Imaginary Frankie Novels & Stories

He called himself a victim, said Maggie lied about everything—the threats, the stalker, all of it. He even shared statements from Peter's family, exposing Maggie for scamming people and wrecking homes for money. Vincent painted himself squeaky clean. Just another guy who got played. And the internet? Flipped overnight. People who had dragged Serena suddenly realized they'd been duped. The hate turned on Maggie—hard. Memes flooded in. People called it a real-life "Farmer and the Snake." Vincent tried to save her, lost his girlfriend, and got branded a jerk.

When she went to the kitchen she was pleasantly surprised to see two Frankies on a plate. A genuine smile spread across her face as she read the note kept under the plate. Your Highness, Honor my Frankies by giving them a chance to satisfy your hunger. Waiting eagerly for appraisal, Yours Frankiliciously, Sam. She sat down with the plate at the table and took the first bite. It was so delicious just like the ones Uncle Roy made. She bit her lip and placed the rest of the Frankie back on the plate. She clenched her fists, pursed her lips, and closed her eyes tightly. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes again.

That was definitely not the distraction I needed. He gave a small smile before letting himself in and taking the seat in front of me. “Did you have a fun night?” I narrowed my eyes. “Do you enjoy having a big mouth?” His eyes slightly widened as confusion filled his face. “You told Gerald about the drinks we were getting and about Damian, who happens to be nothing more than a friend and a business partner,” I said through gritted teeth. Frankie shifted where he sat. “He wanted to talk to you, and when he couldn't reach you, he asked me if I knew where you were. I couldn't lie.” He held my gaze, searching for something. “Or was I supposed to lie?”

DANTE Staring at the quarterly projections across my computer screen, I'd come to one conclusion. "I'm losing money," I muttered under my breath. Rubbing the fatigue in my eyes, I let out a small yawn. There was no room in my schedule for rest. I had bribes to pay off officials, paychecks to soldados, and my inner circle crew. Speaking of crew... Frankie barged into the office, holding a single Starbucks coffee and a paper bag.

He gave a brief exposure of the structural running of their nocturnal 419 affairs. “Number two. I want you to give me all the real names of your accomplices and their alias. All these in order of standing and acting. Beginning from you.” Franck made his second mind known to him. Without any form of resistance or second thought, he started unmasking his accomplices. “I am Mbah Franklin known as Spiritus. There`s Emeka Lovett alias Moister, the guy who ruined his beloved auntie from her life savings. So as to bounce like a strong man business with the wife.

But when I opened the door, that hope shattered immediately. Frank. He was leaning against the doorframe, wearing his usual cocky smirk, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. His dark hair was a little messy, like he’d been running his hand through it. “Evening, Glasses,” he said casually, his voice low and teasing. “You weren’t asleep, were you?” I blinked at him. “Frank, what are you doing here? It's late.” “I couldn’t sleep,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, I figured my fake girlfriend might need some company after today’s chaos.”

Two submachine guns sprayed everyone in the room until they were all dead and he took a stab at everyone, not a single one, including a minor distant relative of the Stanage family. Frankie was in the cellar that day helping to choose wine and escaped with his life. He peed when he saw two dozen dead bodies all over the restaurant. For the first time in his life, he knew that he could be afraid. He left Brooklyn that night, but he dared not flee New York.

I'm uncertain if it was going to be something nice or snarky, but before the words could leave my lips, the steel door was pushed open. In walked one of the men I have seen here a few times. He is always crude, eyeing me up as he licks his lips like he can taste me on them. Frankie, I believe, is his name. The smell of a grilled cheese sandwich fills my senses, and almost instantly, my mouth pools with saliva. My stomach grumbles loudly, it's been too long since I was offered a meal and my adrenaline must have drained me dry. My gaze fell to the sandwich he was holding in his hand. Frankie must have sensed how hungry I am, how desperate I am for it. He nods with a smirk on his face, holding

Okay a little rewind Remember how I told you Frankie's dream is to become president Well that dream is about to be crushed by Wendy, meanest nerd ever In books and movies,nerds are usually bullied or are seen as the good guys Not this fiction novel, nerd here are mean, evil, grumpy and only care about winning Frankie meets her at her campaign spot"Great speech I really admire how you just took my spot light like that" "You might be dressed smart or for the part but truth is this place ain't for illiterate so why don't you go back playing with pums pums with the other illiterate"

“I thought I was.” He sat across from me, eyes unreadable. “Hmm, you’re good at hiding things.” “You’re good at pretending.” He tilted his head, a slow smile forming. “We’ll make a hell of a team.” I let out a tired laugh. “I can’t believe this is my life right now.” “I can,” he said. “You’re too composed to be ordinary.” I blinked. That might’ve been a compliment. “So what now?” “It’s your call, sweetheart. Plan the next phase of the illusion,” Dante said, standing. “Public appearances. Joint statements. Romantic paparazzi moments.”