≫ A Dark Mafia Romance ≪
Francesca "Frankie" is undeniably stunning, her ethereal beauty drawing all eyes towards her. A fusion of classic allure and edgy charm. Francesca is fiercely skilled as a criminal defense lawyer. However, there's a cruel ed...
"A need for revenge can burn long and hot. Especially if every glance in a mirror reinforces it."
- Suzanne Collins -
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Relentless.
Sleepless.
Anxious.
I had become an obsessive guardian.
I had intensified security measures to a suffocating level where even the house staff needed accompaniment in or out.
Unable to sleep most nights, I'd found myself positioned on the balcony, my sniper rifle never more than an arm's reach away. Each sound or movement in the darkness set my heart pounding. My state of constant high-alert was beginning to gnaw at the edges of my sanity, threatening to tip me over the edge.
My morning coffee sat undisturbed, steam drifting up to softly caress my face as I gazed at it blankly. The sharp trill of my phone shook me from my internal musings.
Just hearing the ringer lately seemed to trigger an adrenaline rush. A racing heartbeat, clammy palms...all classic symptoms of acute anxiety.
"Yes, Scotty?" I tried to answer with some semblance of calm, attempting to mask my frayed nerves.
I fought the overwhelming temptation to grip the phone so tightly that it would snap in half.
"You're skipping the office again, boss?" Scott queried, worry bleeding into his tone.
Exhaling an involuntary sigh, I could almost see it fog up in front of me. How I longed for things to be normal again.
I wished work wasn't as relentless as it currently was. "Just tell me where I need to be, Scott." I swallowed, my words clouded with fatigue and strained tension.
"You've got a meeting with Taylor Williams at 2:00 and a status conference at 3:00," he updated me.
"Alright. Expect me there in an hour or so," I promised, hanging up before I allowed my worries to hijack the conversation.
Work seemed an overwhelming struggle, with the backdrop of ever-looming danger and my constantly agitated mind.
Sawyer walked in, the sheer lack of cheer on his face confirming our worst suspicions – we were still leagues away from discovering who the old man was.
"Sorry I don't have the news you're hoping for," he apologized, his head hanging in shame.
"Don't beat yourself up about it," I said, pulling myself up from behind the desk and heading his way, "You're the best man I have. If you can't find him, no one can."
"But we have to!" The underlying note of desperation was painfully palpable in Sawyer’s usually steady voice. "It's clear that he's been biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment, and now that he's sent us a direct threat, it's even clearer that he won't wait much longer to make a move."
