Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” I whisper, barely meeting his eyes. “That’s why it’s so hard to accept that you both lied to me for so long. You both used me.”
“Francesca, I think you need to know something. It’s time you knew the truth.”
“What truth? That I’m a cold-blooded killer like you are? Hell, I know that. Wait until you hear what’s behind door number two,” I snort.
“Francesca, listen to me.” Damien’s voice is low, commanding. “I know you’re not going to believe this, but Jason Hawkins is your father. Your real father.”
I stare at him, waiting for some hint that he’s joking, but his expression doesn’t change. He’s dead serious.
“No, he’s not!” My voice breaks, and I feel the anger boiling up, filling my chest like fire. “Frank DeMarco is my father. I’m named after him, for fuck’s sake. Why would you even say that?”
Damien grabs my arms, steadying me, his eyes intense. “Kitten, I know this is hard to believe,” he says, giving me a slight shake. “But as soon as I had the resources to look into Hawkins, I did. It’s how I found out everything about you. Your mother, Suzanne Gloria Garner, also lived at Hope House.”
I shake my head, staring into Damien’s eyes, searching for some hint that this isn’t real. “No.”
“Yes, kitten. That’s where she met Jay. The cop on the take.” He watches me closely, unflinching. “Hawkins was already married, so your mom married Frank DeMarco. But she and Jay kept seeing each other for years.”
“No.” The word slips out, barely a whisper, but it feels like a punch to the chest. “How could you know that? Why are you lying to me?”
Damien’s gaze sharpens. “I’m a tech genius, Frankie. I also have your DNA. And Jay’s DNA.” He pauses, watching the shock settle over me. “I know everything. About you, Jay, your mother.” His eyes darken, voice dropping lower. “Even George McCormick.”
The name hits me like a punch to the gut, freezing me in place. My mouth goes dry, and my legs buckle beneath me as I drop to the ground, shaking. My breath comes in shallow gasps, and before I know it, the tears start, hot and unstoppable.
Damien knows everything.
And it will destroy me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Damien
Francesca collapses to her knees, her breath coming in shallow gasps, and panic spikes in my chest. She knows I know. She knows I’ve uncovered her secrets, the horrible things she’s done.
This is all part of my plan.
“Francesca!” I kneel beside her, my hands cupping her face, forcing her to look at me. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”
Her eyes dart back and forth, fear and disbelief swirling in her brown depths. “In and out,” I instruct, my voice low and soothing. “Breathe in and out.”
“I’m okay.” Frankie exhales and nods. “I’m okay. What do you know about George McCormick?”
I smile, knowing I’ve struck a nerve. “I know he was the man who broke into your home. I also know you killed him.”
There’s no denying it now. She knows I’m not bluffing when I say I know everything. I help Francesca to her feet, my hands gripping her arms as I steady her.
I guide her to the car, opening the passenger door for her. She slides in, and I close the door gently before making my way to the driver’s side.
“Tell me everything, Frankie. From the beginning.” I need to know every detail, every moment that led to McCormick’s death.
She nods, closing her eyes as her arms wrap around herself in a protective gesture. “I spent weeks tracking his every move,” she says, her voice steady. “I memorized his routines, his habits. I knew where he bought his coffee, where he liked to eat lunch, even the brand of cigarettes he smoked.”
As she tells the story, I listen intently. My eyes never leave her face.
It’s like listening to my own thoughts, my own methods. The meticulous planning, the obsessive attention to detail—it’s all so deliciously familiar.
“I watched him, day after day, waiting for the perfect moment to take him out,” she continues, her eyes taking on a distant look. “I had to be patient, to bide my time until I knew I could take him down without any witnesses.”
“How did you finally catch him?”
She shivers, but her voice remains steady. “I lured him to an abandoned warehouse with a fake drug deal. He thought he was meeting a new supplier, but he found me.”
She hunted him. Unbelievable.
“I wore a hidden camera to record every moment of his confession.” She looks at me, her eyes cold and hard. “When I was there, something in me snapped. I didn’t want to arrest him. I wanted him to pay. I wanted him to feel the same fear and helplessness that I felt that night.”
The intensity of her words sends a thrill through me. This is the Frankie I love, the one who’s not afraid of anything. “And did he?”