiet, just watching him.
"We are friends, aren't we?" He tried again.
"Don't push your luck," I playfully scolded.
"Well, can't fault a guy for trying," he shrugged, the goofiest grin breaking through.
"Now get your ass back to work, those files won't do themselves," I jestingly commanded.
"Aye-aye, Captain!" He mimed a salute which triggered an explosion of laughter from me.
"Ma'am?" Dalilah's voice cut through the conversation, Scott and I turning to see her standing hesitantly in the doorway. "Daniel Pierce is here to see you."
Puzzled, I looked at Scott who wore the same bewildered expression as mine. Pierce wasn't exactly on my shortlist of 'expected visitors', heck I even hoped that our paths would never cross again after the closure of his case.
Scott nodded in my direction, asking silently if he should let Pierce in. All I could do was shrug, that sense of curiosity making a swift return.
Within seconds, there he was - Daniel Pierce. Strolling into my office like he owned the place. Classy as ever in his crisp suit and carefully styled hair.
"Frank," he extended his hand, cool as ice, acting as if he just hadn't thrown my whole day into chaos.
"Daniel," I shook his hand and motioned for him to sit. Despite his stoic demeanor, his gaze was steady, refusing to budge from my face.
He cleared his throat, still keeping up that level of suave as if it was a second nature to him. "Just thought I'd drop by to give my thanks, you know? For working that magic on my case and all."
Hiding my irritation at his surprise visit, I quickly brushed off his praise with a generic response, "Just doing my job, Daniel. You don't need to thank me."
But he persisted. "No, Frank. I mean it. When everyone, even my own father, doubted my innocence, you fought for me. And for that, I am eternally grateful."
The corners of my lips twitched upwards into a knowing smirk.
Gee, I wonder why!
I pushed down the snarky response and continued diplomatically, "The past is the past, Daniel. What matters now is that you're a free man. Let's move on from here."
His smile softened in return, a gentleness seeping through his façade. "That is a luxury I am able to enjoy thanks to you, Frank." There was a brief pause as he evaluated something before adding, Would you join me for dinner sometime this week?"
Startled and equally repulsed, I responded, "Appreciate the offer, Daniel, but I would like to keep my relationship with my clients on professional terms. Let's leave it at that." I offered a small fake smile.
His acceptance was almost immediate. Understood, he rose from his chair. "Once again, I owe you more than I can say, thank you for everything." With that, he was gone.