≫ 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...
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I fucked up.
In my mind, I was protecting my family, yet ironically, I was only exposing them to greater danger.
Jamie losing his job was never my intention; he didn't deserve that outcome.
My leg trembled uncontrollably as I waited for Sawyer's return with the man who caused my brother his job. I needed to rectify the chaos I had instigated, regardless of the price.
In the darkness of my home office, I couldn't help but replay the series of events that led to this moment, each memory heavier than the last. The thought that my actions had spiraled so catastrophically out of control was a pill too bitter to swallow.
I sat at the desk, tapping my foot uncontrollably, the rhythmic thud a small echo of the chaos swirling within me.
Though Sawyer had been gone for merely two hours, the stretch of anticipation seemed to distort time itself, making his absence feel infinitely longer.
A firm knock on the office door startled me to my feet.
"Come in," I called out, my voice steady despite the tumult inside me.
Sawyer entered, and the look he gave me was all the confirmation I needed that he had succeeded in his task.
"He's all wrapped up and waiting for you in the basement, boss," he announced, his voice betraying none of the tension that was undoubtedly gripping him as well.
I followed Sawyer down to the basement. It was dark, with shadows dancing along its cold, concrete walls. The single, naked bulb hanging from the ceiling barely lit the small, cluttered space, where the man was bound to a chair, his head drooping forward, a dried trail of blood from his split lip down his chin.
I descended the creaking stairs with deliberate slowness, each step echoing ominously through the damp air. My eyes were ice-cold, a sharp contrast to the heat of my simmering anger. Sawyer stood by the side, his presence looming like a silent specter.
The informant - visibly trembling - raised his eyes to meet mine, and in that moment, he understood the gravity of his mistake.
"You see, I don't take kindly to people messing with my family," I began, my voice soft but carrying a lethal edge as I circled the bound man like a predator stalking its prey.
The man lifted his head, his eyes wide with fear, lips trembling.
"Thought you could play my brother for a fool, didn't you?" My voice was cold, laced with venom.
"I-I was paid. I didn't have a choice," the man stammered, desperation evident in his eyes.
My laughter was bitter, void of any true amusement. "You always have a choice. You chose poorly."
