Imaginary Frankie Novels & Stories

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital bed. Callum Pierce, my childhood friend, sat beside the bed. When he saw me wake up, joy lit up his face. "Stella." My whole body was still shaking violently. It felt as if I could still see those men touching me. Callum immediately held me as I lost control. "It's all right. I've already sent them to prison. "And I had those photos swapped out. Everything taken to the auction was edited fake material."

she drags the back of her hand across her eyes. “I don’t mean to rush you, I mean, I’m sure the leaders will let you stay as long as you want, but I need some information from you.” “You want to know about Marcel.” I almost feel bad for getting right to it, but time is of the essence. Frankie sighs and raises her head to the sky. A small grin spreads across her lips as the clouds pass overhead and the sunlight bathes her skin in a golden glow. “It’s been so long since I’ve stood in the sunlight.”

“I don't have time for your bullshit. Consider this fair warning, the next time I won't be this merciful.” “Be careful, I might just lock your hypocritical ass in jail before you know it.” She just laughed in reply and walked away. What a bitch. I clenched my shaking hand and walked inside, deciding to force myself to sleep. **** “I mean I wasn't expecting to ride into the rainbows with Brad Pitt on a unicorn that had a just married sign on its ass.” We laughed. Frankie continued, “but I wasn't also expecting the night to end with Mimi in danger and one of his worker's numbers in my phone.”

“Hey, Frankie! Come over here.” My mouth went dry as the man got up and walked toward us. Frankie was in his forties but looked careworn. Leathery skin covered his thin frame, but his arms were still leanly muscled. The fleur-de-lis he must have bought from Josephine was on a cord around his neck. He looked at me warily as he took the stool beside me. He was covered in scars, and one eye was milky from an injury. “Just so you know,” Frankie said in a gruff voice, “I’m only here because Oscar vouched for you.”

Yet now he could see Erwin Wilson paying quickly. Then Franky James looked at Erwin Wilson happily leaving the net, it took a long time for Franky to regain his composure. He doesn't understand what people with money think? Why can't that much money buy a decent set of clothes to wear? Is it fun to pretend to be a poor person to try to cheat other people's hearts? Franky James actually forgot one very important thing, the first day Erwin Wilson came to the virtual reality network, he really had no money. Otherwise, how could the clothes be torn to that extent?

I guess I never really understood the lure of working for the Mafia in the first place. “You working this afternoon?” Franky asked, lighting his cigarette as he leaned against the lamp post. He reminded me of those gangsters from those vintage movies. You know, the ones with the greased back hair and waistcoats. “Do I have a choice?” I asked him sarcastically and he laughed in response, knowing full well that I didn’t get days off as long as Mother had something to say about how I lived my life. “Alright then. I guess I will see you soon, sunshine,” he winked at me before he left.

he said politely, his mind still reeling. “Please, don’t call me ma’am, it makes me feel old. Frankie’s my name.” “Was she lying?” he demanded. Frankie sighed and shook her head, her tight curls barely even bouncing with the movement. “I wish I could say the little cow was spreading lies, but unfortunately it’s true.” “She’s homeless,” he whispered. “Why didn’t she tell me? I could have helped her.”

Once we were there, we went straight to the office. Frankie pushed through the doorway, shoulders tight. “Tell me it was false, brother.” I faced him. “Tommy is a rat. He gave them openings, and he kept going even after the hit. You know what that means.” Frankie looked between us. “He grew up with us. He is not some stray off the street.”

I say softly, still smiling as I watch him be all bashful. “Oh, that wouldn’t have been creepy at all,” he says, rolling his eyes and then returning his gaze to me, making me laugh. “Hi, my name is Frank, I’m your childhood best friend’s mafia lackey, training to be his hitman! I read the private emails you send to him, I think you’re cool!” “Awww,” I say, laughing again, “teenage Frankie sounds so friendly.” “No, he was shy,” Frank says with a short laugh and a long sigh. “But…big fan of yours. And then the reality of you, when we found out it was you that Christian brought home from that club?”

Inside was a dream; tall walls, open space, windows so big you could see everything yet nothing at all. The isolation of the property both excited and scared me, and the longer I walked around holding Armani’s hand, the more I began to feel a little hopeful again. My concerns over the last day felt silly — presumptuous. Though a part of my brain was still very aware that this could turn sour very quickly, I allowed myself to enjoy this simple few minutes with my fake husband and even smile, just a little bit.