Chapter 29 Frankie
FRANKIE
The first thing I felt was the cold.
Not just cold, either. Damp. A mildewy, concrete-soaked chill that crawled up my spine and clung to my skin like mold. I came to slowly, through a haze of pain pulsing behind my eyes, and tried to remember where I was.
Drug store. Bathroom. Pregnancy test. Two lines.
Darla. The men grabbing me. A hand over my mouth—
My breath hitched hard as I lurched upright.
Bad idea. The room spun violently, and I had to brace myself on the metal arm of the chair I was tied to. I wanted to vomit. My body wretched, but nothing came out.
A chair. Rope around my wrists. My ankles. My breath came fast and hot, fogging in the cold air.
I blinked until the dim space came into focus. An abandoned warehouse, maybe. A long, shadowy room with steel pillars and flickering overhead bulbs.
The scent of oil, old cigarettes, and rot clung to everything. Crates stacked against the walls.
A couple of grimy windows high above, letting in strips of moonlight.
Definitely not good. Definitely not safe.
Footsteps echoed somewhere behind me. I froze.
A figure stepped into the cone of yellowish light. Tall. Broad shoulders. Graying hair. A suit that had probably been expensive before it had been wrinkled to hell.
I knew that face, even though I hadn’t seen it in years.
“Hello, Francesca.”
My stomach dropped. “Dad?”
Robert Ferrara smiled like a shark. “Good to see you awake.”
A million thoughts hit me at once—none of them comforting.
My father. My absentee, opportunistic, manipulative father had kidnapped me. Or, well, some men who answered to him. Which meant—
“You…you sent the note.” My voice cracked. “You scared me. You threatened my mom.”
He shrugged. “Business can be messy.”
My vision tunneled for a second. I forced myself to breathe.
“You’re in the mafia. A rival family,” I said. “Against the Buteras. Against…my guys.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Anthony Butera’s little empire is vulnerable now. His son is scrambling. The hierarchy is fracturing. It’s the perfect time for someone with ambition and the right leverage to take control.”
A chill cut through me. “And that leverage is…me?”
Robert stepped closer, his shoes scraping against the concrete floor. “Francesca, you were always meant to be useful. You were supposed to be won at auction by someone I chose. Someone who owed me loyalty. But Jonathan Butera ruined that.”
My throat closed. “He didn’t ruin anything.”
He sighed, sounding bored. “My dear, the only reason any of those men bid on you was because Anthony demanded they take you away from my ally. You were bait. You still are. Why else would they have kept you?”
The words hit like knives. Sure, they bought me because Anthony told them to. But they kept me because…why? Strategy? Leverage over my father?
No. No, I knew them. I knew their hands on me, their voices. Their hearts, even hidden behind steel walls and macho mafia bullshit.
They’d even given me the money, but I hadn’t needed it. They’d already cleared my mom’s debts, ensured her future, and paid for everything I needed.
Maybe keeping me at the start was part of a plan, but it didn’t stay that way.
But the doubt slid in anyway, cold and poisonous.
My father watched my face change. He looked pleased. “You see? You were never anything more than a pawn.”
“Stop,” I whispered.
More men appeared around him—thick, looming shapes. One cracked his knuckles. Another smirked at me with hungry eyes.
My pulse raced so fast it hurt.
“Why tell me all this?” I asked, voice shaking. “What—what do you want from me?”
“For you to pick a side,” he said simply. “Family or enemies.”
“I already picked—”
“Not them,” he snapped. “Me.”
My heart thudded painfully. “Dad, please—”
He leaned down until his face was inches from mine.
“Make yourself useful,” he said, “and I’ll keep you alive.”
Alive.
I swallowed hard. My mouth went dry.
“And if I don’t?”
He straightened again, dark amusement curling his lips. “Then I’ll have to get rid of you. Cleanly. Before you can be used against me.”
My breath left my body.
No. No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Deep down, I’d always believed that whatever else he was, my dad wasn’t a monster.
Then I remembered his smirk. His shrug about threatening me. The coldness in his voice.
Oh god.
Words burst out of me before I could think.
“Please, you can’t. I’m—I’m pregnant.”
Silence slammed into the room.
Robert stared at me like I’d sprouted a second head. Then his brows lifted. “Is that so?”
“I—yes.” My voice trembled. “You can’t—please. I’m carrying a baby. Your grandchild.”
For a moment—a single, desperate moment—I thought it might work. That somewhere in him lived a sliver of decency.
Then he laughed.
Actually laughed. A loud, delighted bark of amusement.
“Oh, Francesca. You always were full of surprises.” He wiped at his eyes. “This is perfect.”
Perfect?
My stomach twisted with a cold so deep it hurt.
“Pregnancy increases your value considerably,” he mused. “It complicates matters for the Buteras. Which gives me yet more leverage.”
He stepped closer again, staring down at me like I was an asset on a spreadsheet.
“We’re going to make a deal,” he said. “You join me, publicly denounce those men, maybe even tip the balance inside their organization…and we all get what we want.”
My voice was barely a whisper. “And if I don’t?”
He smiled.
“I’ll force you to get rid of it.”
The room spun. My breathing collapsed into sharp, panicked gasps. My baby. My tiny, unnamed, unexpected miracle.
“No,” I choked. “You can’t—Dad, please—”
“You always wanted to be a mother?” he said mockingly. “Then follow instructions like your own mother used to. Be a good little girl.”
I felt sick. Shaking. Broken open.
I loved my baby already. Loved the very idea of them.
And of course, now I was realizing I loved the guys, too. I could never make a decision like this.
Distant gunshots cut him off.
Robert froze.
Another sound followed. Closer. Sharper.
More gunshots.
Shouting. Feet pounding against concrete somewhere in the building. A crash like splintering wood.
My heart soared—a wild, desperate, frantic hope exploding through me.
The men around Robert shifted, drawing weapons, cursing under their breath.
Robert snarled, “What the hell—”
A blast echoed so loudly the walls vibrated.
I flinched, but hope kept my spine straight.
Please, I begged silently. Please let it be them. Jonathan. Devin. Alexei.
My guys. My maybe-future, maybe-family.
Footsteps thundered closer.
Robert barked orders. His men took positions. Chaos erupted around me.
I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed with everything in me.
Please find me. Please save me—save us. Please, please, please.