It seemed farfetched, yet if she was right and the Grant brothers were the missing DeLuca brothers, then he’d absolutely done the only thing he could when the journalist showed up. Frankie had never been threatened by a mob boss, but if she ever had, it didn’t take a criminal to know you’d want to avoid having your faceplastered on a national television newscast for the bad guy to see and remember he wants you dead.
Her eyes burned, and her chest clenched.
If her assumptions were right, Marcus had trusted her with the most vulnerable part of himself, and that’s what made the news clipping a grand gesture. “And I turned his efforts into a revenge punchline.”
In her defense, her anger had been, and still was, justified. He had manipulated her as Mr. Uptight. His actions had been high-handed, inappropriate, and flat-out cruel.
In his defense, his choices had been fueled by loyalty. He had acted on behalf of a friend’s ruined dreams. Which, while it didn’t excuse the deception, made it human. Understandable, even.
Now that Ziggy counted himself her friend, Frankie would burn down kingdoms to defend him.
Protecting a friend didn’t erase what Marcus had done, but it explained the bone-deep instinct behind it. Emphasis on explained…not absolved. No way did it give him a get-out-of-consequences-free card.
But his actions could be deemed pardonable after a suitable amount of groveling, followed by a considerable amount of penance for his decision to crawl into her bed without admitting he was Mr. Uptight.
The door eased open. As if she believed her thoughts had conjured him, Frankie’s gaze snapped toward it.
Not Marcus.
“Have I come at a bad time?” Ms. Birdie’s voice was unusually gentle.
Frankie, still holding the clipping, waved it toward her boss. “Is this about Marcus and his brothers?”
Ms. Birdie crossed the room with her quiet grace, glanced at the article, and raised a brow. “It is.”
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
“His secrets were never mine to tell.”
“If Marcus and his brothers are in danger, why risk telling me?” Frankie huffed out a laugh with no humor in it. “Especially knowing I was on a revenge warpath.”
Ms. Birdie tapped the corner of the clipping. “I suggest you ask him that question.”
Frankie’s chest ached. And damn it, not for herself. For him. He’d looked so damn sad the last time she saw him. “He said he loved me, you know, and I laughed at him.”
A wry smile touched Ms. Birdie’s lips. “According to Ziggy, you lobbed Marcus’s feelings back at him with the same force you throw stilettos.”
Although there was no judgment in Ms. Birdie’s voice, Frankie bristled. “Of course I did. It had been less than twelve hours since I learned I’d been sleeping with the enemy.” Come to think of it, if anyone should be judging right now, it should be Frankie. She leveled Ms. Birdie with a frown. “A situation I would have avoided had you bothered to tell me he was Mr. Uptight.”
“Exactly,” Ms. Birdie said lightly.
Frankie blinked.Exactly what?Ms. Birdie and her cryptic crap. It was infuriating.
Deciding she didn’t have the energy to figure it out, Frankie turned her attention back to the note and article.
Marcus had given her his heart and his scariest truth. No bargaining. No demands. Just his damn soul.
Emotions swept through her. Frantically, she tried to rebuild her walls, but they lay in ruins at her feet. Leaving her vulnerable.
“Did you set us up?” Frankie demanded. Ms. Birdie had a reputation for meddling in romance.
“Fate set you up. I merely stepped aside and let it keep its secrets,” Ms. Birdie said, clearly pleased with herself.
Frankie exhaled and set the clipping down. None of this mattered. What was done was done. She was in Manhattan. Marcus was in Gi Gi’s Crossing. Life went on. Her emotions needed to get on board with that. “I suppose you came here for a reason today?”
“I wanted to check in on my star editor and to give you a tip.”
“I’m fine. What kind of tip?”
